Title: How History Forgot "Us"
Author: creepycrawly
Fandom/Pairing: Harry Potter. Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald. (When JKR offs one OTP, she opens the door to another!)
Warnings: Um. DH spoilers, anyone? And slash. And mentions of boy-touching. Nothing graphic, though.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It was Gellert who first said that "death is but the next great adventure", but it was Albus who first believed it.
It was Gellert who first said that "death is but the next great adventure", but it was Albus who first believed it.
They had been young, then, perhaps too young. Albus was brilliant, dangerously so. Gellert was brave, stupidly so. Albus was the Gryffindor, son of the bravest house in Britain, student of the greatest education Wizarding kind could offer. Gellert was the proud one, black sheep of Darkest school in the world, student of the most deadly education the world could present.
And they were young, and they understood one another.
And that made them dangerous.
It was Albus who brought it up first, who asked if perhaps the world didn't need a change, but it was Gellert who thought it through.
Ever the methodical one, Gellert had pored over endless texts, searching for a hint of the power to change the world, to remake it how it should be. Albus, the dreamer, had taken notes for him, had copied out what they said in their endless debates and conversations. He was the sounding board, the devil's advocate for all of Gellert's endless questions. 'If this could work, then why not this?' he would wonder aloud, only to have Albus answer with a calm, patient, 'because of this and this and this.'
And they were all but reading one another's minds.
And that made them brilliant.
It was Gellert who found it, but it was Albus who planned it.
They'd pored over the documentation together, searching for some other answer, some other way. Albus had scoffed at it as children's tales, but only because inside, a roil of fear in his gut told him this was the way. Gellert had argued passionately, more excited than Albus had seen him in days. That was what convinced him to admit that yes, it was the only way. The resultant smile—like a burst of warm sunlight across the cold Scottish loch that the library overlooked—had lit a fervent fire in Albus's chest, had made him answer Gellert's brilliant smile with one of his own.
And they were all but sharing one brain.
And that made them one.
It was Albus who plucked up the courage to kiss him, but it was Gellert who'd opened the door to the bedroom.
They'd been eager, wanting, hungry. Albus's lips had been warm, and his mouth had been hot. Gellert's hands had been smooth but for wand- and quill-calluses, and his skin had been soft. They'd been quick to strip one another, robes being flung aside in a riot of colours and textures, exposing pale skin and lithe bodies. But they'd taken their time with rest of it, spending long hours luxuriating in pure sensation, building the courage to move on even as they drove themselves to the edge of sanity.
And they were all but in love.
And that made them powerful.
It was Gellert who made the fatal mistake, but it was Albus who let it continue.
They argued, yes, but this time with more fervor, more heat than they'd ever used before. And slowly, the world they had spun together unwound around them, falling apart faster than it had fallen together. When all the yelling had faded, it took the warmth and need with it, leaving only the cooling embers of a dying star.
And they were all but broken.
And that made them open their eyes.
It was Albus who cried at the end, but it was Gellert who was remorseful.
As they'd closed the door on him, locking him in a prison of his own devising, Albus couldn't help but look back over his shoulder, throw a desperate glance back at that door. He'd seen Gellert staring back, so pale and tired, so worn out and resigned. The sleeping ash in his heart had burst into flame once more. Unable to continue watching him, Albus had turned away. He never knew that Gellert had seen the tears standing in his eyes.
And they were alone again, but all the more together for it.
And that made them grow up.
It was Gellert who was resigned to the end, but it was Albus who died without a fight.
Reading the news of his best-friend-compatriot-fellow-lover's death, Gellert was silent for a long, long time. He sat and he thought, as he hadn't sat and thought since he was young and impetuous and in love with changing the world. And as he sat and thought, a tear trickled down his cheek, the last remnants of the brightest star to have ever burned in a solar system that he could barely recognize.
And Gellert-and-Albus was lost to the halls of Time forever.
And that left only Dumbledore and Grindelwald as imprints upon the earth.
It was Dumbledore who last said, "Death is but the next great adventure," but it was Grindelwald who believed it at the last.