Grindeldore Big Bang - Only You - Chapter 2 - Got On Like A House Afire
Title: Only You, Chapter 2
Author: Oshun (heartofoshun)
Rating: Eventually reaches an R (this chapter PG-13)
Word Count: 15,411 in five chapters; this chapter 2,785.
Artists: fabledtruant, ghostangel; see ghostangel's art work here: http://grindeldorebb.livejournal.com/6777.html (I'll make a prettier link tomorrow.) [Will include other links to artwork when I receive them.]
Fanmixer: queenofthebobs Find the the mix here.
Extraordinary Beta: ignoblebard; he is my "go to" man! Thank you so much, my friend!
Summary: This is the story of how Dumbledore meets, falls in love with and loses Grindelwald. Pure canon (very close anyway, if one includes book verse, JKR interviews and my own relentless extrapolation!), which means it cannot have a happy ending. All and all I hope projects the old adage that it is better to have loved and lost than never loved at all. Teaser: ”Magic like his is a marvel that I have only encountered a few times in my life and that was my first experience. I had no defense against it. My own magic strained and buzzed beneath my skin in a barely controllable response.”
[Apologies in advance that this thing is taking forever to post. Will fill in links to future chapters as I post.]
Chapter 2 - Got On Like A House Afire
“You can come down now,” I shouted up the staircase. “They’ve gone.”
“Oh, Albus!” Ariana giggled in the most exasperating way, skipping down the staircase. She threw her hand across her forehead dramatically, flinging her head to one side. “It is you, oh my prince! The Wizard of my dreams!” She snorted, before dropping her melodramatic tone and assuming her normal tone of voice. “You should see your face.”
“What is wrong with my face?” I managed to choke out, my cheeks on fire.
“Albus! Albus! Albus! You are in love!” she squealed. “I was watching through the railing for most of the time they were here. He is even prettier up close than he was coming up the garden path. And, if it’s any comfort, he’s smitten with you as well. You are a handsome lad yourself, big brother. It is a shame that there is something not quite right about him.”
“You do go on and on,” I protested, trying to cover my embarrassment with bluster.
“I’m just a girl, but I realize you do need company. Aberforth, as much as I love him, is not someone who will ever satisfy your desire for discussion of theories of magic or with whom you can share your love of books. As long as you understand this Gellert boy is no more normal than I am. He will never be able to love you the way you want to be loved. But people like him need love too.”
I did not want to listen to what I thought were her muddled impressions. I wanted with all the intensity of my young heart to believe she was simply reciting some silly nonsense from a romance novel of the kind my mother hid behind her best china on the top shelves of the kitchen cupboard. Ariana had months earlier excavated all of those and read them.
“What makes you think I would look to another boy for that kind of love?” The question was sincere on my part. I needed to know where Ariana got her notions. Could it be that I was the kind of invert who calls attention to himself, the sort that people could identify at a glance?
“Oh, am I wrong?” she said, innocent as a babe, eyes wide and curious, as she clapped a hand over her mouth.
“No. You are not wrong. But there are those in our society who do not approve of such liaisons.”
“I knew that,” she said, but the almost imperceptible quaver in her voice indicated that she indeed had not known. “I suppose that will have to be just one more in a long list of Dumbledore family secrets. But I do not think that he is afraid of people knowing what he likes.”
“Good for him,” I said. The words popping out of my mouth before I had even realized what she had said. “Are you saying that you think he is interested in other boys in that way?”
“He was flirting with you, Albus! Don’t deny it. You know he was.”
I had thought that he might be, but had been afraid to believe it. Once again, I thought that this might turn out to be a very interesting summer after all.
** ** ** ** ** ** **
“The Perfect Prince” was Ariana’s choice for her fairytale that night. A powerful sorcerer named Titiritero had begged the King and Queen to give him their lovely only child Lucinda as a bride for the Prince of Fairyland. There was a long complicated part about how the malicious Titiritero owed tribute to a cruel and callous Fairy Queen. Lucinda’s family refused at first to relinquish their only offspring. Then Titiritero reminded them that he had protected and enchanted their kingdom for years, giving it peace and plenty beyond that of all its neighbors. Finally, the sorcerer proposed a compromise. He would bring the Fairy Prince to meet Lucinda and if she fell in love with the Prince, they would promise to reconsider the match.
Obviously, the Prince was blond and beautiful, with large indigo eyes. Apparently, Titiritero had, in cooperation with the Queen of Fairy, bestowed upon this perfect Prince every possible charm and grace of body or mind. He was equally handsome rested or tired. He could dress in rags or the finest of jewels, velvet and furs and still fascinate Lucinda. In short the Prince was perfectly irresistible!
Ariana continued to look up at me with a wicked, knowing smirk, trying to look guiltless.
I thought she was up to something. “Do you know this story already?” I asked.
“I never read it before or heard it told,” she said, mischief glinting in her eyes. “I do have a feeling it does not have a happy ending.”
Still suspicious, I wrinkled my forehead at her. “Oh?”
“I think it is an omen. Foreshadowing or something. What are the chances that I would pick this story tonight out of all the books on the shelves?”
“Don’t be silly, Ariana. What are you nattering about?” I knew, of course, what she was thinking. The perfect prince was Gellert. The sorcerer was old lady Bagshot and I was the besotted Lucinda. That was the way her mind worked. “What rubbish!” I barked. “You know exactly how to get a rise out of me. Don’t you?”
“Can I help it if a mysterious oh-so-powerful sorcerer almost always is an indication of an unhappy ending to a tale? Add in an evil Fairy Queen and obligations due for past blessings and gifts and you’re doomed, Albus! Not to mention that your prince is just too pretty to be true.” She yawned like a kitten, showing a pointed pink tongue and tiny sharp teeth. “Or, maybe you’ll be lucky. He does have an enchanting laugh. Anyone truly wicked is unlikely to have such a pleasant laugh.”
“Enough of this one for tonight,” I said, tossing the book across the room. I turned it into a birdlike flying object, which then landed upon the bookshelf near the window. That made her laugh. I tucked the counterpane around her chin and kissed her on the forehead. “Good night, baby girl. Tomorrow night, I pick the story for a change.”
“But first thing tomorrow morning, I want to meet the boy.”
“We’ll see,” I said. She had not wanted to meet anyone new in years. “I thought his strong magic bothered you.”
“I thought it would, but it didn’t. When he comes by tomorrow, I’d like you to introduce me to him.”
“If he comes by tomorrow . . .”
“Oh! He will. Good night, Albus. I love you. Do be careful.”
The following morning, I woke up much earlier than usual. I immediately pumped and heated water for a full bath, filling the large tub on the enclosed back porch. It was such a pleasure not to have to bathe in the kitchen near the cooker like we did in the winter. I hoped I would see Gellert again later in the day and laughed a little at myself at how important it had become to me that I should look and smell good when I did see him. I blushed to think of how I had been unable the day before to take my eyes off his mouth; how I yearned to touch those curls of molten gold that framed his elfin face.
I had just begun to towel off when I heard someone knocking on the door. Ariana would be unbearable in her triumphalism I thought to have predicted correctly that Gellert would come by in the morning. Grateful that I had brought a dressing gown along with me, I shrugged into it and belted it around my waist. Since Ariana never answered the door, I would have to scramble lest he should think no one was home and leave.
Then, I heard her speaking. “Please come in. Albus is finishing his bath, but he won’t be long. I am making breakfast. Do you like sausage?”
“Who doesn’t?” Gellert asked with enthusiasm. “You must be Albus’s sister. My aunt told me about you, but I got the impression that you were a little girl. But you are quite the young lady. I presume you have guessed that I am Gellert Grindelwald, Professor Bagshot’s nephew and house guest.”
“Albus did not tell me your name. I spotted you yesterday from our window. I am glad that you are here. There is no one in Godric’s Hollow to keep him company. He was going to travel on the continent with his friend Elphias Doge.” Her merry jumble of words ceased suddenly. She began again in a softer voice, “But then we lost our mother . . .”
After a few moments of silence, I heard a chair move. Gellert must have been sitting at the table already. His voice took on a gentleness that I had not heard in it yet.
“Aunt Bathilda told me. Please accept my condolences. I lost both of my parents also. I understand how hard it must be for you.”
There was nothing to be done about my wet hair and lack of day clothes. I opened the kitchen door and walked through. The best way to face a loss of dignity is to hold one’s head up and confront it directly. “Good morning, Gellert. I see that you have met my sister.”
His face transformed from gentle concern to merriment in an instant. I would learn that there was almost always a hint of laughter behind his bright blue eyes when they met mine.
“I am sorry to have come so early. I’ve interrupted your morning routine,” he said, sounding not in the least sorry. My chest clenched at his beauty. I thought I had exaggerated the memory of it as I fell asleep the night before, picturing his regular features, the golden tangle of curls falling over his collar.
I smiled.
Gellert laughed. He allowed himself to give me a bold up and down survey as though he could see right through my damp dressing gown, was assessing what he saw, and liking it. “If you wish, I can leave and come back later. Or better still, I can stay here and help your pretty sister prepare your breakfast while you go and dress.”
Ariana giggled and tossed her auburn hair without an ounce of self-consciousness as though accepting meaningless compliments from handsome young men was as natural to her as breathing.
“Run along and get dressed, Albus,” she said. “I am starving and I am sure Gellert is also.”
One of the many things that Gellert did well was to make Ariana happy. Instead of moping about or falling into one of her depressive or violent fits, she smiled more often than not. She ate breakfast with us in the mornings and then ran off to sit on the hillside and look down upon the village below us as she sketched or read one of her clichéd books of knights and princes and dragons. Ironically, she often left us with the remark, “I will leave you boys to your silly books now.”
Now I suspect that my little sister perceived with uncanny wisdom, that although our tools appeared to be weighty tomes by Great Thinkers among Muggles and Wizards alike, our discussions that summer were no further from the realm of fantasy than her story books. She saw two disaffected, infatuated boys playing at being men.
Once during that first week, when it seemed to me that Gellert’s flirtatious teasing of her had gone a bit too far, I confronted him. I hoped against hope that my motivation truly was to protect my little sister and not that I was simply jealous that she so often garnered Gellert’s attention.
“Remember that she is only fourteen years old, Gellert! And that her disabilities have kept her isolated,” I had snapped.
“Merlin’s flea-ridden beard, Albus! I had thought surely you of all people had figured out by now that everyone’s sisters, pretty young wives and sweethearts are safe with me. That is not where my appetites lie.”
I blushed painfully at his words, feeling an utter fool. He laughed at me. “I think perhaps Ariana is not the only one in this family who has been sheltered from the big, wide world.” Despite my mortification, my heart soared with hope. Perhaps I did have a chance with Gellert myself.
When I thought of Aberforth returning at the end of the term, a date that approached with dizzying speed, I already mourned. Although I felt guilty about not welcoming my brother home with fervor, I regretted more that his return would upset our newly established habits. Gellert was exactly the type of arrogant, dismissive, sure of himself young man that Aberforth particularly disliked.
The type was common enough at Hogwarts in my schools days, heavily weighted as its population was with the elite pureblood families of Wizarding Britain. Then, like now, every child born with magic received a letter of acceptance. But only those who were not expected to help support their families were free to go. Hence, the population included many fewer Muggle-born Wizards or those of limited means and a larger percentage of the wealthier old families. Even those with a long association with magic, did not always understand the value of a Hogwarts education.
We spent long mornings hiking up into the hills surrounding the Hollow. Gellert asked endless questions about the customs and politics of Wizarding Britain. His disdain for Muggles had been honed to a sharp edge. In those days, I looked down upon my non-Magical neighbors as unfortunates rather than disliking them. Godric’s Hollow had been a mixed community for centuries. In theory, we observed the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. But memories are long in a place like Godric’s Hollow, even with liberal usage of Obliviate. Intermarriages occurred more frequently than in other locations.
I had read too many books of natural science and literature to casually dismiss the unique talents of non-Magical scholars and scientists. I had a subscription to the local lending library, run by a likeable middle-aged Muggle, with a sense of humor and sharp wit. I enjoyed the Sunday evening Muggle concerts at the bandstand in the square.
Gellert himself was pleasant enough in his regular encounters in the village with the local non-Magical populace. He flirted with the daughter of the greengrocer and spoke German to the immigrant butcher, a good-natured if not overly intelligent man. There was nothing in Gellert’s demeanor that screamed “bigot” or “extremist.” It was the enforced secrecy that nettled him and what he considered to be the unreasoning prejudice against magic upon which he poured his scorn.
“Why should we be defensive about who we are?” he would argue. “Clearly, we are genetically superior.” (I always squirmed at that remark. People have no more control over their magic or the lack of it than they do over their eye color.) “Muggles should be honored to have the opportunity to collaborate with those with Magical powers, instead of ignorantly fearing and persecuting us. It is not the Middle-ages! It is nearly the twentieth century!”
I chafed as much as he did at the necessity of keeping the most essential aspects of myself a secret. I envisioned a world where magic and science could be combined to the greatest advantage of all. I honestly do not recall which of us came up with the expression, “For the greater good.” It sounds like something I could have thought of at the time.
“Can you image a world without hunger, poverty, or disease? Where no child is ill-treated or denied an education? ” I asked, impassioned at the idea that there was another Wizard who had the imagination and desire to confront stodgy, old prejudices.
“Education is paramount. Ignorance is vile,” he said. “And the logical extension of eliminating disease is to discover how to master death. I am trying to recall the details of the English tale of the Deathly Hallows. I am sure you must remember it?” I snorted it at that. Every child knew that story.
Charming though it could be at times, Gellert’s penchant for carrying everything to extremes often irritated me, even in those early days. I could not resist responding, “I think the moral of that tale is that very bad things happen when one seeks to master death.”
“Don’t be such straitlaced moralizer, Albus. Think for yourself. Such magic is not wrong in and of itself. The relevant question is: used by whom and to what purpose!”
Chapter 3 here: http://heartofoshun.livejournal.com/296793.html
Author: Oshun (heartofoshun)
Rating: Eventually reaches an R (this chapter PG-13)
Word Count: 15,411 in five chapters; this chapter 2,785.
Artists: fabledtruant, ghostangel; see ghostangel's art work here: http://grindeldorebb.livejournal.com/6777.html (I'll make a prettier link tomorrow.) [Will include other links to artwork when I receive them.]
Fanmixer: queenofthebobs Find the the mix here.
Extraordinary Beta: ignoblebard; he is my "go to" man! Thank you so much, my friend!
Summary: This is the story of how Dumbledore meets, falls in love with and loses Grindelwald. Pure canon (very close anyway, if one includes book verse, JKR interviews and my own relentless extrapolation!), which means it cannot have a happy ending. All and all I hope projects the old adage that it is better to have loved and lost than never loved at all. Teaser: ”Magic like his is a marvel that I have only encountered a few times in my life and that was my first experience. I had no defense against it. My own magic strained and buzzed beneath my skin in a barely controllable response.”
[Apologies in advance that this thing is taking forever to post. Will fill in links to future chapters as I post.]
Chapter 2 - Got On Like A House Afire
“You can come down now,” I shouted up the staircase. “They’ve gone.”
“Oh, Albus!” Ariana giggled in the most exasperating way, skipping down the staircase. She threw her hand across her forehead dramatically, flinging her head to one side. “It is you, oh my prince! The Wizard of my dreams!” She snorted, before dropping her melodramatic tone and assuming her normal tone of voice. “You should see your face.”
“What is wrong with my face?” I managed to choke out, my cheeks on fire.
“Albus! Albus! Albus! You are in love!” she squealed. “I was watching through the railing for most of the time they were here. He is even prettier up close than he was coming up the garden path. And, if it’s any comfort, he’s smitten with you as well. You are a handsome lad yourself, big brother. It is a shame that there is something not quite right about him.”
“You do go on and on,” I protested, trying to cover my embarrassment with bluster.
“I’m just a girl, but I realize you do need company. Aberforth, as much as I love him, is not someone who will ever satisfy your desire for discussion of theories of magic or with whom you can share your love of books. As long as you understand this Gellert boy is no more normal than I am. He will never be able to love you the way you want to be loved. But people like him need love too.”
I did not want to listen to what I thought were her muddled impressions. I wanted with all the intensity of my young heart to believe she was simply reciting some silly nonsense from a romance novel of the kind my mother hid behind her best china on the top shelves of the kitchen cupboard. Ariana had months earlier excavated all of those and read them.
“What makes you think I would look to another boy for that kind of love?” The question was sincere on my part. I needed to know where Ariana got her notions. Could it be that I was the kind of invert who calls attention to himself, the sort that people could identify at a glance?
“Oh, am I wrong?” she said, innocent as a babe, eyes wide and curious, as she clapped a hand over her mouth.
“No. You are not wrong. But there are those in our society who do not approve of such liaisons.”
“I knew that,” she said, but the almost imperceptible quaver in her voice indicated that she indeed had not known. “I suppose that will have to be just one more in a long list of Dumbledore family secrets. But I do not think that he is afraid of people knowing what he likes.”
“Good for him,” I said. The words popping out of my mouth before I had even realized what she had said. “Are you saying that you think he is interested in other boys in that way?”
“He was flirting with you, Albus! Don’t deny it. You know he was.”
I had thought that he might be, but had been afraid to believe it. Once again, I thought that this might turn out to be a very interesting summer after all.
** ** ** ** ** ** **
“The Perfect Prince” was Ariana’s choice for her fairytale that night. A powerful sorcerer named Titiritero had begged the King and Queen to give him their lovely only child Lucinda as a bride for the Prince of Fairyland. There was a long complicated part about how the malicious Titiritero owed tribute to a cruel and callous Fairy Queen. Lucinda’s family refused at first to relinquish their only offspring. Then Titiritero reminded them that he had protected and enchanted their kingdom for years, giving it peace and plenty beyond that of all its neighbors. Finally, the sorcerer proposed a compromise. He would bring the Fairy Prince to meet Lucinda and if she fell in love with the Prince, they would promise to reconsider the match.
Obviously, the Prince was blond and beautiful, with large indigo eyes. Apparently, Titiritero had, in cooperation with the Queen of Fairy, bestowed upon this perfect Prince every possible charm and grace of body or mind. He was equally handsome rested or tired. He could dress in rags or the finest of jewels, velvet and furs and still fascinate Lucinda. In short the Prince was perfectly irresistible!
Ariana continued to look up at me with a wicked, knowing smirk, trying to look guiltless.
I thought she was up to something. “Do you know this story already?” I asked.
“I never read it before or heard it told,” she said, mischief glinting in her eyes. “I do have a feeling it does not have a happy ending.”
Still suspicious, I wrinkled my forehead at her. “Oh?”
“I think it is an omen. Foreshadowing or something. What are the chances that I would pick this story tonight out of all the books on the shelves?”
“Don’t be silly, Ariana. What are you nattering about?” I knew, of course, what she was thinking. The perfect prince was Gellert. The sorcerer was old lady Bagshot and I was the besotted Lucinda. That was the way her mind worked. “What rubbish!” I barked. “You know exactly how to get a rise out of me. Don’t you?”
“Can I help it if a mysterious oh-so-powerful sorcerer almost always is an indication of an unhappy ending to a tale? Add in an evil Fairy Queen and obligations due for past blessings and gifts and you’re doomed, Albus! Not to mention that your prince is just too pretty to be true.” She yawned like a kitten, showing a pointed pink tongue and tiny sharp teeth. “Or, maybe you’ll be lucky. He does have an enchanting laugh. Anyone truly wicked is unlikely to have such a pleasant laugh.”
“Enough of this one for tonight,” I said, tossing the book across the room. I turned it into a birdlike flying object, which then landed upon the bookshelf near the window. That made her laugh. I tucked the counterpane around her chin and kissed her on the forehead. “Good night, baby girl. Tomorrow night, I pick the story for a change.”
“But first thing tomorrow morning, I want to meet the boy.”
“We’ll see,” I said. She had not wanted to meet anyone new in years. “I thought his strong magic bothered you.”
“I thought it would, but it didn’t. When he comes by tomorrow, I’d like you to introduce me to him.”
“If he comes by tomorrow . . .”
“Oh! He will. Good night, Albus. I love you. Do be careful.”
The following morning, I woke up much earlier than usual. I immediately pumped and heated water for a full bath, filling the large tub on the enclosed back porch. It was such a pleasure not to have to bathe in the kitchen near the cooker like we did in the winter. I hoped I would see Gellert again later in the day and laughed a little at myself at how important it had become to me that I should look and smell good when I did see him. I blushed to think of how I had been unable the day before to take my eyes off his mouth; how I yearned to touch those curls of molten gold that framed his elfin face.
I had just begun to towel off when I heard someone knocking on the door. Ariana would be unbearable in her triumphalism I thought to have predicted correctly that Gellert would come by in the morning. Grateful that I had brought a dressing gown along with me, I shrugged into it and belted it around my waist. Since Ariana never answered the door, I would have to scramble lest he should think no one was home and leave.
Then, I heard her speaking. “Please come in. Albus is finishing his bath, but he won’t be long. I am making breakfast. Do you like sausage?”
“Who doesn’t?” Gellert asked with enthusiasm. “You must be Albus’s sister. My aunt told me about you, but I got the impression that you were a little girl. But you are quite the young lady. I presume you have guessed that I am Gellert Grindelwald, Professor Bagshot’s nephew and house guest.”
“Albus did not tell me your name. I spotted you yesterday from our window. I am glad that you are here. There is no one in Godric’s Hollow to keep him company. He was going to travel on the continent with his friend Elphias Doge.” Her merry jumble of words ceased suddenly. She began again in a softer voice, “But then we lost our mother . . .”
After a few moments of silence, I heard a chair move. Gellert must have been sitting at the table already. His voice took on a gentleness that I had not heard in it yet.
“Aunt Bathilda told me. Please accept my condolences. I lost both of my parents also. I understand how hard it must be for you.”
There was nothing to be done about my wet hair and lack of day clothes. I opened the kitchen door and walked through. The best way to face a loss of dignity is to hold one’s head up and confront it directly. “Good morning, Gellert. I see that you have met my sister.”
His face transformed from gentle concern to merriment in an instant. I would learn that there was almost always a hint of laughter behind his bright blue eyes when they met mine.
“I am sorry to have come so early. I’ve interrupted your morning routine,” he said, sounding not in the least sorry. My chest clenched at his beauty. I thought I had exaggerated the memory of it as I fell asleep the night before, picturing his regular features, the golden tangle of curls falling over his collar.
I smiled.
Gellert laughed. He allowed himself to give me a bold up and down survey as though he could see right through my damp dressing gown, was assessing what he saw, and liking it. “If you wish, I can leave and come back later. Or better still, I can stay here and help your pretty sister prepare your breakfast while you go and dress.”
Ariana giggled and tossed her auburn hair without an ounce of self-consciousness as though accepting meaningless compliments from handsome young men was as natural to her as breathing.
“Run along and get dressed, Albus,” she said. “I am starving and I am sure Gellert is also.”
One of the many things that Gellert did well was to make Ariana happy. Instead of moping about or falling into one of her depressive or violent fits, she smiled more often than not. She ate breakfast with us in the mornings and then ran off to sit on the hillside and look down upon the village below us as she sketched or read one of her clichéd books of knights and princes and dragons. Ironically, she often left us with the remark, “I will leave you boys to your silly books now.”
Now I suspect that my little sister perceived with uncanny wisdom, that although our tools appeared to be weighty tomes by Great Thinkers among Muggles and Wizards alike, our discussions that summer were no further from the realm of fantasy than her story books. She saw two disaffected, infatuated boys playing at being men.
Once during that first week, when it seemed to me that Gellert’s flirtatious teasing of her had gone a bit too far, I confronted him. I hoped against hope that my motivation truly was to protect my little sister and not that I was simply jealous that she so often garnered Gellert’s attention.
“Remember that she is only fourteen years old, Gellert! And that her disabilities have kept her isolated,” I had snapped.
“Merlin’s flea-ridden beard, Albus! I had thought surely you of all people had figured out by now that everyone’s sisters, pretty young wives and sweethearts are safe with me. That is not where my appetites lie.”
I blushed painfully at his words, feeling an utter fool. He laughed at me. “I think perhaps Ariana is not the only one in this family who has been sheltered from the big, wide world.” Despite my mortification, my heart soared with hope. Perhaps I did have a chance with Gellert myself.
When I thought of Aberforth returning at the end of the term, a date that approached with dizzying speed, I already mourned. Although I felt guilty about not welcoming my brother home with fervor, I regretted more that his return would upset our newly established habits. Gellert was exactly the type of arrogant, dismissive, sure of himself young man that Aberforth particularly disliked.
The type was common enough at Hogwarts in my schools days, heavily weighted as its population was with the elite pureblood families of Wizarding Britain. Then, like now, every child born with magic received a letter of acceptance. But only those who were not expected to help support their families were free to go. Hence, the population included many fewer Muggle-born Wizards or those of limited means and a larger percentage of the wealthier old families. Even those with a long association with magic, did not always understand the value of a Hogwarts education.
We spent long mornings hiking up into the hills surrounding the Hollow. Gellert asked endless questions about the customs and politics of Wizarding Britain. His disdain for Muggles had been honed to a sharp edge. In those days, I looked down upon my non-Magical neighbors as unfortunates rather than disliking them. Godric’s Hollow had been a mixed community for centuries. In theory, we observed the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. But memories are long in a place like Godric’s Hollow, even with liberal usage of Obliviate. Intermarriages occurred more frequently than in other locations.
I had read too many books of natural science and literature to casually dismiss the unique talents of non-Magical scholars and scientists. I had a subscription to the local lending library, run by a likeable middle-aged Muggle, with a sense of humor and sharp wit. I enjoyed the Sunday evening Muggle concerts at the bandstand in the square.
Gellert himself was pleasant enough in his regular encounters in the village with the local non-Magical populace. He flirted with the daughter of the greengrocer and spoke German to the immigrant butcher, a good-natured if not overly intelligent man. There was nothing in Gellert’s demeanor that screamed “bigot” or “extremist.” It was the enforced secrecy that nettled him and what he considered to be the unreasoning prejudice against magic upon which he poured his scorn.
“Why should we be defensive about who we are?” he would argue. “Clearly, we are genetically superior.” (I always squirmed at that remark. People have no more control over their magic or the lack of it than they do over their eye color.) “Muggles should be honored to have the opportunity to collaborate with those with Magical powers, instead of ignorantly fearing and persecuting us. It is not the Middle-ages! It is nearly the twentieth century!”
I chafed as much as he did at the necessity of keeping the most essential aspects of myself a secret. I envisioned a world where magic and science could be combined to the greatest advantage of all. I honestly do not recall which of us came up with the expression, “For the greater good.” It sounds like something I could have thought of at the time.
“Can you image a world without hunger, poverty, or disease? Where no child is ill-treated or denied an education? ” I asked, impassioned at the idea that there was another Wizard who had the imagination and desire to confront stodgy, old prejudices.
“Education is paramount. Ignorance is vile,” he said. “And the logical extension of eliminating disease is to discover how to master death. I am trying to recall the details of the English tale of the Deathly Hallows. I am sure you must remember it?” I snorted it at that. Every child knew that story.
Charming though it could be at times, Gellert’s penchant for carrying everything to extremes often irritated me, even in those early days. I could not resist responding, “I think the moral of that tale is that very bad things happen when one seeks to master death.”
“Don’t be such straitlaced moralizer, Albus. Think for yourself. Such magic is not wrong in and of itself. The relevant question is: used by whom and to what purpose!”
Chapter 3 here: http://heartofoshun.livejournal.com/296793.html