FIC: What Really Happened
Title: What Really Happened
Author: christwise
Rating: G
Pairing: implied Albus/Gellert
Word Count: 958
Disclaimer: As much as I could wish it, I am not JKR and this is for fun, not for profit.
Warnings: angsty
Author's Notes/Summary: What really happened during Albus and Gellert's great battle.
I was watching my OotP dvd and wondering what Dumbledore was thinking while he battled Voldemort. Was it anything like his battle with his exboyfriend. This actually turned into something really different than what I was first thinking but I like it more.
x-posted to holyperv, hpannuitcoeptis, and hpannuitcoeptis
There were many accounts of what had happened when they battled, all of them different, all of them wrong in one way or another. The place of the battle was clear; there was a stone castle deep in forests of Germany with scorch marks and holes that suggested a great battle, one so devastating that only the most powerful wizards could have dueled and still come out alive. But the circumstances were always different. Gellert had lured Albus there to trick him and ambush him with his followers, whom Albus had defeated. Or Albus has gone of his own accord and met his foes head on. Or that Albus had surprised Gellert in his home while he had dinner with his advisors. Yes, that was one way in which all of the tales were the same and also the most incorrect. There was always an audience. It was ironic, Albus thought, that there was a crowd yes no two people who could agree on what exactly had happened.
Some of the more astute authors supposed that Aberforth had been there, some suggesting that he had joined them in battle (but was, of course, quickly overtaken) or even that it was he who had begun the battle, Albus only joining in when it came time to save him. Not in terms of the actual battle but, if spread out and taken as allegory then perhaps that was the closest one of all. When it came to the battle of 1945, Aberforth could have cared less.
History writing cares not for time. In the history of books, eons can be summarized in a blurb and a single moment can occupy many chapters. Though many pages are devoted to the battle that night, none of them seem adequate to truly recount what happened that day.
They had met on a small clearing in the middle of the Black Forest. Gellert had approached him with arms outstretched. He had always been optimistic. Albus had accepted, though his welcome in return had been less than cheery.
“Glad to see you’re still looking well Albus. I’ve been waiting so long.”
“I had duties to attend to in England.”
“Yes, of course. But surely you’ve heard.”
Gellert beamed and sat down. His blonde curls just poking out above the tall grasses, the sun overhead glistening upon him, just as it had when they were younger. He crossed his legs and held out his hand, beckoning Albus to sit with him. Albus did so, trying his best to look impassive. Gellert, however, was giddy.
"You’ve heard and now you’ve come. Oh Albus, it’s really happening. Just as we planned.”
Then Gellert looked down to where an ant crawled upon his arm. He squished the bug between his fingers and flicked it away, cool and easy and, as ever, looking back to Albus and smiling.
Albus’ eyes slid shut and he clenched his fists to stop them from shaking. He wanted to scream, to thrash, to see the smile slide into a frown. He wanted to cry out, “no! This was your plan, not mine. I did not cause this!” He wanted the whole world to hear it.
But it was not true. His love was forgivable but his ignorance was not. He may not have moved his hand, may not have whispered the words into that shouting, snake Muggle’s ear but he was implicit and he had been essential. There was no undoing what he had done, but Albus wouldn’t let it happen again. Love had allowed Albus to let Gellert slip through his fingers, just as those soft curls had on sunny days like this one.
Albus turned away and whispered the call.
The grasses swayed in the oncoming wind. Gellert leaned back, resting on his elbows, beatific face turned up to the sun.
That was Albus’ last living image of Gellert, innocent and unafraid, unaware of the swarm of aurors descending upon him and overpowering him. Albus had looked away, not wanting to see Gellert’s look of betrayal and confusion; he would have no idea why Albus had done this to him. He may not even have begun to struggle until it was too late. Albus didn’t know, he only saw the great rustling of leaves as the aurors appearted en masse.
He stood still and alone until the rushes stood still, then walked back and forth, in circles, anywhere around this small field. And great boulders began to build themselves up and around him, encompassing him, closing him in, creating a great castle of astounding beauty, a feat of masonry, growing larger as Albus dreamed of the paradise they could have created. Their two minds, there could have been a heaven on earth, a playground they could share forever, the two of them, their happiness and their love.
And Albus let out a great shout, to rock the heavens and the stones and the sky. No words, just the anguished cry of a feral beast, the one that had been created inside him when he heard about what Gellert had done in his name.
His wands trembled in his hand and, weeping and screaming, Albus began to blow their castle apart.
This is why Albus trusts Snape. He recognized the same guttural cry of utter loss that marked a beginning of total reformation. He recognized it in Severus just as he recognized it in himself.
This is why he had never feared for himself when he battled Voldemort. Everyone else assumed it was because he had been in an even greater battle before. True, but not in the way they thought.
Voldemort fought physically, with fire and glass and stone, none of which could hurt Albus any more than he already had been.
Author: christwise
Rating: G
Pairing: implied Albus/Gellert
Word Count: 958
Disclaimer: As much as I could wish it, I am not JKR and this is for fun, not for profit.
Warnings: angsty
Author's Notes/Summary: What really happened during Albus and Gellert's great battle.
I was watching my OotP dvd and wondering what Dumbledore was thinking while he battled Voldemort. Was it anything like his battle with his exboyfriend. This actually turned into something really different than what I was first thinking but I like it more.
x-posted to holyperv, hpannuitcoeptis, and hpannuitcoeptis
There were many accounts of what had happened when they battled, all of them different, all of them wrong in one way or another. The place of the battle was clear; there was a stone castle deep in forests of Germany with scorch marks and holes that suggested a great battle, one so devastating that only the most powerful wizards could have dueled and still come out alive. But the circumstances were always different. Gellert had lured Albus there to trick him and ambush him with his followers, whom Albus had defeated. Or Albus has gone of his own accord and met his foes head on. Or that Albus had surprised Gellert in his home while he had dinner with his advisors. Yes, that was one way in which all of the tales were the same and also the most incorrect. There was always an audience. It was ironic, Albus thought, that there was a crowd yes no two people who could agree on what exactly had happened.
Some of the more astute authors supposed that Aberforth had been there, some suggesting that he had joined them in battle (but was, of course, quickly overtaken) or even that it was he who had begun the battle, Albus only joining in when it came time to save him. Not in terms of the actual battle but, if spread out and taken as allegory then perhaps that was the closest one of all. When it came to the battle of 1945, Aberforth could have cared less.
History writing cares not for time. In the history of books, eons can be summarized in a blurb and a single moment can occupy many chapters. Though many pages are devoted to the battle that night, none of them seem adequate to truly recount what happened that day.
They had met on a small clearing in the middle of the Black Forest. Gellert had approached him with arms outstretched. He had always been optimistic. Albus had accepted, though his welcome in return had been less than cheery.
“Glad to see you’re still looking well Albus. I’ve been waiting so long.”
“I had duties to attend to in England.”
“Yes, of course. But surely you’ve heard.”
Gellert beamed and sat down. His blonde curls just poking out above the tall grasses, the sun overhead glistening upon him, just as it had when they were younger. He crossed his legs and held out his hand, beckoning Albus to sit with him. Albus did so, trying his best to look impassive. Gellert, however, was giddy.
"You’ve heard and now you’ve come. Oh Albus, it’s really happening. Just as we planned.”
Then Gellert looked down to where an ant crawled upon his arm. He squished the bug between his fingers and flicked it away, cool and easy and, as ever, looking back to Albus and smiling.
Albus’ eyes slid shut and he clenched his fists to stop them from shaking. He wanted to scream, to thrash, to see the smile slide into a frown. He wanted to cry out, “no! This was your plan, not mine. I did not cause this!” He wanted the whole world to hear it.
But it was not true. His love was forgivable but his ignorance was not. He may not have moved his hand, may not have whispered the words into that shouting, snake Muggle’s ear but he was implicit and he had been essential. There was no undoing what he had done, but Albus wouldn’t let it happen again. Love had allowed Albus to let Gellert slip through his fingers, just as those soft curls had on sunny days like this one.
Albus turned away and whispered the call.
The grasses swayed in the oncoming wind. Gellert leaned back, resting on his elbows, beatific face turned up to the sun.
That was Albus’ last living image of Gellert, innocent and unafraid, unaware of the swarm of aurors descending upon him and overpowering him. Albus had looked away, not wanting to see Gellert’s look of betrayal and confusion; he would have no idea why Albus had done this to him. He may not even have begun to struggle until it was too late. Albus didn’t know, he only saw the great rustling of leaves as the aurors appearted en masse.
He stood still and alone until the rushes stood still, then walked back and forth, in circles, anywhere around this small field. And great boulders began to build themselves up and around him, encompassing him, closing him in, creating a great castle of astounding beauty, a feat of masonry, growing larger as Albus dreamed of the paradise they could have created. Their two minds, there could have been a heaven on earth, a playground they could share forever, the two of them, their happiness and their love.
And Albus let out a great shout, to rock the heavens and the stones and the sky. No words, just the anguished cry of a feral beast, the one that had been created inside him when he heard about what Gellert had done in his name.
His wands trembled in his hand and, weeping and screaming, Albus began to blow their castle apart.
This is why Albus trusts Snape. He recognized the same guttural cry of utter loss that marked a beginning of total reformation. He recognized it in Severus just as he recognized it in himself.
This is why he had never feared for himself when he battled Voldemort. Everyone else assumed it was because he had been in an even greater battle before. True, but not in the way they thought.
Voldemort fought physically, with fire and glass and stone, none of which could hurt Albus any more than he already had been.