Fic: Two Months of Insanity
Title:
Two Months of Insanity
Author/Artist:
DHFiccer aka Lynn
Rating:
Probably PG-13 at this point.
Pairing or Character(s):
Gellert Grindelwald/Albus Dumbledore
Disclaimer:
Not mine, naturally. Owned by J.K. Rowling, though I hope to do them justice.
Warnings:
The slash has begun. It is not and will not turn into smut, so no need to worry about that. No sex, just fade to black.
Author's Note:
Beta-read by Tree.
Chapter Six
A Partnership for the Ages
After much urging from Gellert, Bathilda Bagshot had gone out again for the day, much to his pleasure. July was slipping away, and August was creeping steadily closer. The weather was not hinting at change. It was still hot, and rain showers were brief and occurred infrequently. The windows of most of the houses owned by Muggles who lived in Godric’s Hollow, were open, and the windows of some of the Wizards’ homes were open as well. However, the magic of the Wizarding houses kept them from being stuffy and uncomfortable.
Two young men were in the bedroom of Bathilda’s home that Gellert had claimed as his own. Gellert Grindelwald sat in the chair for his desk. However, it was turned, for the first time, so it was angled away from the desk, where a wand had been placed earlier. The young man, whose blond curls had been carefully fixed this morning, was facing another youth, the auburn-haired Albus Dumbledore who was the owner of the wand on the desk, as Gellert always kept his on him. Albus looked a bit uncomfortable and kept fiddling with the collar of his shirt, and Gellert had laughed at him more than once. Not that it was Albus’s fault, and he had not seemed to take offence in the slightest.
Gellert had explained the great value of wearing Muggle clothing, one of his many habits that had, to say the least, perplexed Albus. It was, Gellert had explained, a sign that he did not believe in separating the two worlds and that he felt that, even if they were not equal, Muggles were valuable to the Wizarding world. Albus had seen nothing wrong with the logic, so he had sent Gellert an owl a few days prior and requested that similar clothes be found for him. Gellert had responded with zest and, two days later, had provided the clothes. For this meeting, Albus had worn them, and Gellert thought it was rather obvious he had never worn such things before.
If Albus had noticed that his friend was taking great amusement from his trouble with concentrating on anything other than the various parts of the outfit that annoyed him, such as his constant tugging at the high, starched collar of his shirt, he said nothing about it. “Pray, what is your opinion in regard,” Albus said, and Gellert’s attention was drawn by the familiar phrase that was always used when posing a question about their future rule, “to the Dementors?”
Gellert considered this for several moments. That was one thing he very much admired about Albus: he could bring things up that Gellert never would have thought about. “Dementors?” he repeated, and Albus nodded. “I suppose they do bear a considerable weight on the question, since we intend to start in England. However, I am not sure. I had not considered them before,” he conceded.
“I don’t like the idea of them guarding prisoners,” Albus announced.
“Why not? They trap a prisoner not only in the cell but inside his own head,” Gellert pointed out.
“It’s cruel,” Albus stated. “Forced to forever relive the worst memories of your life, having your soul eventually sucked out. The fate of most of those prisoners is to, eventually, be subjected to the Kiss, usually after they have gone completely mad. Madness on top of captivity is inhumane. Besides, Dementors are Dark creatures. What does it say about those in power when they rely on creatures such as those?”
Gellert watched his friend, watched the muscles tense and those eyes flash as he spoke of the Dementors. “I do not believe I have ever seen you so very passionate, my friend,” Gellert murmured. When Albus seemed a little embarrassed, the blond added warmly, “I think it rather a thing to see.” He smiled a bit, and Albus finally chuckled a little himself. Gellert raised his hand, this time as a gesture of acquiescence and said, “Very well then. The prison that we will need for those Muggles who would defy the order we know is best and those Wizards who commit acts against the Wizarding and Muggle worlds alike shall not have Dementors. Now there is a new question: what will warrant a prison sentence?”
“A Muggle using force against a Wizard, obviously,” Albus replied. He went on. “Of course, using force against anyone will be a punishable offence. I should be more clear: a Muggle using force against a Wizard for the explicit intent to force the Wizard to use magic, or the express purpose of somehow procuring magic for himself.”
Gellert nodded. “Other attacks, be they Muggle on Wizard for some other reason, Muggle on Muggle, or Wizard on Wizard shall have to be categorized by way of the reason for the use of force and punished accordingly. I think that fines would be the most reasonable way to go about that.”
“As well as Wizard attacks against a Muggle,” Albus added. He spoke gently, suspecting that his friend had merely forgotten that possibility in his statement.
Gellert regarded him for a moment before he replied, with a shrug of his shoulders, “Oh, yes. Naturally.”
“I quite agree. However, severe attacks with the purpose to steal or harm with no provocation, regardless of whom they are against or committed by, must command a sentence of prison time.” Albus was quiet for a moment, soon asking, “What should be an offence punishable by execution?”
“Murder. Willful murder,” Gellert responded. “Prison time for accidental deaths, but I think that execution should be reserved for those who, with full intent and full understanding of their actions, take the life of another.” Albus gave a nod, and Gellert paused for a few minutes. “What shall become,” he asked, “of those that would speak against us once we are in power?”
“If it is only speaking,” Albus said, considering this carefully by the look in those blue eyes, “Then we should do nothing. Actually, we should probably listen. There may very well be some issues with our ideas that will not appear until we put them into action, in which case, the people who would speak against us may well be useful as indicators that something has gone wrong, and we will be able to address the issue.”
“Very sensible. The people who are governed do often seem to know better than those who govern. Look at us, after all,” Gellert agreed.
“However, if it goes beyond speaking, then action must be taken.” Gellert was pleased to hear these words come from Albus, rather than having to place them into the open himself. “If they should harm or even attempt to harm us or those around us, they must be dealt with swiftly and in a fitting manner. We cannot allow a few radicals to change what will be a very good system.”
“I could not have put it better myself,” Gellert responded, and Albus seemed to take this as high praise.
Conversation died away, and the two looked at one another for several moments. Without a word, Gellert rose, his hand raising in a gesture to silence Albus’s coming questions, and he walked from the room and down the stairs. When he returned, he was carrying two glasses in his left hand and a bottle in his right. He set the glasses on the desk and opened the bottle, labeled as firewhiskey, and poured it into each glass until they were half full. He offered one to Albus, who took it, and then Gellert sat down in his chair with his own and raised it. Albus followed suit.
“To a new order and two who will bring it about.”
“Cheers,” Albus responded.
The two chuckled as they took a drink. Gellert drank it without hesitancy, swallowing a mouthful and only shutting his eyes slightly at the feel of it in his throat. Albus tried to imitate but ended up coughing badly, and he leaned forward as tears welled in his eyes. After a moment, he sat back up, breathing heavily from the coughing, and he looked at Gellert with a thin smile.
“First time,” he explained, a touch of pink coming to his cheeks, and Gellert chuckled.
“My apologies, then! If I’d have known you hadn’t had it before, I would have warned you that it stings the first, oh,” he grinned playfully, “twenty or so times it goes down.”
“You’ve had it quite a bit, I take it,” Albus responded, and a tinge of envy came to those blue eyes as Gellert’s hazel ones met them.
“A decent bit, yes,” the other said. “Durmstrang had rules against it, of course,” he added, “but none of us ever really paid attention to those rules. The older students always had something to drink on them, and I got on with them, so they were willing to include me in a lot. Liked my dueling, most of them. Of course,” he smirked, “I think the first time they gave it to me was revenge. Fourteen, and I beat one of the seventeen-year-olds in dueling. They offered a toast that night, and there were more than a few laughs at how I reacted to the stuff.” To him, it was an amusing anecdote, but Albus merely smiled thinly, not seeming to take anywhere near the amusement that Gellert did in it.
Several moments passed, and the two left their firewhiskey alone, holding the glasses in their hands. They looked at one another, and silence reigned. There was something easy, fairly composed, about Albus during it, Gellert felt. He might have felt a little picked on from the laughter of his friend at his response to the drink of firewhiskey, but it seemed nothing he would hold against him. Gellert, however, felt a strange uneasiness in this silence, in those blue eyes that had so serenely settled on him.
A moment later, Gellert raised his glass again. Albus, after a slight hesitation, did the same. “To partnership,” Gellert toasted, “one that will be talked about even after our bodies are cold in the grave.”
“To partnership,” Albus responded.
The two drank again, both taking much smaller sips this time. Albus flinched slightly when he drank, but it was obvious that the taste and effects were growing on him. It was not, Gellert felt, hard to get used to. Once again, silence fell, but this time it was more bearable for Gellert, as the two drank while they were not speaking, and Albus seemed to be enjoying his firewhiskey now that the initial shock of its taste was less obvious as his senses adapted to the effects. Finally, he remembered their conversation, and he looked at Gellert.
“So, our prison shall not have Dementors.”
“Most certainly not.”
“What shall it have?”
“Have?”
“Something must guard it. I suppose Wizards might be advisable, but that puts wands within the reach of prisoners. I do agree with Azkaban’s sentence of snapping the wands of prisoners there for life. However, if we want to keep wands out of their grasps, then what shall guard the prisoners?”
“That is a very good question, my friend,” Gellert replied as he sipped from his glass of firewhiskey. “Centaurs would be excellent for the position, but they love to wander too much. A dragon would be far too unpredictable, too temperamental. Ghosts would be no barrier.” He shut his eyes, trying to think of something, anything, else that was not a Dark creature that would be capable of keeping order. “I do believe that we can only put very trustworthy, very powerful Wizards in charge of the prison.”
“Or,” Albus seemed struck with the sudden idea, “We could put Wizards in charge of the outside of it and enchant the inside. A small team of house-elves could prepare the meals for the prisoners, and then delivered to the prisoners by means of set spells. They would not escape the enchantments since they would not have wands, and the Wizards patrolling the perimeter would stop outsiders from freeing them.”
“Albus, my friend, the word ‘genius’ is not adequate at all for you. You exceed it too often,” Gellert said with a smile. His glass raised in silent toast, Albus’s came up as well and tapped his, and they both drank, this time rather fully. A laugh left both, and the effects of slight intoxication were starting to set in.
Gellert was more than glad for them. He had been truly and completely intoxicated before, and it was not an enjoyable feeling. A loss of full control and then a patchy memory the next day. Even if the night had been uneventful, he cared more to remember dull times than to not be able to recall his own actions completely. This feeling was different. A general easiness seemed to surround everything, and he was smiling more than he usually did, even around Albus, yet he was still in full control of his mind and body. Or, at least, in as much control of his mind as he ever was.
“You and I will be great,” Gellert murmured. He stood and walked away from his chair, seating himself beside Albus on the bed. Their glasses were nearly empty, but another would not be had. He might pour Albus another one if asked, but he would finish his own and be done with it. “Our names will outlive us, our partnership vaunted as the greatest of all time. We will accomplish things that others will not dare to even dream of changing for at least centuries.” He spoke in a low voice, his head tilting toward Albus, bringing them closer together. Gellert chuckled slightly, but he continued speaking. “Every schoolchild for generations to come will read about us, will idolize us, will worship us.”
Albus said nothing, but he had not moved away from this increasing closeness. His eyes were closed halfway, and Gellert felt it likely that Albus was experiencing the same effects of the firewhiskey that he was. Gellert took a slow breath in, his head bowing slightly more for a moment. He raised it, though, and looked Albus right in the eye. An understanding passed between them and Gellert tilted his head slightly and brought his lips against Albus’s. Albus uttered an indistinct sound, but it was not in protest, and he did not seem to worry about the implications of his actions as he returned the kiss. For several moments, this continued, neither young man about to be the first to break the contact. It was Gellert who finally pulled back.
He was breathing hard, and he merely stared into Albus’s eyes for several moments. Finally, he spoke, voice quiet and heated, with a sincerity that Albus knew was not forged, “It has been quite a long time since I’ve had to confess that I’ve done something for the first time.”
Albus did not respond, and the look in his eyes told Gellert all he needed to know: he was alone in savoring a new experience. Gellert refused to let that take away from his enjoyment of the experience, and he moved forward again, once more capturing Albus’s lips with his own. His hand closed around Albus’s shoulder, and Albus slid one of his hands behind Gellert’s head, tangling it in those blond curls. Gellert leaned forward, and Albus was pressed back, shifting to accommodate this movement. His free hand braced itself against the mattress, but he soon found that he had to use his entire forearm to support his weight, not his hand, so his body lowered even more, and Gellert kept their kiss, now slightly over Albus, one leg bent and the other leg’s knee and shin against the mattress to support his own weight in this position.
The kiss had continued for several moments before Gellert raised his head again, looking down at Albus as he asked, “Who?”
“Elphias,” Albus admitted. He flushed at the confession, but Gellert did not show any signs of anger. Instead, he put his glass of firewhiskey on the floor and took Albus’s from him to put it beside his.
“How long ago?”
“The first time? Or the last?” That caused a reaction, and Albus seemed to regret the second question when Gellert’s eyes narrowed slightly. However, the blond did not change their position to put distance between them.
“Both.” It was no longer a question or a request. It was a demand. To offset the harsh tone of the words, which Albus was sure to protest, Gellert wordlessly undid two buttons at the top of the shirt and pushed the collar back. His head bowed, and his lips descended onto the exposed flesh. Albus shifted beneath him, but Gellert felt no attempt to make him stop, so he continued the kiss.
“We were,” Albus said quietly, almost breathless from this attention, “fifteen. I was almost sixteen. It was during the winter holidays. I’d,” he paused, and his hand tightened in Gellert’s hair as the attention to his neck continued, “stayed at Hogwarts and so did he. We,” he paused again as Gellert used his other hand to pull Albus’s shirt out of his slacks, as it had been tucked in, then slid his hand under it, bringing his fingers to Albus’s bare side, “didn’t get really serious until sixth year.” This was, obviously, not something Gellert wanted to hear, as he responded by bringing his teeth against a spot on Albus’s neck, hard enough to leave a mark. Albus uttered a cry of pain but had to sigh when Gellert was once more using his lips against the flesh. For not having done this before, Gellert knew well enough how to handle himself. “The last time,” Albus continued, seeming to feel as if he had to tell Gellert everything, “was the night before I received word about my mother. The night before we were supposed to set out on our trip together.”
Gellert did not verbally reply, but he did raise his head from Albus’s neck, and he looked at those blue eyes. Albus was breathing heavily now, laying fully on the bed. His one hand was still behind Gellert’s head his grip loosened, while his other hand also loosened its grip on the bedclothes. Gellert bent his head again and kissed Albus once more, the other responding with increased vigor. Gellert amused himself with the thought that Albus might be trying to make up for his earlier confession. The kiss this time was shorter, and Gellert was, once again, the one to break the kiss as well.
“You have more experience than I do,” Gellert murmured, passion brimming in his eyes as he looked at his friend. He smirked slightly, running his fingers down Albus’s bare side, eliciting a small groan that made his blood race, and added, “You’d have to tell me what to do.”
Albus gave a half-laugh and responded, “I think I can agree to that.” He sat up slightly, applied pressure to Gellert’s head from behind, and once again brought their lips together.
The kiss was passionate, and Gellert’s hands began fully unbuttoning Albus’s shirt. In response, Albus freed Gellert’s shirt from being tucked in and began to return the favor. He ceased for only a moment to stop Gellert’s hands long enough to remove Gellert’s wand from its place in the sleeve and set it on the floor near the glasses. After this was done, both young men resumed undoing the buttons they felt were, in this case, far too numerous to be useful. When the shirts were undone, the kiss was broken, and Albus sat up slightly to rid himself of his shirt while Gellert merely shrugged off his own. With a smirk, Gellert bowed his head to whisper directly into Albus’s ear.
“To true partnership.”
Two Months of Insanity
Author/Artist:
DHFiccer aka Lynn
Rating:
Probably PG-13 at this point.
Pairing or Character(s):
Gellert Grindelwald/Albus Dumbledore
Disclaimer:
Not mine, naturally. Owned by J.K. Rowling, though I hope to do them justice.
Warnings:
The slash has begun. It is not and will not turn into smut, so no need to worry about that. No sex, just fade to black.
Author's Note:
Beta-read by Tree.
Chapter Six
A Partnership for the Ages
After much urging from Gellert, Bathilda Bagshot had gone out again for the day, much to his pleasure. July was slipping away, and August was creeping steadily closer. The weather was not hinting at change. It was still hot, and rain showers were brief and occurred infrequently. The windows of most of the houses owned by Muggles who lived in Godric’s Hollow, were open, and the windows of some of the Wizards’ homes were open as well. However, the magic of the Wizarding houses kept them from being stuffy and uncomfortable.
Two young men were in the bedroom of Bathilda’s home that Gellert had claimed as his own. Gellert Grindelwald sat in the chair for his desk. However, it was turned, for the first time, so it was angled away from the desk, where a wand had been placed earlier. The young man, whose blond curls had been carefully fixed this morning, was facing another youth, the auburn-haired Albus Dumbledore who was the owner of the wand on the desk, as Gellert always kept his on him. Albus looked a bit uncomfortable and kept fiddling with the collar of his shirt, and Gellert had laughed at him more than once. Not that it was Albus’s fault, and he had not seemed to take offence in the slightest.
Gellert had explained the great value of wearing Muggle clothing, one of his many habits that had, to say the least, perplexed Albus. It was, Gellert had explained, a sign that he did not believe in separating the two worlds and that he felt that, even if they were not equal, Muggles were valuable to the Wizarding world. Albus had seen nothing wrong with the logic, so he had sent Gellert an owl a few days prior and requested that similar clothes be found for him. Gellert had responded with zest and, two days later, had provided the clothes. For this meeting, Albus had worn them, and Gellert thought it was rather obvious he had never worn such things before.
If Albus had noticed that his friend was taking great amusement from his trouble with concentrating on anything other than the various parts of the outfit that annoyed him, such as his constant tugging at the high, starched collar of his shirt, he said nothing about it. “Pray, what is your opinion in regard,” Albus said, and Gellert’s attention was drawn by the familiar phrase that was always used when posing a question about their future rule, “to the Dementors?”
Gellert considered this for several moments. That was one thing he very much admired about Albus: he could bring things up that Gellert never would have thought about. “Dementors?” he repeated, and Albus nodded. “I suppose they do bear a considerable weight on the question, since we intend to start in England. However, I am not sure. I had not considered them before,” he conceded.
“I don’t like the idea of them guarding prisoners,” Albus announced.
“Why not? They trap a prisoner not only in the cell but inside his own head,” Gellert pointed out.
“It’s cruel,” Albus stated. “Forced to forever relive the worst memories of your life, having your soul eventually sucked out. The fate of most of those prisoners is to, eventually, be subjected to the Kiss, usually after they have gone completely mad. Madness on top of captivity is inhumane. Besides, Dementors are Dark creatures. What does it say about those in power when they rely on creatures such as those?”
Gellert watched his friend, watched the muscles tense and those eyes flash as he spoke of the Dementors. “I do not believe I have ever seen you so very passionate, my friend,” Gellert murmured. When Albus seemed a little embarrassed, the blond added warmly, “I think it rather a thing to see.” He smiled a bit, and Albus finally chuckled a little himself. Gellert raised his hand, this time as a gesture of acquiescence and said, “Very well then. The prison that we will need for those Muggles who would defy the order we know is best and those Wizards who commit acts against the Wizarding and Muggle worlds alike shall not have Dementors. Now there is a new question: what will warrant a prison sentence?”
“A Muggle using force against a Wizard, obviously,” Albus replied. He went on. “Of course, using force against anyone will be a punishable offence. I should be more clear: a Muggle using force against a Wizard for the explicit intent to force the Wizard to use magic, or the express purpose of somehow procuring magic for himself.”
Gellert nodded. “Other attacks, be they Muggle on Wizard for some other reason, Muggle on Muggle, or Wizard on Wizard shall have to be categorized by way of the reason for the use of force and punished accordingly. I think that fines would be the most reasonable way to go about that.”
“As well as Wizard attacks against a Muggle,” Albus added. He spoke gently, suspecting that his friend had merely forgotten that possibility in his statement.
Gellert regarded him for a moment before he replied, with a shrug of his shoulders, “Oh, yes. Naturally.”
“I quite agree. However, severe attacks with the purpose to steal or harm with no provocation, regardless of whom they are against or committed by, must command a sentence of prison time.” Albus was quiet for a moment, soon asking, “What should be an offence punishable by execution?”
“Murder. Willful murder,” Gellert responded. “Prison time for accidental deaths, but I think that execution should be reserved for those who, with full intent and full understanding of their actions, take the life of another.” Albus gave a nod, and Gellert paused for a few minutes. “What shall become,” he asked, “of those that would speak against us once we are in power?”
“If it is only speaking,” Albus said, considering this carefully by the look in those blue eyes, “Then we should do nothing. Actually, we should probably listen. There may very well be some issues with our ideas that will not appear until we put them into action, in which case, the people who would speak against us may well be useful as indicators that something has gone wrong, and we will be able to address the issue.”
“Very sensible. The people who are governed do often seem to know better than those who govern. Look at us, after all,” Gellert agreed.
“However, if it goes beyond speaking, then action must be taken.” Gellert was pleased to hear these words come from Albus, rather than having to place them into the open himself. “If they should harm or even attempt to harm us or those around us, they must be dealt with swiftly and in a fitting manner. We cannot allow a few radicals to change what will be a very good system.”
“I could not have put it better myself,” Gellert responded, and Albus seemed to take this as high praise.
Conversation died away, and the two looked at one another for several moments. Without a word, Gellert rose, his hand raising in a gesture to silence Albus’s coming questions, and he walked from the room and down the stairs. When he returned, he was carrying two glasses in his left hand and a bottle in his right. He set the glasses on the desk and opened the bottle, labeled as firewhiskey, and poured it into each glass until they were half full. He offered one to Albus, who took it, and then Gellert sat down in his chair with his own and raised it. Albus followed suit.
“To a new order and two who will bring it about.”
“Cheers,” Albus responded.
The two chuckled as they took a drink. Gellert drank it without hesitancy, swallowing a mouthful and only shutting his eyes slightly at the feel of it in his throat. Albus tried to imitate but ended up coughing badly, and he leaned forward as tears welled in his eyes. After a moment, he sat back up, breathing heavily from the coughing, and he looked at Gellert with a thin smile.
“First time,” he explained, a touch of pink coming to his cheeks, and Gellert chuckled.
“My apologies, then! If I’d have known you hadn’t had it before, I would have warned you that it stings the first, oh,” he grinned playfully, “twenty or so times it goes down.”
“You’ve had it quite a bit, I take it,” Albus responded, and a tinge of envy came to those blue eyes as Gellert’s hazel ones met them.
“A decent bit, yes,” the other said. “Durmstrang had rules against it, of course,” he added, “but none of us ever really paid attention to those rules. The older students always had something to drink on them, and I got on with them, so they were willing to include me in a lot. Liked my dueling, most of them. Of course,” he smirked, “I think the first time they gave it to me was revenge. Fourteen, and I beat one of the seventeen-year-olds in dueling. They offered a toast that night, and there were more than a few laughs at how I reacted to the stuff.” To him, it was an amusing anecdote, but Albus merely smiled thinly, not seeming to take anywhere near the amusement that Gellert did in it.
Several moments passed, and the two left their firewhiskey alone, holding the glasses in their hands. They looked at one another, and silence reigned. There was something easy, fairly composed, about Albus during it, Gellert felt. He might have felt a little picked on from the laughter of his friend at his response to the drink of firewhiskey, but it seemed nothing he would hold against him. Gellert, however, felt a strange uneasiness in this silence, in those blue eyes that had so serenely settled on him.
A moment later, Gellert raised his glass again. Albus, after a slight hesitation, did the same. “To partnership,” Gellert toasted, “one that will be talked about even after our bodies are cold in the grave.”
“To partnership,” Albus responded.
The two drank again, both taking much smaller sips this time. Albus flinched slightly when he drank, but it was obvious that the taste and effects were growing on him. It was not, Gellert felt, hard to get used to. Once again, silence fell, but this time it was more bearable for Gellert, as the two drank while they were not speaking, and Albus seemed to be enjoying his firewhiskey now that the initial shock of its taste was less obvious as his senses adapted to the effects. Finally, he remembered their conversation, and he looked at Gellert.
“So, our prison shall not have Dementors.”
“Most certainly not.”
“What shall it have?”
“Have?”
“Something must guard it. I suppose Wizards might be advisable, but that puts wands within the reach of prisoners. I do agree with Azkaban’s sentence of snapping the wands of prisoners there for life. However, if we want to keep wands out of their grasps, then what shall guard the prisoners?”
“That is a very good question, my friend,” Gellert replied as he sipped from his glass of firewhiskey. “Centaurs would be excellent for the position, but they love to wander too much. A dragon would be far too unpredictable, too temperamental. Ghosts would be no barrier.” He shut his eyes, trying to think of something, anything, else that was not a Dark creature that would be capable of keeping order. “I do believe that we can only put very trustworthy, very powerful Wizards in charge of the prison.”
“Or,” Albus seemed struck with the sudden idea, “We could put Wizards in charge of the outside of it and enchant the inside. A small team of house-elves could prepare the meals for the prisoners, and then delivered to the prisoners by means of set spells. They would not escape the enchantments since they would not have wands, and the Wizards patrolling the perimeter would stop outsiders from freeing them.”
“Albus, my friend, the word ‘genius’ is not adequate at all for you. You exceed it too often,” Gellert said with a smile. His glass raised in silent toast, Albus’s came up as well and tapped his, and they both drank, this time rather fully. A laugh left both, and the effects of slight intoxication were starting to set in.
Gellert was more than glad for them. He had been truly and completely intoxicated before, and it was not an enjoyable feeling. A loss of full control and then a patchy memory the next day. Even if the night had been uneventful, he cared more to remember dull times than to not be able to recall his own actions completely. This feeling was different. A general easiness seemed to surround everything, and he was smiling more than he usually did, even around Albus, yet he was still in full control of his mind and body. Or, at least, in as much control of his mind as he ever was.
“You and I will be great,” Gellert murmured. He stood and walked away from his chair, seating himself beside Albus on the bed. Their glasses were nearly empty, but another would not be had. He might pour Albus another one if asked, but he would finish his own and be done with it. “Our names will outlive us, our partnership vaunted as the greatest of all time. We will accomplish things that others will not dare to even dream of changing for at least centuries.” He spoke in a low voice, his head tilting toward Albus, bringing them closer together. Gellert chuckled slightly, but he continued speaking. “Every schoolchild for generations to come will read about us, will idolize us, will worship us.”
Albus said nothing, but he had not moved away from this increasing closeness. His eyes were closed halfway, and Gellert felt it likely that Albus was experiencing the same effects of the firewhiskey that he was. Gellert took a slow breath in, his head bowing slightly more for a moment. He raised it, though, and looked Albus right in the eye. An understanding passed between them and Gellert tilted his head slightly and brought his lips against Albus’s. Albus uttered an indistinct sound, but it was not in protest, and he did not seem to worry about the implications of his actions as he returned the kiss. For several moments, this continued, neither young man about to be the first to break the contact. It was Gellert who finally pulled back.
He was breathing hard, and he merely stared into Albus’s eyes for several moments. Finally, he spoke, voice quiet and heated, with a sincerity that Albus knew was not forged, “It has been quite a long time since I’ve had to confess that I’ve done something for the first time.”
Albus did not respond, and the look in his eyes told Gellert all he needed to know: he was alone in savoring a new experience. Gellert refused to let that take away from his enjoyment of the experience, and he moved forward again, once more capturing Albus’s lips with his own. His hand closed around Albus’s shoulder, and Albus slid one of his hands behind Gellert’s head, tangling it in those blond curls. Gellert leaned forward, and Albus was pressed back, shifting to accommodate this movement. His free hand braced itself against the mattress, but he soon found that he had to use his entire forearm to support his weight, not his hand, so his body lowered even more, and Gellert kept their kiss, now slightly over Albus, one leg bent and the other leg’s knee and shin against the mattress to support his own weight in this position.
The kiss had continued for several moments before Gellert raised his head again, looking down at Albus as he asked, “Who?”
“Elphias,” Albus admitted. He flushed at the confession, but Gellert did not show any signs of anger. Instead, he put his glass of firewhiskey on the floor and took Albus’s from him to put it beside his.
“How long ago?”
“The first time? Or the last?” That caused a reaction, and Albus seemed to regret the second question when Gellert’s eyes narrowed slightly. However, the blond did not change their position to put distance between them.
“Both.” It was no longer a question or a request. It was a demand. To offset the harsh tone of the words, which Albus was sure to protest, Gellert wordlessly undid two buttons at the top of the shirt and pushed the collar back. His head bowed, and his lips descended onto the exposed flesh. Albus shifted beneath him, but Gellert felt no attempt to make him stop, so he continued the kiss.
“We were,” Albus said quietly, almost breathless from this attention, “fifteen. I was almost sixteen. It was during the winter holidays. I’d,” he paused, and his hand tightened in Gellert’s hair as the attention to his neck continued, “stayed at Hogwarts and so did he. We,” he paused again as Gellert used his other hand to pull Albus’s shirt out of his slacks, as it had been tucked in, then slid his hand under it, bringing his fingers to Albus’s bare side, “didn’t get really serious until sixth year.” This was, obviously, not something Gellert wanted to hear, as he responded by bringing his teeth against a spot on Albus’s neck, hard enough to leave a mark. Albus uttered a cry of pain but had to sigh when Gellert was once more using his lips against the flesh. For not having done this before, Gellert knew well enough how to handle himself. “The last time,” Albus continued, seeming to feel as if he had to tell Gellert everything, “was the night before I received word about my mother. The night before we were supposed to set out on our trip together.”
Gellert did not verbally reply, but he did raise his head from Albus’s neck, and he looked at those blue eyes. Albus was breathing heavily now, laying fully on the bed. His one hand was still behind Gellert’s head his grip loosened, while his other hand also loosened its grip on the bedclothes. Gellert bent his head again and kissed Albus once more, the other responding with increased vigor. Gellert amused himself with the thought that Albus might be trying to make up for his earlier confession. The kiss this time was shorter, and Gellert was, once again, the one to break the kiss as well.
“You have more experience than I do,” Gellert murmured, passion brimming in his eyes as he looked at his friend. He smirked slightly, running his fingers down Albus’s bare side, eliciting a small groan that made his blood race, and added, “You’d have to tell me what to do.”
Albus gave a half-laugh and responded, “I think I can agree to that.” He sat up slightly, applied pressure to Gellert’s head from behind, and once again brought their lips together.
The kiss was passionate, and Gellert’s hands began fully unbuttoning Albus’s shirt. In response, Albus freed Gellert’s shirt from being tucked in and began to return the favor. He ceased for only a moment to stop Gellert’s hands long enough to remove Gellert’s wand from its place in the sleeve and set it on the floor near the glasses. After this was done, both young men resumed undoing the buttons they felt were, in this case, far too numerous to be useful. When the shirts were undone, the kiss was broken, and Albus sat up slightly to rid himself of his shirt while Gellert merely shrugged off his own. With a smirk, Gellert bowed his head to whisper directly into Albus’s ear.
“To true partnership.”