Jadem das Seine, nc-17, Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Harry/Draco

[wizsprogs]

Author: kinky_kneazle
Title: Jedem das Seine
Characters/Pairings: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Historical prejudice, including homophobia and anti-semitism. Also, please note, I've made an attempt to portray both Hitler and Nazism in the way it would have seemed to people living in Germany in the 1930s. Albus was shown the regime by someone who was a believer, which means he got the propaganda. This picture does get balanced eventually, but Nazism is presented to Albus in a positive light. The story focuses more on the persecution of homosexuals under the regime, rather than the persecution of the Jewish people. This is not, in any way, meant to minimise what happened to Jewish people under Nazism; it is only a reflection of which part of the persecution touched Albus personally.
Word Count: 24,200
Prompt: #16 One day, a witch/wizard turns up at Albus' door, telling him they're his child and that their other father is Gellert Grindelwald. Dumbledore knows of no such thing ever happening, so he begins investigating. He finds out that he's been Obliviated masterfully years (or decades, depending on when you want this to play) ago. The memories can be restored, and once they are, he remembers everything. Your choice which of them was pregnant :) Tweaked very minimally. (You'll see how.)
Summary: Harry's pregnant and alone and really, this is just another way he's a freak. At least that's what he thinks until he finds a box that contains his great-grandfather's story.
Notes: Many thanks to the people who listened to me and continued to encourage me as I wrote this. It involved a lot of research, most of which was ... I'm not sure I have words. Heart-breaking comes to mind. Confronting. All of those things. Special thanks to curiouslyfic for convincing me to write this in the first place, pushing me when it got too hard, then beta-ing at the end. This fic would not exist without her. Also thanks to my dad, even though he'll never read this, for helping with my German. Hopefully his translations aren't that bad despite not being in Germany for 25 years.

The title of this work means, literally, 'to each his own'. Figuratively it translates to 'everyone gets what he deserves'. This was embedded in the main entrance gate of Ettersberg concentration camp, which was later renamed Buchenwald.



"Congratulations, Mr Potter."

Harry managed to look up through the haze of nausea at the woman who was smiling so cheerily at him. Was she insane?

"Congratulations for what? Managing not to vomit during the course of this examination?"

Healer Doolas handed him a cup of tea. Harry sipped it gratefully, stopping when he realized it was some strange herbal concoction that tasted like something Luna would drink, then taking another mouthful as he realized his stomach was settled for the first time in over a week. He looked up questioningly.

"It's ginger tea, Mr Potter. It will help with the morning sickness."

"Morning sickness?"

"Yes." She knelt beside him, taking his hand in what Harry was sure was meant to be a comforting gesture. "A lot of new mothers - well, fathers in your case - feel a bit like this when they find out, so I need you to listen closely to me. Harry Potter. Congratulations. You're pregnant."

Harry heard a buzzing in his ears, and his vision started to fog at the edges. He used sheer stubbornness to push the weakness away and tune back in to what the Healer was saying.

"… very rare, of course, and normally genetic. One would normally see other male pregnancies in the family tree, though I don't recall the Potters ever having that particular gift. It was always rare in England; normally seen on the continent. And your mother was a Muggle, of course."

"Of course," Harry mumbled.

"I guess you're just special, Mr Potter."

Harry grunted. He hated being special.

"And who knows? Maybe this will start a new line of males able to get pregnant. Won't that be exciting?"

Harry was not at all sure it would be exciting. Why the hell did no one tell him it was possible for him to get pregnant? If he'd known that he would have been more careful; if he'd known he wouldn't have let Malfoy give him a farewell fuck before he went to celebrate his engagement to a beautiful and cold woman who could provide him with an heir. Merlin, Draco.

"You won't tell, will you?" he asked, interrupting the Healer's theory that the story of Aphrodite's birth was a Muggle explanation of male pregnancy.

"Of course not. You're my patient, and this is confidential. Mr Potter -" she hesitated for a moment - "I trained as a midwife before I became a Healer. I can stay as your Healer if you like. So you don't need to see anyone else."

"That - I'd appreciate that." He smiled as she patted his hand. "I guess you should call me Harry, then."

"You can call me Althaia."

Althaia rescheduled her next two appointments and she and Harry went through everything from his stress levels to correct pre-natal diet and the necessary potion supplements he would need.

"Male pregnancy is tough, Harry," she said tentatively. "You can't do this alone."

"I have close friends. They'll come through for me. And I have you now."

"I meant energetically. From what I remember, pregnant males often get very drained of magic. They don't only need help around the house, but also magic fed to them, for want of a better word. The," she hesitated, then finally came out and said it. "The other father usually has the most compatible magic."

"Are you trying to ask where my partner is?"

"I was trying to be subtle, but I'm your healer. We're going to have to have a no bullshit relationship through this."

"Well, no bullshit, he's not in the picture, and my magic will have to be enough for the bub." He suddenly felt tears well, even though he'd told himself he was done crying over the ferret. "I need to go."

"Of course." Althaia looked concerned. "It's the hormones, Harry, so don't feel bad for getting teary."

"I'm not."

"Feeling bad?"

"Getting teary. See you in a couple of weeks."

"I'll look forward to it. If you need anything before that, just let me know."

Harry Flooed home and collapsed onto the couch, letting the tears flow freely now. It was worse, of course, on the couch, since that was their spot. There was a cushion that still held the faint scent of expensive cologne. The seat held the contours of two bodies from where they lay so often in each other's arms. This was where they'd shared their first kiss, where he'd first confessed his love, where he'd said good-bye.

It was where they'd had that good-bye fuck.

It had been three months since they'd ... well, broken up was likely the best word, though since Draco had insisted on keeping their relationship secret Harry didn't like to say there really was one.

He shouldn't be thinking about it. He stood and made his way to the kitchen, suddenly ravenous in a pattern that had been repeating through the last few weeks. But the methodical chopping of vegetables and stir-frying beef just allowed his brain to think again. Think of a friendship he hadn't expected and the way it had turned to something more. Sitting on that damned couch laughing about some thing that had happened at work when suddenly he was breathless and Draco's face was too close.

He forced himself to think of the bad things instead. The sneaking around. The arguments. Sneering at each other when they passed in the street instead of reaching out to touch.

The feeling of his heart breaking when he read the prat's engagement notice with not a bit of prior warning.

It was no use. Moping around the house feeling miserable was doing nothing except make him feel, well, miserable. And a little ill. He needed someone to talk to.

He scribbled a note to Hermione and attached it to his owl. Two words. 'I'm pregnant'. He rushed to the bathroom seconds after sending Matilda off.


Harry was back on the couch with a damp cloth over his eyes when Hermione finally stepped through the Floo.

"What took you so long?" he asked without looking up.

"I thought I'd better be prepared." There was a familiar thud on the coffee table beside him and Harry knew it was a large pile of books being dropped. It was a sound he would always associate with Hermione. "So, do you want to hear what I found out, or do you want to tell me about it?"

"What you found out."

"Okay. But you'll be talking to me after."

Harry didn't bother arguing; they'd been through this before and after his spectacular breakdown in eighth year she no longer allowed him to bottle up his emotions.

She took a deep breath as if gathering her thoughts then her natural enthusiasm for knowledge came through. "It's fascinating, Harry. I found a book about male pregnancy in particular, though you may need to find a translation charm, and there's a copy of 'What to Expect When You're Expecting' in there as well, but the interesting thing is the history, don't you think?"

"I might if I knew it."

"Of course. Sorry. Are you feeling alright? We could save this for another time."

"No." Harry pulled the cloth from his eyes and turned to look at her. "Tell me everything."

"Well, the first pregnant male was rumoured to live at the time of Merlin."

"Was it Merlin?"

"No. The man's name is lost, but he was from the Mediterranean region, around Greece. The legend is that his mother fell in love with a Sea Centaur and fell pregnant. Sea Centaurs, like their non-magical cousins the seahorse, have males carrying children, not females. When the woman gave birth, her son seemed like any other wizard child, but when he took a male lover, he fell pregnant. The gene has, until this time, only been known in that family."

"So, once again, I'm special."

"Yes, apparently. I mean, it's possible one of your Potter relatives had an affair with this family, but there have been no previous pregnancies in your line. And your mother was a Muggle, so it couldn't have come from there. In the Muggle world this would be a 'spontaneous genetic mutation'. I suppose with you it's a spontaneous magical mutation."

"Anything I should know about the actual pregnancy?"

"There's not a lot of information, since the family in question kept all their records to themselves and were the only ones affected. There is an account of one of the other fathers from the seventeenth century that seems to suggest that the pregnancy proceeds much the same way as a female pregnancy. And I'm sure your healer will come up with a plan for the birth."

"We'll figure it out as we go, then?"

"Just like we always do, Harry."

"Could I ask the family for help? The ones with the pregnant men?"

"Well, their pregnancies might be different, having a different genesis. And the last member of the family died during the war. I'm sorry, Harry."

"Oh. Which family? Who was it?"

Hermione looked like she really didn't want to answer that question. "Gellert Grindelwald," she finally said.

"Something in common with another Dark Lord, huh?" Embarrassingly, he felt tears sting his eyes.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said and she quickly gathered him in his arms. "Is it that upsetting?"

"Everything sets me off these days."

"Well, Grindelwald never had a child, it was just that family. His cousin was the son of two men, but Grindelwald killed him, leaving him as the last of the family. Perhaps the Potters will be the new family where men are able to bear children. The family Potter-..." She trailed off, obviously waiting for Harry to fill in the blank.

"Just Potter. The other father isn't... He's no longer in the picture."

Hermione stood and walked to the freezer, coming back with a tub of ice-cream she'd obviously secreted in there when she'd first arrived. "Tell me everything."

Harry grabbed a spoon and his favourite strawberry-choc chunk from Fortescue's and settled back onto the couch. Then he snorted in laughter. "He left me because he needed to provide an heir. Two years and he walks away because he wants a kid. And a month and a half later I'm puking my guts up because I'm carrying his baby."

"Two years?"

Harry felt his eyes go wide. He hadn't meant to say that bit.

"I thought it was a one night stand. I didn't even know you were seeing somebody."

"Yeah, sorry about that. We wanted to keep it secret."

"You mean he wanted to keep it secret."

Harry did mean that, but he didn't want to say it. It felt disloyal somehow. Still, he nodded reluctantly.

"Harry, if he wanted to keep you a secret for two whole years, then he's not worth your tears."

"But I'm having his baby," Harry said and suddenly the tears were back and Harry let himself accept Hermione's comfort.


Even as he poured his tears out onto Hermione's blouse, he was careful to not mention Draco's name, which was why, two weeks later, he had no one to turn to when he was hit with a picture of he and Astoria in the Daily Prophet. Astoria looked smug, an oversized diamond on her finger. Draco looked drawn, his face pointier than Harry remembered it and a hard look in his eyes. Harry traced the picture with his finger and the eyes softened for a moment before Astoria tugged on his arm and Draco pasted a fake smile on his face once more as he greeted other rich purebloods at the theatre.

Harry wound up bent over the loo once again, annoyed as he'd already thrown up once that morning. He had an appointment with Althaia that day and mentioned it to her.

"It's stress, Harry. And not enough magical energy for both of you. You look terrible, by the way."

"Thanks ever so."

"At a guess, I'd say you're not eating properly and not getting enough sleep and worrying too much about your ex. Am I correct?"

Harry thought for a moment before he reluctantly nodded.

"If you're going to do this by yourself, then you need to relax. For the sake of both you and the baby. Tell me, have you decided where you're going to live? Started making plans for telling your friends and organising paternity leave? What about childcare?"

"Those sorts of questions are supposed to ease my stress?"

"It will make you think about something besides that jerk who left you." Althaia didn't know the name of the other father, but she had definite opinions about him. "Take the rest of today off - I'll write you a note - and check out family friendly houses. Think about what's next for your career. That's doctor's orders, okay?"

"Sure." Harry collected his supply of nutritional potions and walked out the door, waving at Althaia's receptionist as he went. Doctor's orders were to find a family friendly house. The problem was, there was only one place he wanted to raise his family, and that's where he'd been raised. His parents may have died in Godric's Hollow, but it was the only place he knew where his parents had lived. It was the only place he felt a connection to them.

He could still Apparate until the end of his second trimester, so Harry did, heading straight to the ruin at Godric's Hollow. He didn't know why he hadn't visited before; after the war he had been so distracted by being the Boy-Who-Prevailed and trying to carve out a name for himself that wasn't connected to Voldemort, that he had never really looked beyond seeing that the property was his. Now he stood in front of the ruin that he'd only seen once before during that horrible search for Horcruxes during the war.

In the light of day it seemed somehow smaller. Quieter.

Morbid.

He nudged aside the offerings of flowers and teddy bears that still lined the fence. He could sense the preservation charms and wondered if all these things had been sitting for twenty-five years. A fluffy rabbit caught his eye and he picked it up.

Thank you, Harry, from Ollie Wood, was written in a childish scrawl and seemed to answer his question. He clutched it to his chest. It still looked new and he decided to keep it for the baby. He pushed the gate open, a hand spread protectively over his stomach as if the evil that once happened in the place could infect the baby growing in his stomach.

The garden was overgrown and Harry picked his way through the flourishing weeds and dead daisies. By the door was a rosemary bush that seemed to still be holding its own. The door was hanging off its hinges and he wondered, not for the first time, why he hadn't done this before. Why he had let the place continue in this state of disrepair, even after the war and the rebuilding and the start of his life as an independent adult.

Inside was a mess. There were still scorch marks on the stairs and overturned furniture in the hall. It looked like no one had been in here in years, perhaps not since Hagrid had picked him up before borrowing Sirius' motorbike and flying away to deliver him to the Dursleys.

He picked his way through the debris towards the stairs, trying not to picture how it happened. His memories were too much and not enough at the same time. As he stood in the doorway and looked in at the dining room he could hear his father yelling for his mother to run. The rug on the stairs was bunched and he wondered if his mother had slipped in her flight or if it had happened when Voldemort followed her. Perhaps it was Sirius thundering up the stairs praying with every step that his fears weren't true; that his suggestion to swap secret keepers had not doomed his adopted family.

There was movement in his stomach and he wasn't sure if it was nausea from the memories, or the child inside him trying to remind him that he had lived and a new generation was on its way. He walked away from the stairs, entering a door opposite, and found himself in a play room. This was what he wanted to know. He wanted memories of the life he'd had with his parents, not the death.

This room housed a chest, open and clearly full of toys. A small child's broom stood in the corner beside an adult-size one and he imagined his mother yelling as he and his father did slow turns around the room. There were more stuffed toys here, dozens of them, if he wanted something for his child, and he began packing them into the chest. He would take it back with him; even if he chose not to rebuild here, there would be something of his parents, his childhood for this baby to have. Little Bub Potter was only going to have one parent, so these links were going to be important.

He moved through to the kitchen, seeing a family potion's kit, the ingredients for a bruise balm left on a bench which was clearly put aside for basic brewing. All were dry now. Desiccated. They were stripped of life, and it was probably the pregnancy making him morose, but he rather thought the house was the same.

There was a library beyond the dining room and he was amazed that Dumbledore hadn't boxed all the books up for storage or temporary use at Hogwarts or Order headquarters. The preserving charms were still strong, and the books were dust-free and spared the ravages of the weather and any bookworm infestations.

The desk held a dry inkwell and a quill which may once have been an eagle feather but was now little more than a shaft. Harry sifted through the parchment then bent to the drawers, finding a broken watch, some scissors and biros which had probably belonged to his mother. The bottom drawer held a box with a spare wand and a series of files which seemed to hold old report cards and business reports.

He sat in the leather chair trying to imagine his father sitting there; trying to imagine himself working there, a child on the rug by the fire, playing with blocks or reading a book. He ran his hands over the leather top and shot his chair back as there was a click and the top of the desk rose. There was a compartment, clearly wizard space, that his touch had opened. Perhaps because he was Potter blood? He'd heard of doors and safes being keyed to that thread of magic that came from parents, rather like DNA.

He freed the box and pushed the top of the desk back down. It was carved oak, if he didn't miss his guess, a beautifully detailed phoenix flying across the top which was vaguely reminiscent of Fawkes. He tried to lift the top, but it didn't want to open and there did not seem to be a catch at all. He traced his fingers over the carving and the phoenix moved and nipped at his thumb, a drop of blood seeping into the wood. Then the phoenix flew to the back of the box and a hole appeared.

He picked up the parchment that was resting at the top and wondered what Potter treasure his father had hidden here.

Matthew, it read. I'm sorry that I could not stay in your life, but please know that you are loved. Please keep this box. One of your descendants may one day be able to open it. I hope it will help them. Yours, AD.

Harry thought that was particularly unhelpful. The rest of the box was full of vials of memories. There was no room for doubt in Harry's mind; he had seen so many of them that year with the Headmaster.

AD. That couldn't be Albus Dumbledore, could it? Surely there was more than one AD in the wizarding world. Aberforth, for starters.

He looked around for a Pensieve but could find nothing, so he placed the box carefully in the toy chest and sealed it. He'd look at them once he was home.


Hermione had been there when he got home. Then there was finally dinner at the Weasleys', a day to recover from that harrowing confession, then a day for Althaia to run tests and it was a week before he got a chance to look at the memories.

His Pensieve used to be the Dumbledore's; when Voldemort was confirmed dead it was revealed that the old man had left a codicil in his will and the majority of his possessions had come to Harry. Including the Pensieve where he had once seen Barty Crouch, Jr arrested. Where he had once seen his father being an utter prat.

He put all that out of his mind. He had someone else's memories to look at tonight, though he still had no idea why.

He looked at the row of vials. There had to be an order and he assumed they should be watched from left to right. He poured the first stream of memory into the bowl and pressed his face into the liquid.

:;:

Albus Dumbledore was worried. It seemed that Tom Riddle was unstoppable, and in his hands was a report of yet another death. He pulled a sheet of parchment from his drawer; he was sick of writing these condolence notes. It seemed not a week went by where he did not have to mourn the loss of another young life.

There was a knock on his door and he looked up, surprised. The gargoyle had not warned him that someone was on the stairs.

"Enter!" he called. A familiar red-haired woman poked her head around the door. "Lily. What are you doing here? Is everything alright?"

"I was hoping you had a moment, Headmaster."

"Of course."

He watched the woman waddle in. He smiled, carefully keeping the melancholy from his face. This young woman had been beautiful from the moment she walked in to Hogwarts as a wide-eyed Muggleborn until the moment she walked out, a Head Girl badge on her chest and a certificate clutched in her hand. She was still beautiful, her belly out in front of her, just about ready to pop.

He'd wished for children, once upon a time.

She sat, breathing a sigh of relief as the armchair's magic adjusted to her size and became a recliner, allowing her to put her swollen ankles up.

"What can I help you with, Lily?"

"You could tell me the truth, Sir."

He frowned at her. "The truth? About what?"

"I can't get upset - it's not good for the baby - but I won't allow you to lie to me any longer."

"Lily, I really don't know what you're talking about." He stood and walked closer to her, pressing his warm hand on hers. "Why don't you tell me what's bothering you?"

"You! You're my grandfather! Why didn't you tell me?"

Albus sat heavily on the ground. "That's impossible," he said. "It's not possible."

"You didn't know?"

Albus looked up at the red-haired woman and suddenly saw something familiar about her. Something in the shape of her face that made him think of Ariana. He shook his head. "I've never -" He stopped, trying to gather his thoughts. "I know it is something of a taboo in the Muggle world, so I hope you won't judge me. I'm homosexual, Lily. I have never lain with a woman. It is simply not possible for me to be your grandfather. My brother, perhaps -"

"No. It's you. I can show you, if you like."

Albus nodded and accepted her hand up. She drew him towards the fireplace and threw in the Floo powder. The fire flared green and he thought of her eyes, of flickering flame shining through the green.

They were suddenly so familiar, those eyes. They brought to mind a boy that he'd once known.

"Potter Manor," Lily said and Albus followed her through.

The old house was almost bare and there were half-packed boxes strewn about.

"You're moving?"

"This place is too big for just us. And after what happened to James' parents..."

Albus nodded. He didn't need to hear anything else. James had been remarkably close to his parents, and arriving for a visit to see the Dark Mark floating above this house, to find his parents posed in death for greatest impact, was sure to still be eating at his mind, even a year on.

"We're just waiting to find somewhere to move."

Albus wondered, for a moment, if his house in Godric's Hollow would suit, but pushed that to the back of his mind. There would be time for that after he'd eased this young woman's mind; it was not possible that he was her grandfather.

"The lines on the Potter tapestry start forming when the child is still in the womb. James wanted to show me, and we noticed - well. You'll see."

Albus frowned. The Potter tapestry was a very tricky piece of magic. All the ancient houses had one, most created when the families still lived in castles and the women of the house would sit and spin magic in front of the hearth creating moving images, protective tunics and family trees that would show every important connection.

He followed Lily through the entrance hall towards the library, remembering the way through meetings with Potters past. The tapestry had always hung in an antechamber, there for the children to explore as they wanted to know about their past, and for new parents to point to with pride as the names of their heirs appeared in golden thread, just as James apparently had.

The library was empty and sheets covered the furniture, but Lily walked straight through until they stood, staring at the tapestry that covered three walls. Lily put a hand on her belly, rubbing absently as she took a deep breath, as if searching for strength. Then she walked straight towards the far corner. Albus followed, feeling somehow fearful about what was to come. Lily was not one to get hysterical. For all that pregnancy played with a woman's hormones, Lily would not have come to him unless she was very sure that she was his descendant. Whatever trick this was, whatever evil was being played out, he had a feeling it would not be so easy to sort out.

He walked slowly to where Lily stood and looked at the names she pointed to. Boy Potter was picked out in neat writing. Above that was James Potter and Lily Potter (nee Evans) as expected. James' branch stretched back into the wider tree to his parents and grandparents and the great-grandparents who had been at school with Albus, but Lily's branch was a surprise. Usually these trees would not record the parents of Muggleborns, just that they married into the family. However, a vine wrapped around Lily's name and stretched up.

Albus adjusted his glasses and bent to look more closely. Mathias Evans - Jane Evans (nee Smith). The names were only familiar due to the normal interactions a Headmaster had with students - letters home mainly, with Lily it was the congratulations that she had been made Prefect, and then Head Girl. The vine circled Lily's father's name and stretched up again and Albus felt his heart squeezing and his brain begin to go fuzzy.

In the space where the man's mother should be was a name he was horribly familiar with. Gellert Grindelwald. And joined with a broken line was Mathias Evans' father.

Albus Dumbledore.


When Albus' eyes next opened he was lying on a sheet-covered chaise beside a roaring fire. Lily's green eyes were wide with concern and now he knew why they'd seemed so familiar. Although he could never remember Gellert's showing anything close to concern, the colour was identical. The vibrant green was the colour of the killing curse. It had always been a point of pride with Gellert.

He let his eyes roam over the rest of the girl's face. Part of him wanted to deny the tapestry's claim, but now that he knew the connection it was impossible to deny. She was a Dumbledore, from the auburn hair that was the same colour as his had been in his youth, to the heart-shaped face that reminded him so much of his little sister. She pursed her lips as she looked down at him, and it was his mother coming through. In fact, the only thing she seemed to have inherited from the man who must have carried her father was those brilliant green eyes.

"You didn't know," she said, and he shook his head although it had not been a question. "How could you not? A pregnant man is not easy to miss. And then you fought the man. Defeated him. You've forgotten that you once slept with your most hated enemy?"

He closed his eyes at that. Most hated enemy. Even just after it happened, when he was at his lowest and his anger seemed to consume him, he would never have described Gellert thus. And before, when Ariana was still alive, well... "I loved him once."

Lily's eyes grew wide and she lost her balance, landing heavily on her rear.

"Are you alright, my dear?"

"You loved Gellert Grindelwald?"

"Are you surprised that I was once young enough to love, or that I loved that man?"

"That man, of course. He was evil."

"He was once just a boy, very similar to me."

"And you knocked him up?"

He frowned at her. "I didn't knock anyone up. Not unless your father is eighty years old. We had a falling out around the turn of the century and I didn't see him again until I defeated him. I know what the tapestry says, but I cannot see how it's possible."

"The tapestry doesn't lie."

"I have a son?"

"Had. I'm sorry, Headmaster, my father died in a car crash last year."

"But there is you. And you have a sister."

"Half-sister. My mother's daughter from her first marriage. She was older than Daddy."

"So it's just you and me?"

"And Harry."

"Harry?"

She put her hand on her belly and he smiled. "Harry's a good name. A strong name."

"James likes it. So does the bub," she said with a laugh, and she grabbed his hand and held it against the stretched skin where he felt a solid thump.

He felt a smile stretch his face, then fade once more. "You certainly have the look of the Dumbledores. You look remarkably like my sister, though your eyes. You have Gellert's eyes." She looked away from him. "I just wish I knew how this happened. Are you sure your father isn't eighty?"

"No. He was barely twenty when I was born. Only forty when he died."

"I'm sorry, Lily. If I'd known ..." He remembered now that she'd lost her mother while still at school. She and James were very much alone.

"Sir, there was a box. Among my father's things." Albus watched her walk to the desk and activate the lock. The lid shot up and she lifted a small wooden chest from the cavity and brought it towards him. It was immediately recognizable. Aberforth had carved it for him when he was still a boy. When their conversations were more than just stilted and insincere queries about each other's health.

"There was a note." Lily's voice brought him back to the present. "It says a descendant will know how to open this, but I don't."

"Trace the phoenix's beak," he told her as he skimmed the parchment. There was a soft yelp and the sound of the lock clicking open. "I must have changed the charm to recognize the family magic."

Lily lifted the lid and they both peered inside, Albus hoping that it would hold the answer to this riddle. Perhaps it did, but as Albus looked at the box full of memories he realised they were still going to need a Pensieve.

:;:

Harry pulled out of the Pensieve with a gasp. Albus Dumbledore. Albus was his grandfather. No - his great-grandfather. And so was Gellert Grindelwald. His mother wasn't Muggleborn, she just had a Squib for a father. And Dumbledore had known. He'd known that Harry had other family. If it was blood that was required for the wards to work, then he could have taken Harry in.

His anger fled quickly as he remembered the quiet words from his fifth year. Dumbledore had been scared of loving him. Scared that the war would just continue forever if he got too close to Harry.

Still, did Dumbledore know what it was like growing up there? What his family had done to him? The anger began to build once more.

The baby decided to make itself known then, doing a somersault on his bladder and Harry stood to make a trip to the bathroom for what felt like the fiftieth time that hour. As Harry relieved himself he contemplated making a trip to Hogwarts to talk to the portrait in the Headmaster's room.

What would he say?

Why?

That was always what he wanted to say to Dumbledore, the question that never seemed to be answered. Why was it so important that his childhood be miserable? Why was it important to lie to him for so many years? Why didn't he even leave a clue that Harry was his great-grandson? A note in the will pointing him in the right direction?

He'd never get answers from the portrait. He reached for the box and noticed the rest of the vials had numbers. He reached for number one.

:;:

Albus looked in the mirror and ran a hand through his short hair. Merlin, he hadn't had short hair since he was a boy in school. As was the tradition, he'd grown it long after he sat his OWLs, but now it was cropped short and he no longer looked like himself.

"It will grow back," Charlus said.

"I won't know myself until it does," Albus replied.

"So vain?"

Albus laughed. "We can't all be young and beautiful like you." Charlus blushed and Albus smiled at the picture he made. He had been a good apprentice and was a fine Ministry official, but Albus thought that if he had been a Muggle, Charlus Potter would have been an actor in the talking films.

"Well, it can't be helped. We need Muggle co-operation for this one, and the current government in charge over there is very… particular. They will not react well to a man with long hair."

"I hope you're aware of how utterly ridiculous this is. Why on earth do they want me to be part of the negotiating party anyway? I'm barely even a fan of that ridiculous sport."

"Apparently you are known, even among German wizards. I do realize it must be hard being you."

Albus considered sending a stinging hex Charlus' way but decided he was far too mature for that. He sent a bucket of cold water at the prat instead.

"It is very difficult, especially when having to wear these clothes." The suit he was wearing was also Muggle in origin and felt rather restrictive after his usual flowing robes. The charcoal grey did seem to set off his hair very well, though. "I do like the colour. Maybe I'll get some robes done in the same material when we get back."

"Well, if you're done admiring yourself, it's time we were headed to the Portkey."

"Of course, Charlus. My apologies."

Albus followed him to the reception area of the Department of Magical Sports and Games where the rest of the delegation was waiting. He'd done a bit of his own research when he was asked to travel to Germany and despite the militaristic leanings of the society he did not see why he had to dress to their tastes. There was nothing wrong with the navy and black robes he chose to wear for work.

"Now, we will be arriving just in time for the Muggle Olympics, which the German wizards wanted us to see. But it will likely be very crowded so be sure to stick together."

"Would you like us to hold hands as well?" Albus muttered under his breath.

Unfortunately, the head of the delegation had sharp ears. "If it would make you feel better, Albus," Montague Gambon said in that sneer that always set Albus' teeth on edge.

He smiled and took Montague's hand. "Thank you, Monty. I appreciate you looking out for me." He was rewarded with an honest-to-Merlin growl and a scrape from a particularly ostentatious ring as the hand was snatched away.

"Portus." The Portkey activated with no more warning than that and Albus felt the familiar hook at his navel as they fell for what felt like a very long time.

They landed very heavily and it was only Albus' hand on Charlus' bicep that kept him upright. He got a grateful smile in return before they both sent a mild glare Monty's way.

"Wilkommen in Deutschland," came a voice from behind him and Albus turned, a smile on his face. It froze in place when he saw who stood there.

Gellert Grindelwald.


Albus managed to keep smiling through the introductions and hand-shaking. He thought Charlus could tell there was something wrong, and Gellert knew, but he thought the rest of the delegation was oblivious to any tension. They were certainly unaware of the sparks that shot up Al's arm and straight to his heart when Gellert's hand touched his. That smile stayed pasted in place until Albus was safely ensconced in his lodgings, where he went straight for the Firewhiskey.

It had been thirty-six years since he had last seen Gellert Grindelwald. Gellert had changed; he had aged in the same way that Albus had, lost the youthfulness that had always made him seem almost elf-like. He looked more a man now; his face had lost any trace of softness but the eyes were the same emerald green and looked at him with mischief.

Albus had changed too since he'd last seen Gellert, but he wasn't sure he'd changed enough to resist those eyes or that smile that always quirked at the corner like there was a cosmic joke he was laughing at. That smile told Albus exactly why his presence had been requested on this delegation.

Gellert had been dressed strangely as well. If Albus thought his outfit severe, it was nothing compared to the black suit that Gellert was wearing. The boots came up to his knee and were polished to a shine. The black pants ballooned out and there was a black jacket. He'd had a hat tucked under his arm, and it too was black, with silver insignia. There was a brown shirt, barely visible under the jacket, but apart from that the only relief to the black was the bright red armband decorated with a strange black symbol.

Albus had never seen Gellert in Muggle clothing before. He was a well brought-up pureblood and no one from the Grindelwald family would ever wear anything except traditional robes. Albus had looked before he could stop himself; there was something about the way those boots emphasized his calves, the way the shoulders he remembered as slim were now broad in the tailored uniform. And it was a uniform; Albus had seen others in the black outfit with the silver runes as Gellert led them through the streets. The Muggle-hating pureblood had joined the Muggle army.

There was a quiet knock on the door and Albus waved his hand to release the simple wards that one normally used in an establishment like this. Charlus entered. Exactly who Albus had been expecting.

"Want to tell me about it?" he asked without preamble.

"You're too observant for your own good, old friend."

"I'm not the old friend, Albus. It appears Gellert Grindelwald is. Do you want to tell me about it?"

"Not particularly," Albus said. He picked up the Firewhiskey and walked to the balcony, leaning on the railing and looking at the crowd below. "There are so many in uniform. It reminds me of Muggle London during the last Muggle war."

"I never saw it; I didn't visit the Muggle world until I was apprenticed to you. Did you notice the runes on your friend's uniform?"

"They were hard to miss. It is reminiscent of Sowilo."

"The sun. But bent. I wonder what the implications are of changing it like that."

"It's just a Muggle squiggle on a uniform; I doubt it has any implications at all."

"Your friend was wearing one. He's not a Muggle."

"Nor is he my friend, Charlus."

"Yet you are on a first-name basis."

Yes, Gellert had grasped his hand with a friendly, "It's good to see you, Al. It's been too long." As if they'd just dropped out of touch. As if the last time they'd seen each other hadn't been seconds after a curse had hit his sister and left her on her back, dead eyes staring up at the ceiling.

"We knew each other when I was young. But our friendship ended many years ago, before I'd even reached my twenties."

"And ended badly, I'd say, given that you have a glass of Firewhiskey in hand before the sun has gone down."

"Yes. Ended badly." Albus didn't say any more, and Charlus let the silence stretch clearly hoping he would fill it with more information.

"Fine," he said when Albus did no such thing. "But you'll have to see him. Is he the reason you are here?"

"I'd say so."

Albus was glad that Charlus said no more, instead just pouring himself a Firewhiskey and joining him out on the balcony.

"Dinner tonight," he said after some time. Albus just nodded. "And the Opening Ceremony tomorrow."

"Indeed."

"So maybe we'll stop at just one?"

Albus laughed. "Of course. One's all I need."


Albus managed to avoid Gellert at dinner, sitting between two of the other German delegates. In the all-wizard restaurant Gellert was back in robes, but even these were completely black and others who saw the red armband saluted.

The conversation centred around Quidditch and the German bid to host the next world cup in 1938, but Albus did manage to ask his neighbour a question.

"Is it usual for a wizard to be a member of a Muggle political party?" he asked Rudolf Kochan.

Rudolf looked over at Gellert and Albus was surprised to see no censure in his face. "Gellert is the liaison between the Muggle world and the Ministerium der Magie. I believe your Minister keeps in contact with the Muggle Prime Minister?"

"I have heard that also. But Herr Grindelwald is not the Minister."

"No. When the Führer became Chancellor our world was revealed to him. He asked for a permanent liaison and after a number of men he did not deal well with, we sent Gellert. He and the Führer got along quite well. Gellert admires him greatly and when he was invited to join the Schutzstaffel, he accepted."

"The Führer is what the Muggles call their leader, is it not?"

"Yes. A well-respected man. He has brought order to this place from the chaos left by the Muggle war. Even the wizarding world has benefited from the policies he has implemented."

"It looks very regimented. All the men in their matching uniforms. It's not stifling?"

"That is for the Muggles, and it is good for them to have a strong leader. Lesser beings need something to keep them under control and Adolf Hitler is a remarkable man, for a Muggle. He controls them, and Gellert is one of his favoured advisors. It works very well for us."

"And the Führer will not interfere with the World Cup?"

"Of course not. As with the Olympics, he sees it as a way to show the world how effective the German way is. You will see tomorrow when we go to the Opening Ceremony."

The talked turned to the delicious meal they were eating and Albus watched Gellert sitting at the opposite side of the large table. The Gellert he had known would never have joined a Muggle organisation. He found it difficult to comprehend a Grindelwald who respected even one person born without magic, yet here he was, a trusted advisor of Hitler.

This was a change for the better. He looked up as Gellert laughed and thought that the changes in his face were a change for the better as well. The blond hair was cut short now, curling tight against his scalp, and it only emphasised the strong jaw and bright eyes. Gellert was no longer a boy and it infuriated Albus that his body still reacted to the smile.

The party moved to a private drawing room after they ate, and Albus continued to find his eyes drawn to Gellert. Whether through coincidence or design, there were no witches in the negotiating party and the sounds of deep voices echoed as they sipped at port and whiskey. Gellert charmed everyone, with his upright bearing and strong words and an ability to seem interested in what was being said. Albus remembered being charmed himself, but he'd been fooled and he kept reminding himself of that. Gellert had fooled him, and he couldn't allow himself to be fooled again.

As soon as he thought it polite, he excused himself to go to bed. Charlus shot him a worried look which he managed to answer with a wan smile before he slipped out the door. He had not walked far before he heard footsteps behind him and he turned to tell Charlus not to worry.

It was Gellert, and as soon as Albus saw him he'd thought it obvious that Gellert had followed. He'd been invited on this trip for a reason, and Gellert was going to take the opportunity to speak to him at some point.

"You're avoiding me, Albus," he said while that smile creased his face and Albus forced himself to frown.

"Herr Grindelwald, I did not give you leave to use my name."

"You want me to call you Mr Dumbledore?"

"It's Master Dumbledore, actually."

"I heard. Potions, transfigurations and Alchemy, wasn't it? Congratulations. I always knew you'd do great things." Albus inclined his head and turned to go. "You're still avoiding me."

"I never wanted to see you again, so this is hardly avoiding you." Albus had frozen mid-turn and found himself staring at an image of two blond-haired, blue-eyed children staring up at the Alps.

"Albus," Gellert called again, and then a muttered, "Scheisse. I'm doing this wrong. I arranged to have you on the delegation and then completely freeze when I see you here."

Albus saw movement in his peripheral vision. He resisted the urge to look away from the children to watch Gellert approach him so the soft hand on his wrist made him jump in surprise.

"I wanted to apologise," Gellert said and to Albus' surprise he sounded sincere. "For the argument and your sister's death and for the horrible things I said afterwards. It is no excuse, of course, but I was young and very stupid and so scared of what had happened, so I said horrible things to you and ran. I am not worthy of your forgiveness, but I wished for you to know that I have deeply regretted my actions that day; that there is not another moment in my life that I wish so much to take back."

Albus looked into those eyes, once so dear to him, and tried to read them. The words were very pretty, and there was a spot in his heart that thawed at hearing them, but a larger part said Gellert was not to be trusted. He couldn't think properly, though, not when they stood so close that a simple tilt of his head would bring them close enough to kiss.

"Thank you for telling me," he said instead and walked quickly to his room. It was the coward's way out, he knew, but he'd been invited to hear an apology and he'd heard it. He packed his bags and left a note about a family emergency, then he began the series of jumps that would take him home.


"It was a shame you missed it," Charlus said when he was next at the Potter townhouse for dinner.

Charlus' older brother Henry was also there and was laughing at Charlus' enthusiasm. "He won't be quiet about it. I've tried pointing out the wonders of our own world, but apparently so many Muggles in brown shirts marching in formation is far more interesting."

"Has there been an agreement from the International Quidditch Board?" Albus asked and Charlus nodded.

"An in principal agreement only. They would like you to return so you can give an educated comment about it."

"I should not have been on the delegation. Surely there's no need for me to go back."

"You're well-respected Albus, and they will probably ask for your help to confirm wards and the like. I'm surprised Gambon hasn't asked you already. The committee wants you to visit the site they're talking about and let them know if it is possible."

Henry snorted. "They'll want you for the Minister's job next."

"I don't think giving my opinion about the Quidditch World Cup is in the same league as being Minister of Magic."

"Ah, but you're Albus Dumbledore: Head Boy, Prefect, Winner of the Barnabus Finkley Prize for Exceptional Spell-Casting, British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot, and Gold Medal-Winner for Ground-Breaking Contribution to the International Alchemical Conference in Cairo."

"Head Boy stops counting when you've been out of school for more than thirty years."

"I can keep wearing my badge then?"

"For a few more years."

Talk turned then to Charlus' betrothed, Dorea Black, and her NEWTs studies, and Henry's wife and their plans for starting a family. Albus told himself there was no need for him to return to Germany.


Unfortunately, no matter what Albus told himself, the International Quidditch Association did not agree. In early September Albus found himself with another Portkey, but without fellow delegates to provide a barrier between himself and Gellert.

He was met at the Portkey Station in Berlin by a young wizard wearing familiar black robes. The red armband did not have the black symbol of the Nazis on it; instead it was a badge that Albus recognized. The symbol of the Deathly Hallows.

"Guten Abend, Herr Dumbledore," the man began. "Standartenführer Grindelwald sendet seine Entschuldigungen. Bitte, kommen sie mit-"

"I'm sorry," Albus said. "Sprechen sie Englisch? Ich sprechen nicht gut Deutsch."

"I'm sorry, Herr Dumbledore. I was told you speak German."

"Well, I speak Mermish."

"No offense was meant. Colonel Grindelwald sends his apologies. He was held up with preparations for the convention. It is a busy time in Germany. If you would come with me, we will go on to Nürnberg and he will meet us there."

"We are not staying in Berlin?"

"No, Herr Dumbledore. The suggested site for the cup is in Bavaria. It is a beautiful part of our country and we have found a large open space with no Muggles to build the grounds. We hope you find it suitable, as we would like to begin construction."

"Well, let us continue on to … was it Nürnberg?"

"Yes. Nuremberg in English. The Muggles are having their political gathering there right now, so you will be in for a sight. This way."

They threaded their way through the crowd and Albus saw the odd wizard in identical robes to the one he followed, but they were few and far between. The building still felt familiarly magical, with a kaleidoscope of colour twirling around. It was not like out on the Muggle streets, with everyone in uniform.

"Are you part of the Muggle army as well?" he asked. "Like Grindelwald?"

"We are part of the Colonel's guard. We work closely with the Schutzstaffeln, but are quite separate. We are a completely magical force and answer only to the Colonel, not to the Führer or any others."

The soldier led the way through a door and into a luxurious seating area. A witch there gave him what looked like a riding crop and he held it out to Albus. "Portus," he said as soon as Albus touched it and they disappeared into the ether.

They landed gently in an elegant entryway reminiscent of the one at Potter Hall. A large fireplace took up one wall and that would be the public Floo. There was plenty of space for Portkeys and he could sense the wards would send anyone attempting to Apparate in to this spot. It was a wizarding house, and he wondered whose it was.

"Welcome to Grindelberg," Gellert's voice came from behind him. "I'm sorry I could not be in Berlin to meet you. It is a busy time of year."

"Yes, your… man… was telling me."

"Danke schön, Schultz. Das werden alle." The man - Schultz - banged his heels together and disappeared. "It was impossible to get you lodgings in Nuremberg, so I hope you will not mind staying in my ancestral home. You will not have to see me, I promise. I will be busy with the convention."

"No, I. That's fine," Albus finally said.

"Good." Gellert turned and led the way out of the entryway and up a large flight of stairs. "Did you like Schultz? I've arranged for him to be your guide while you are here, but if you did not like him I'll get someone else."

"No, he was fine," Albus said, vaguely realizing he was repeating himself. "Um, he seemed very efficient."

"Yes, I look for efficiency in my men." There was a twist of his lips, as if he was laughing at some private joke. He pushed open a door, revealing a sumptuous room full of mahogany furniture with navy blue touches. The full moon shone in through a large window before Gellert said, "Lumos. The house-elf is called Dilly if you need anything. I shall leave you to your sleep and try not to disturb you overmuch."

He gave a curt nod and turned to leave. "Thank you, Gellert," Albus said softly.

A quiet, "You are welcome, Albus," was the reply.


The house-elf brought breakfast the next morning and told Albus that Gellert had already left. The sun was barely peeking over the mountains.

"Hauptsturmführer Schultz is arriving in one hour, Master Dumbledore, Sir. Is there anything else Dilly can be getting for you?"

"No, thank you, Dilly."

He was ready in plenty of time, and took the opportunity to explore the palace he found himself in. It had obviously been a castle at some point, much like Hogwarts, built with solid grey stone which was covered in tapestries and rugs. But the furniture was clearly new and built to fit its environs, perfectly suited to the large rooms. Numerous balls of light lit the rooms, chasing the shadows away and he remembered how Gellert had hated the dark.

He stumbled across the library and began searching the titles, noticing many that dealt with Dark Arts, and still more that hinted at the dark in languages he barely understood. Schultz found him there, debating whether the books were even safe to open.

"Are you ready to go, Herr Dumbledore? I was told you must return to England by the end of tomorrow."

"Yes, Hapsführer Schultz."

"It is Hauptsturmführer, but you can call me Captain."

"Thank you, Captain," Albus said with some relief as he resisted the urge to mention he spoke Gobbledegook as well.

They Apparated out of the entry way and visited a number of sites. Schultz was the picture of efficiency that the stark black robes suggested, and Albus was satisfied that the large expanse of empty field they had found surrounded by mountains would be more than adequate for the event. After seeing the areas where the large number of Quidditch fans were going to be accommodated and having all his questions answered, Albus asked what was next.

"I must attend tonight's march with the Colonel. I can return you to Grindelberg if you wish, and Dilly will provide you with dinner. Or Colonel Grindelwald thought you may wish to attend the march. It is a wondrous sight. I did not think Muggles could manage such co-ordination until I saw it for myself."

"Why did you go to see it?"

"The Colonel convinced me to go along to last year's convention. That was when I joined the movement. The Colonel is a great man, with vision. Is it true you knew him when you were young?"

Albus nodded. "Yes, just after I graduated from school. He was brilliant even then."

The efficient and humourless man he had seen all day disappeared as Schultz's eyes lit up. "He would have been, of course! Imagine, knowing him when he was still developing his ideas. Did you debate with him? Listen to him talk? He said you are even more brilliant than he is, and that his beliefs were formed in the summer he spent with you."

Yes, Albus had listened to him and debated with him. He remembered sitting out on the grass on those long summer days, staring fascinated as Gellert waxed lyrical about controlling the Muggles and bringing order to the world. It seemed he had found that order here with the Muggle leader. Still, their fight, the horrible death of Ariana, must have changed those beliefs; he would not be allied with Hitler if they hadn't.

"Listening to him was always… invigorating," he finally replied, and was unsurprised that Schultz nodded enthusiastically. "There is a march?" he prompted.

"Yes, of course. You wished to attend?"

Albus was nodding even as he told himself to think about it. He wanted to know what had changed Gellert's mind about Muggles. It was time to see this 'sight'.

Schultz waved his wand and he was in a copy of the black uniform that Grindelwald had worn back in August. "May I?" he asked and Albus nodded and was soon in a grey-green suit.

Seconds later they were walking out of a small room and Albus was confronted with the largest number of Muggles he had ever seen in his life.

"Did we miss the parade?" he asked and Schultz shook his head.

"No, they will march past the Führer soon."

Row upon row of uniformed men stood as straight as wands looking towards the platform Schultz was leading him to. Gellert was standing with a group of men dressed similarly to him, but he smiled when he saw Albus was there. Then music started and Albus stopped and watched as the men began moving forward in perfect formation, the red, black and white flags they carried fluttering in the breeze. Everyone watching held their arms up in the strange salute that Albus had seen back in August.

The line of soldiers seemed never-ending, and it wasn't just men; boys were marching as well, their heads turned to look at their Führer and their arms held out as they went past him. This sort of organization, this many all working towards the same goal, was just not something ever seen in the wizarding world, and for the first time he understood why some could fear the weaker cousin they shared the earth with.

As the last line went past the platform, Gellert nodded to his companions and moved towards Albus.

"It is a magnificent sight, is it not?"

"Yes," Albus breathed. "And perhaps a little terrifying."

"They are still Muggles, old friend. We are the perfect men our Führer speaks of."

"I am not perfect," Albus said, perhaps a little too quickly.

"Of course not." Gellert laughed. "But our abilities? The things we can do? That is how the Führer sees us. Perfect. Superior. Everything he wishes to be. Everything he wishes his people to be."

"So you don't fear them."

"The Chancellor is a good man, with strong ideas. He only wants what is best for the Fatherland." Gellert gave an eloquent shrug. "Don't we all wish to build a better world for our children?"

Albus wasn't sure about that. It was an easy question, of course, but he remembered the fervour that had grabbed them when they were younger. He hadn't been thinking about any potential children or even his beautiful sister, the real child he had responsibility for. He'd been thinking about his own cleverness; of how good that power would feel.

"I wish I could show you more, Albus. Show you how the better world the Muggles are building means a better world for us as well. But you must return tomorrow. Maybe next time."

"I -" Albus hesitated. He shouldn't do this. Gellert had the potential to be addictive; an opiate slipping into his brain and taking away his good sense. But he wanted to know. "I could stay," he said.

"I was told you had to return in a hurry. An experiment you could not be away from."

"I may have exaggerated."

"Hiding from me again."

"Perhaps," he allowed.

"You'll stay a few days? Let me show you what we are building here? Let me prove I am not that stupid boy any more, and not very scary at all?"

Albus nodded before he could change his mind.


The convention ended with a speech by Adolf Hitler. Albus had been surprised when Gellert pointed him out. Of course, there were pictures of him everywhere, but seeing him step up to the podium, Albus was surprised that people followed him. He seemed diminutive somehow. Although of average height and average build, he had a way of standing, with his hands crossed in front of him, that made him seem small. There were bags under his eyes and a strange little moustache under his nose and although he was a year younger than Albus he looked about a decade older. He knew that was part of being Muggle, but it was still surprising.

No, he couldn't understand why people followed him until he spoke. Albus' German was nowhere near good enough to understand the oration, but it was still spell-binding. He held every person in the place - which was as large as a Quidditch pitch - mesmerized by whatever it was he was saying. As he stepped away they all lifted their arms again and chanted.

"Sieg Heil," Gellert murmured. "Hail victory."

"Victory over what?"

"Ourselves, Albus. Our weaknesses, as individuals and as a people."

"It is a worthy goal."

"It is. Are you ready to return to Grindelberg?"

"You don't have other responsibilities?"

"Not tonight. I led Herr Himmler to believe I was not needed."

"You confunded a higher ranking officer?"

"I confunded the head of the entire SS," Gellert whispered, and Albus was reminded of the boy he'd known, mischief in his voice and a grin creasing his cheeks. "Dilly will have dinner waiting, if you do not mind breaking bread with me."

"No. I'd be delighted to have dinner with you."

Dilly had prepared a simple repast of bread and sausage and pickled cabbage of some sort and Albus sat next to Gellert on the long dining table. The conversation never strayed towards their shared past; instead they concentrated on Gellert's present, and the future he hoped to build.

"I don't understand how you came to be so mixed up with the Muggles. You always-" Albus stopped, suddenly. There was the past rearing its head, but he forged on regardless. "You always thought they were inferior."

"Herr Hitler wishes to build a better world. As do I. That's always what I've wanted. Our views on what would be a better world are remarkably similar. I am not so… prejudiced as you think. I have changed from the boy you knew."

"I know," Albus said, a smile creasing his cheeks. The talk turned to the job offer Albus had received from Hogwarts and their old obsession with the Deathly Hallows. Two glasses of wine and a brandy later found them ensconced in front of the fire, a chess set between them and their laughter echoing through the small parlour.

He was remembering too clearly the feel of Gellert's cheek under his fingers the first time they'd kissed, the heat of those lips blazing a path across his hips. He wanted to reach out and caress the thin wrist. Gellert looked up and met his eyes; his mouth quirked up and Albus knew Gellert knew exactly what he was thinking.

It was time to retreat and thankfully he'd been so distracted that there was no way Gellert's queen would not take his king.

"Schachmatt," Gellert said, a word Albus had got very used to during their summer together.

He tipped his king over and stood. "Thank you for a delightful evening." The polite words would let him get his distance. He would make sure of it.

Gellert's smile as he stood and gave a bow was ever-so-slightly mocking, but Albus ignored that. He was running and Gellert knew it, he deserved to be mocked.

"Sleep well," Gellert said as he began to put the pieces back in their box.

"You also," Albus said before quickly walking from the room.


Gellert provided Albus with Muggle clothes for their travels. Cool hands rested on his hips as Albus adjusted his jacket. The outfit was in the green-grey of the uniforms so many of the men wore; he thought he would look smarter in black, like Gellert.

"Very handsome," Gellert murmured and Albus felt himself blush, which only made him blush harder. A smile played around Gellert's lips as he looked over Albus' shoulder into the mirror and Albus wondered when that had happened. Suddenly it hit Albus that it had been almost forty years and Gellert - Gellert who was taller than Albus, with a square jaw and broad shoulders - was no longer a sixteen-year-old boy.

Albus tried to push his feelings about Gellert inside a box that could be locked up. He'd thought, in that horrifying moment when he'd heard the thud of Ariana's body hitting the floor, that he would never love Gellert Grindelwald again. But the boy was gone, and this man was intriguing.

"Are you ready to see my Germany?" he asked, and Albus nodded. He was more than ready to see the country that had shaped the man.


"You've finally made it home."

Albus looked up at Charlus' voice coming from his lab door. "I sent my approval that first day," he said, only to see a frown on Charlus' face.

"Yes, which is how I knew you were alive two weeks ago. But I haven't heard anything from you since."

"Did you need me for something?"

"Besides good conversation and the odd chess game? Not really. But you are my friend. I do like to know that you're still alive."

"I'm sorry. Come in." He watched Charlus perch on his regular stool. "I guess time got away from me. I was already in Germany, so I decided to take a holiday."

"You were enjoying the sights?"

"I was." Albus felt his face melt into a smile.

"You met someone."

Albus shrugged. Charlus was too young to remember firsthand the rumours surrounding Ariana's death, and they had died down by the time Albus took him as an apprentice, but that didn't mean the story didn't come from someone else. It didn't mean his father hadn't whispered about the visitor from Germany and the tragic accident that killed the Dumbledore sister. It was easier not to talk about it. Certainly easier than trying to explain the conflicting feelings; the way his heart seemed to expand with happiness whenever Gellert was around and the way his head was full of clouds and confusion when he lay in bed at night staring at the canopy.

"Tell me about your trip, then."

"The guide from before showed me around."

"Herr Grindelwald."

"Yes. I stayed in his family home. Saw the political convention of the Muggles and met the wizards that Gellert works with. I saw a lot of the countryside. It's a beautiful spot. So large, the mountains coming out of the ground. It makes you feel protected. Like the very earth is standing guard."

"It sounds like you fell in love with the country at least."

"Oh, yes. And the people. Everyone I met, Muggle and wizard, is so eager to rebuild their country and let it regain a place of strength."

Charlus raised an eyebrow in question so Albus launched into an explanation, forgetting about the newt's eyes he'd been preparing. He told Charlus everything he'd learnt, from the excesses of the Weimar Republic and how it nearly brought Germany to its knees with decadence and immorality. About how the Muggles of England and France and Russia had tried to enslave the German people after the last Muggle war, which both of them had vague recollections of.

Then he told Charlus about the great plans of Herr Hitler, whom he had met during his last night in Germany. Of the way Hitler had brought discipline and morals and a purpose back to the German people and how they adored him for that.

"From the time they are children they are taught to love their country through the youth groups. The men do military service so they learn to defend the Fatherland. Many of them remain in military service, so that it is a country of uniforms."

"I'm sure that's a sight. Herr Grindelwald in uniform certainly was."

Albus blushed but pushed on. "Herr Hitler has grand plans to gather the German-speaking people together once more into one great nation. And Gellert gathers the wizards under the same banner. Britain's wizards still squabble over funding education for our young."

"It does not feel stifling, Albus? Like people have no choice?"

He remembered asking Gellert the same question as they stood in their black robes hosting dinner for wizarding officers of the SS. "Nobody is forced to join the party," Albus said, repeating Gellert's words. "They want to join. They want what is best for their country."

"So you've returned to Britain to convince everyone in the Ministry to wear the same dull colours that you do?"

Albus looked down. He was wearing the black he always wore when he did potions work. Of course, these robes had been a gift and were of a more luxurious material than he usually chose. They were also a more severe cut than usual; they were based on Gellert's and fit tight along the torso, emphasizing shoulders and waist.

"I think I look rather dashing," he said and frowned at Charlus' snort.

"Of course you do," he said. "If only you occasionally wore green. Or blue. Or perhaps you could show some house pride and wear red and gold on occasion."

"You want me to dress like a fop?"

"A fop?" Charlus laughed. "You're speaking like an old man again. And no, I don't. I just want you to stop dressing like an undertaker. You didn't answer my question, though. Are you going to convert the masses?"

"No, I'm going to write to Dippet and turn down the position of potions professor again. Then I'm going to start working on my research into centaur blood."

"I heard he hired Slughorn for that position."

"What? He's a bit young, isn't he?"

Charlus shrugged. "He's finished his mastery. He's perfectly qualified."

"I wonder what Dippet is writing to me about then."

"Teaching in one of the other areas where you have a mastery?"

Albus rolled his eyes and accio-ed the letter. He hadn't bothered opening it when it had arrived, knowing he would never be happy stuck in that old castle for nine months of every year. Now he cracked the seal and skimmed the contents. "Transfiguration. Calvin has finally retired."

"Not tempted?"

"No. I'm thinking of travelling for a while." Charlus raised his eyebrow and Albus continued on. "I think it would be good to gather ingredients in person for a time. Maybe it's time to concentrate on potions."

"And where is this centaur herd that's offering their blood to you?"

"I encountered some in the forests of Bavaria actually."

Charlus' smile was entirely too knowing, so Albus chose to ignore it.


He hadn't been lying when he told Charlus that there was a centaur herd in Bavaria. They had seen hints as they walked through the Bavarian Forest. Albus had spoken about his hopes of looking into the uses of Centaur blood and had been taken aback at the casual way Gellert had spoken of experimenting on the creatures.

"With their permission, of course," he'd added as he looked over at Albus' face.

Albus shook the memory out of his head as he invited Armando Dippet into his house.

"I'm sure you know why I'm here, Albus."

"Yes, Professor," he replied, the honorific automatic even thirty-seven years after he'd left Hogwarts behind him.

"I think after three masteries you can call me Armando, dear boy."

"You still call me boy, Sir."

"So I do." Armando sank into an armchair by the fire and accepted tea with a grateful smile. "I'm sure you know why I'm here."

"The Transfigurations position. I've already sent you my response."

"I didn't like your response. Please, Albus, I can convince Calvin to stay one more year, but he would prefer not to. And if I do that I'll just be in this position again next year."

"I'm sorry, Armando." Albus rolled the name around his skull, feeling strange even as he said it. He was well into his fifties; he should not feel like a school boy again just because he was presented with someone who taught him. He knew, though, that the real reason he was uncomfortable was because this man had known Aberforth and their father, and knew the whole sorry story of Ariana and her death. If he was honest with himself, that was a large reason why he would not be teaching anytime soon. "I have plans for the next twelve months. Research and travel."

"Travel? Are you sure that's wise. I've heard whispers that the Muggle world is close to war again."

"I don't think it will come to that. I've met Herr Hitler; he is a reasonable man only wanting a better life for his people. It's a sentiment I'm sure is shared by Mr Baldwin. No one wants to see war again so soon."

"Herr Hitler told you that."

"He did, Sir. He also said I'd be welcome to travel in his country and do my research there. I've made plans already." He hadn't, actually, at least not consciously. But he'd wanted to return since the moment he'd left and as soon as the words were out of his mouth he knew he'd do it.

"Perhaps you will consider returning to Hogwarts next year. You should be finished with travel and research by then, should you not?"

"I'll certainly keep it in mind, Sir."

He sat with Dippet and spoke idly about an article in the latest Transfigurations Today until the tea was gone and Dippet was sneaking looks at his watch. "When do you plan to go to Germany?" he said finally as he set an empty teacup on the table.

"Before the month is out. I only need to gather my equipment and pack a bag. I think it's time I get to explore by myself."

"Of course, of course. Well, good luck, dear boy." They walked to the door and Albus opened it to find Aberforth on the other side. "Let me know how your travels go," Dippet finished before setting towards the Apparition point. He only gave Aberforth a nod.

Albus stepped aside for his brother who raised an eyebrow. "Travel?"

"I've decided to spend some time in Germany on research."

"Germany? What's there?"

"A herd of Centaurs who may be willing to donate blood." He couldn't tell Aberforth about Gellert. Would never again mention the man's name in his presence.

"You should be careful. I heard your friend Grindelwald was causing trouble over there."

Albus carefully schooled his face, biting down on his instinctive defence. "I'll be careful."

Aberforth gave him a long look, and Albus wondered if it was true what they'd said in school, that he had a touch of the Seer in him. But in the end, instead of a fist in the nose he just got a single nod. "Good. Were we going for dinner?"

"Sure."

Albus spent the meal with only half his mind on the conversation; the other half was on going back to Germany – a decision he'd already made. He worried at it like a loose tooth, trying to see the decision from every angle, the reasons why it was right, the many ways in which it could go so very wrong.

But in the end, it came down to the man who'd taken up residence in his brain. Gellert was so much like the boy he knew when they were relaxed in his home. He was full of grand ideas and big plans and a mischievous sense of humour. He was brilliant and intense and when he walked out the door in that black uniform with leather boots up to his knees he took all that brilliance and intensity with him and wrapped it in the new package of maturity and command. How could Albus possibly resist?

He managed to not mention Gellert to Aberforth all night, proving he didn't need his brain to converse with his brother, and even managed to smile at the end of the night.

"So, when are you leaving for the Continent?" Aberforth asked and Albus gave a half-hearted shrug.

"Soon."

"Good luck. There've been rumours," he started and Albus was quick to interrupt.

"About a Muggle war, I know."

"And a wizarding one, Albus. Magical creatures have already started fleeing. I hear stories in the bar. Mostly about Grindelwald. I've even put them up for a discount; most of them leave without taking anything with them. Gringotts is making it hard for them to get their money and all they have is the magic in their veins when they start the journey west."

"I was only just there. I didn't see any evidence of the sort. Perhaps they're over-reacting to the Muggle disharmony. There were horrible falsehoods being told about prisoner treatment in Muggle Germany."

"Just promise to be careful," he said after an awkward silence.

"I will."

With the door closing on his brother's back he felt himself sigh in relief. The same nasty rumours were being told about both Hitler and Grindelwald. Albus wanted to be there for them. For both of them.

If he packed up his equipment now he could be back in Germany by the weekend.


Albus changed his mind ten times in the four days before he left. Even as he was securing his house and shrinking his belongings he was wondering if this was the best idea. He Apparated directly to the entrance of Grindelberg and dropped his bags with a thump. His whole life in two carpet bags and what in Merlin's name was he doing?

"Albus?" Gellert was walking down the stairs, obviously either on his way to or from a Muggle event, because there were those boots again. "What are you doing here? With two bags? That's a lot of luggage for a wizard."

"I've come to stay. If that's alright."

They'd danced around each other in his last week there, with smiles and heated glances and brushing too close to each other as they walked through the very wide hallways. Those emerald eyes were on him again and Albus' breath caught as he watched Gellert take the last few steps to the ground.

"For how long?" Gellert asked, stepping close into Albus' space.

"I'm not sure. How long will you have me?"

Gellert's wide hand cupped his cheek and a thumb brushed over his skin. "I never wanted to let you go."

Albus was leaning forward before he realised he was going to. Gellert's eyes lit up in the split second before they closed and then their lips were meeting as if thirty-seven years hadn't happened. As if it had been a hundred years and everything had changed. The lips were familiar, but the scratch of stubble wasn't. He pulled back and heard himself moan as Gellert licked his lower lip.

He threaded his hands through Gellert's blond curls and pulled him back, their teeth clashing in Albus' desperation and Gellert pushed him back until his back was against the wall. It was alchemical, the way they melted together and made something new. Something fierce and hot and dangerous. Gellert pushed Albus' robes up and pushed a leg between his thighs so Albus could feel the cold leather of those boots against his calf.

Their cocks were hard against each other, Albus' bare as it moved against the woollen breeches that kept Gellert's prick tightly encased. They had frotted against each before, in the woods behind his house, desperately hoping they'd find release before Aberforth came past for his daily walk. This felt so different, the angle strange and so much better now that they were the same height.

"You don't know how much I missed this," Gellert murmured. "Missed you. I-"

Gellert stopped talking and buried his face in Albus' neck, nuzzling the soft skin and Albus could feel the apology there, even as they thrust desperately against each other. He couldn't say he'd missed Gellert, had resolved to never think of him after that horrible day, but he welcomed this. He welcomed the warm breath at his neck, the hot skin he could feel under his hands as he shoved them down the back of Gellert's breeches to pull him even closer.

Albus' leg lifted of its own volition, wrapping around Gellert's thigh and urging him faster. He found Gellert's lips again, forgiveness in the kiss as much as the desperate wanting. A low whine came from Gellert's throat as the movement of his hips became erratic. He wrenched away and Albus took the opportunity to draw in a deep breath.

"Albus," Gellert groaned, fingers tightening in his hair. "Yes, Al. Yes!"

Albus watched intently as the pleasure washed over Gellert's face. The material under his erection was damp and Gellert was leaning heavily against him, obviously using Albus and the wall behind him to keep himself up. Albus moved again, pushing his still hard cock against Gellert's thigh.

Gellert's grin was devilish as he wrapped his hand around Albus' cock. "Merlin, Gel," was all he managed to gasp out before he was spilling over Gellert's hand.

Gellert's forehead rested against his own as they caught their breaths. "Gel. I haven't heard that name in years."

Albus laughed shakily. "No one's called me Al since I finished my first mastery."

"Do you think you can make it to a bed?"

"Yes. Come tuck me in." He pushed away from the wall. "Then stay."

"Für immer," Gellert said, leading the way. "Forever."

:;:

Harry pulled himself out of the memory, a little shocked that Dumbledore had included something so ... personal. No, not personal. Pornographic.

But it had been personal. He remembered the way Grindelwald had stared so intently, the green eyes taking in every bit of Dumbledore. The way Dumbledore had melted at that single touch, let himself be pushed back, body covered against the wall. He'd looked ready to beg for the man. So willing to forgive, despite what had happened to his sister.

That was always Dumbledore, though; it was all about the power of love.

Dumbledore. His grandfather. And Grindelwald, his grandfather, he reminded himself.

He sank back onto the sofa and let himself drift into a bit of a funk. Because of course Harry Potter had two of the greatest wizards of the twentieth century for great-grandparents. And of course one of these great-grandfathers passed on the ability to get knocked up. If there was one thing that Harry could count on it was that he'd never be normal. He'd always be a freak.

He felt a heel dig into his spleen and rested his hand against his belly to calm the bub down.

"Sorry, Bub. Dad'll shake himself out of the funk now. I've got you because I'm a freak, so being a freak is a brilliant thing. I'll remember from now on."

The movement continued under his hand, but gentle, as if the baby was soothed by the sentiment. Harry let his mind wander to other things. To Dumbledore and Grindelwald.

Years ago, when he'd first read Rita Skeeter's biography of Dumbledore, he hadn't understood how a man who did nothing but try to help others could have loved someone who'd tried to take over the world. A little voice in the back of his head had whispered 'Tom Riddle' and it had been years before he'd taken that thought out and examined it properly. Thought about the way Tom had been a friend. Thought about how his twelve-year-old self had thought Tom handsome and charming.

Grindelwald had been the same – handsome and charming and intriguing and now that Harry had seen him, he completely understood where Dumbledore's infatuation had come from. Maybe even where the love had come from.

It's not like he had any leg to stand on. He was in love with Draco Malfoy, who still had a black shadow on his arm, and perhaps a darker one on his soul. There was a kick again.

"I'm sorry, Baby, but it's true. I wanted to think it had changed, that he had changed, but –" He broke off, not wanting to think about the arguments or all the fear Draco was holding inside. Of the bitter words Draco had thrown at him before he walked out the door for good. "Don't worry," he said to his stomach. "I'll never tell you the bad things. Only tell you how good it felt to hold him. How he lied to save my life one day. How when it came down to it, he couldn't kill another human being. Unlike me."

He winced as the heel found his spleen again.

"Okay, fine. We'll be cheery for the rest of the day. Probably shouldn't delve more into the memories if we're going to keep the mood up. How about we go visit Grandma Molly. Think she'll feed us?" Harry stood and waddled towards the coat rack. "Of course she will. We'll come back to this tomorrow."

:;:

The next series of memories that Harry saw were short, as if Dumbledore had tried to create a montage of his time in Germany.

He built a picture of Dumbledore's life with Gellert. He imagined it was a lot like the life they'd had when young. He listened as they made grand plans but this time they had the ability to do something about it. Members of the Nazi Party – Muggle and Wizard – spent time at the house and Harry could feel how exhilarating Dumbledore found it. He was surrounded by people who wanted to change the world and Harry could feel how new that was after the stagnancy of Wizarding Britain.

Then the memories lengthened again, and Harry tried to relax as his great-grandfather greeted Adolf Hitler.

:;:

Albus still didn't understand why the Muggles insisted on saluting, but he knew not throwing his arm out would be an insult to his guest, so he raised his arm and said, "Heil Hitler!"

Hitler nodded as he always did, a curt bob of acknowledgement as he moved through the room.

The conversation flowed around him and he was pleased that he was starting to understand German enough to follow it. There were words he didn't understand, such as Mischling and Untermenschen, but he knew everyone here tonight and they all knew he was still picking up the language.

He stood by the fire after dinner with a glass of brandy. Gellert was circulating on the other side of the room, smiling at some blonde woman, and Albus was left talking to the officers of the Schutzstaffel about the problems facing society.

"Gellert tells me that your world experiences some of the same problems as our own, with – what did he call them? Schlamm-blut?"

Albus frowned. He didn't like the word 'Mudblood' in English or German.

"I don't know that they're a problem. They do have trouble fitting in, I guess, and try to change the old traditions because of this."

"You should look for a solution. The Führer speaks of one."

The conversation continued around him and Albus tried to follow it, but he couldn't quite grasp what this solution they spoke of was. He knew they were speaking about a group of people. The Muggles were as obsessed with parentage as wizards were. But it seemed to Albus as if they were talking about making them all slaves.

"The Führer hopes to have the first camp opened by the end of the year," Herr Schmidt said, and Albus joined them in expressing his admiration, resolving to ask Gellert to explain at the next opportunity.

Of course, at the next opportunity they got distracted, as they always did when Gellert was in his uniform, so it was as he lay, happily sated, with his head on Gellert's chest that he finally asked his question. "What is the solution they speak about?"

"Herr Hitler believes that work makes you free. He intends for the Untermensch – those who do not wish for Germany to become a better place – to work for our society and learn through work the wonder of building something great."

It made sense. A society was stronger when they all worked together. It was what annoyed him most about the wizarding world of Great Britain. But Albus felt uneasy about it and could not put his finger on why.


The snow was still covering the ground when he received an owl from home. His uncertainty about Gellert's allies had only grown, but he trusted Gellert. What the Muggles were doing to each other – or planning to do to each other – meant nothing in the long term. He had quiet games of chess and inspiring conversations and the warmth of Gellert's arms around him each night.

They were not the barbarians the Muggles were and he did not worry about becoming so, but he was wondering if England would be a better place for them to settle. So Armando's letter arrived at the perfect time.

"What does your letter say?" Gellert said, pouring his coffee.

"Dippet wanted to remind me that his job offer is still open. He would like me to teach Transfigurations in the next school year."

Gellert snorted. "Teach Transfigurations? As if a man like you could be happy taking infants through the process of turning a matchstick into a needle."

"I doubt it's all that bad."

Gellert looked up at him, gaze sharp across the breakfast table. "You are better than a teacher, Albus Dumbledore. You are a genius. One of the supermen, even among our kind. Teaching is beneath you. So what is going on?"

"I was just thinking about home. I guess I miss Great Britain. We could move back..." He trailed off at the look on Gellert's face.

"Why would we leave? Our friends are here. The great society we are building will be built here. This is where everything is happening, Albus. We are watching history being born. We are at the epicentre of the birth of the next great empire. Why would we leave?"

"I guess I worry about what some of your Nazi friends say. I heard them talking about killing people the other day. Killing everyone who disagrees. Everyone who is even a different race. The Jewish –"

"The Jewish Problem, yes. I know there are those who speak of exterminating them, but there are radicals in every organisation. You should not judge the Führer based on this. He is not advocating that policy."

"Why kill them at all? They are just trying to live their lives."

"They make German society weaker. Like Squibs, or Mu- Muggleborns." Albus thought Gellert had been about to use a different word then. "Do you remember when we were – when we were younger? Talking about that Muggle scientist called Darwin who'd caused a stir?"

"Of course." They'd read The Origin of Species, feeling a little naughty for reading something written by a Muggle.

"Well, natural selection is not just about animals. It relates to men and wizards as well. That's why a wizard should not breed with a Squib or with a Muggle; you do not want those traits showing up again. There are humans who are... unworthy. Lebensunwertes Leben. Unworthy of life. Squibs and Muggle-borns and Mischling – half-bloods. And criminals and those ill in the mind, and the Jews. They must die so that a stronger people – a stronger wizarding world – can grow."

There was a part of him that understood – believed – Gellert's point. His brother bred goats and Aberforth would kill the weak ones because he didn't want the weakness continuing in the next generation. He even killed the ones whose horns grew in a spiral, just because he didn't want others like that. He couldn't argue with what Gellert was saying, but something told him that there was a logic flaw he wasn't seeing.

"I can't believe that a whole race of people –" he began, but Gellert put a hand up to stop him.

"I'll give you some things to read. When you see the science behind eugenics you will understand. Some things about the history of the evil the Jews have perpetrated on the Fatherland as well."

Albus nodded. Words on a page and time to digest them. That was all he needed to understand and move forward with Gellert in this.

"Thank you," he said. Then, "More coffee?"

Albus read the books and thought he understood the science, but more than that, he trusted that Gellert and Hitler and all their people only wanted what was best. Anyone who was hurt – well, it was for the greater good and they should be honoured to make such a sacrifice for the rest of their people.

Gellert had sat with him as he read and, when the final book was put down, had pulled Albus onto his lap.

"Does it make sense now?" he asked, and Albus felt like a son who had made his father proud when he nodded. Then Gellert's face had changed, something unsure staining those green eyes. "Albus, you know I would never... You know I've changed don't you? I'm not that boy-"

Albus stopped him with a kiss, moving to straddle his lap even as their lips continued to move.

"I know," he said, keeping Gellert's face trapped between his hands. Relief washed over Gellert's face and he stretched up for a kiss. Albus quickly reached for his belt, determined to wipe the worry from Gellert's face for good.


It was July when something changed. That morning they'd walked the mountains, the fresh air helping settle the stomach flu Gellert had been suffering from. They had seen the first edelweiss as they ambled and it had shocked Albus to think that by the time it stopped flowering he would have been in Germany for a year.

The dinner was a celebration of the start of summer, along with an announcement of something else. Himmler would not tell them over dinner, and it wasn't until the women retired to the drawing room that he brought out some brandy to toast his achievement.

"Konzentrationslager Ettersberg was opened today," he announced and a cheer went up around the table.

Albus raised his glass with the others, then turned to the officer sitting next to him. "Entschuldigung. I know Konzentrations is concentration, but in English 'lager' is a type of beer."

The man, a tall, blond major whose name was escaping him, laughed, drawing eyes to them. "Lager means camp. This is a concentration camp where criminals are sent."

"To work?"

"Yes," Himmler said, joining in the conversation. "Those who work against us are sent to be re-educated."

"Jews."

"Yes, Herr Dumbledore. But also Freemasons, Bible Students, homosexuals. All the deviants can benefit from this."

Albus' drink froze half-way to his mouth. "Homosexuals?" he asked.

"Also criminals, of course," Himmler said. "Pursuant to section 175 of the criminal code, homosexuality is punishable by death, so the filthy –" he said a word here that Albus didn't recognise, but with the way he spat it out, he guessed it was one he'd be better off not knowing "- should be thankful they are going to Ettersberg. It is a mercy that the Führer shows them."

"But surely homosexuals are not part of your eugenics program. There is no danger of homosexuality being passed down by people who will not have children."

"Are you questioning the Führer, Herr Dumbledore?"

"No. I am a foreigner trying to understand," he said, deflecting the hard edge of menace in Himmler's voice.

Himmler launched into an explanation of the evils of homosexuality – the decay of civilization, eroding the family, weakening the military – while Albus tried not to look at Gellert. He didn't want to see any hint of the betrayal Gellert was sure to be feeling at this revelation, or see the closed-off, wooden face he wore when hiding his feelings.

He chanced a glance, ready to give a smile of assurance if it was needed, only to see a comfortable smile gracing Gellert's face as he nodded in agreement. So many things became clear to him.

He knew now why there was no public affection anywhere. Why Gellert often flirted with women and why they never even walked around the room together at a party like this. Suddenly it was his smile frozen in place, a wooden agreement escaping from his mouth. Gellert agreed with this. Gellert agreed that men like him – men like them - should be put to death.

"Ja, ja. Ich verstehe. I understand," he told Himmler, even as he struggled to keep the strudel they'd had for dessert in his stomach. He shook his head at the offer of more brandy and told himself that he had misunderstood. He must have, because this was not the Gellert he knew. This was not the Gellert he'd let himself fall in love with again.

He begged a headache early and Gellert followed him home soon afterwards. He looked tired and Albus knew he'd been ill just that morning, but he couldn't climb into bed with the man until they'd worked this out.

"I'm going to bed," Gellert said. "Are you coming?"

"I'll sleep in the spare room." The argument could wait. He wanted it to wait another day, another week. Another month because he had a horrible feeling that it was going to end everything; that the view of Gellert he had spent so long building into something admirable again was going to turn out to be an illusion. A transfiguration. A frog he had tried to turn to a prince.

"What! Why?"

"I can't-" He floundered. He had no idea what to say. "I just can't, Gellert."

"Is this because of their stupid view of homosexuals?"

"Yes! You knew."

"Of course I knew. It's a central tenet of their plans for the country. But they're Muggles. Among the smartest Muggles of course, but you're still expecting something barely a step up from a house-elf to understand a concept as civilized as love between two men. It's not like it's going to affect us."

"When they talk about undesirables, about Untermenschen, that's us they're talking about. They would have us killed if they knew I shared your bed. I heard today they'd already killed one, this Röhm, a few years back."

"That was politics," Gellert said dismissively.

"It was a man's life. How many are being locked away in their Konzentrationslager for doing something that we do every night."

"They're Muggles. They hardly matter."

"Of course they matter!"

"You didn't think so when we were talking about Jews."

Albus opened his mouth to protest that, then stopped. He couldn't deny it. Until they were talking about him, until he was one of the ones who could be carted away in the night, he hadn't looked any harder than the surface. He'd believed that they were unworthy of life.

He sat heavily on the armchair, staring into the fire. "You're right," he said.

"Of course I'm right. Now come to bed."

"No." He raised his wand and summoned his things, clothes and books flying from all corners. He was never more grateful to be a wizard than at that moment.

"You're leaving? You can't leave."

"You managed to turn my head – I let you turn my head. I wanted so much to believe you were a good man, that the boy I fell in love with was more than an illusion. But you were never him; you were always the monster I saw the day Ariana died."

"I was the monster? I was not the one sworn to protect her. It was not my sister walking into the middle of a duel. Not my spell that –"

"There was no way to know who killed her."

"If that is what you must tell yourself to sleep at night, Albus."

"We are not arguing about Ariana tonight. That's not what this is about."

"This is about you hating my friends?"

"How simplistic of you. Your friends would throw in prison any who disagree with them. Any who are different to them. Well, I don't agree with them and I am different to them. And this world you want to create-"

"A better world. We're talking about a better world."

"Perhaps you don't get to say what that is. I'm not sure you have any clue how to make this world better."

"And you do?"

"My world will be better away from here. That's all I need to know."


Twelve months had never seemed to take as long as it did that first year at Hogwarts. The schedule was easy: wake, breakfast, classes, lunch, classes, dinner, detention, rounds, bed. As the youngest member of staff, he got most of the detention duty as well as the late rounds. Unfortunately, neither activity was enough to stop his mind from wandering.

Despite the delivery of the German newspapers he didn't hear anything about Gellert. Even as he paid the owl from Munich for three-day-old papers, he told himself he didn't care.

He thought about his own stupidity and how easy it had been for him to ignore the dark undertones of what had been growing around him. He hadn't even considered it until he heard the vitriol directed at himself, all because he wanted a better world, built as he saw it. Once again, his love of power and one man had blinded him to all else, and this year at Hogwarts – the next few years, perhaps – would be penance as well as a lesson in humility taught by brats who found dungbombs in his rooms amusing.

By the time the last Hogsmeade weekend rolled around, he was feeling almost settled. The mixture of heartache and betrayal he felt when he thought of Gellert had lessened so that it was only those few nights when dreams of Ariana woke him that he felt the pang in his heart.

"Your friend Grindelwald was not there," Charlus said as they sat down in the Three Broomsticks. "And he will not be at the tournament, so there's no reason you can't come."

Charlus had been trying to convince him to go to the Quidditch World Cup for almost three months, but Albus had no desire to return to Germany.

"I have work for the school; I've told you that."

"It's summer. None of the students will be at school."

"And as the new staff member, I'm the one who has to go visit Muggle families during the break. You know the last World Cup went on for five full months due to an abnormally large number of long matches in the heats."

"This one's not likely to do that. It will be England against Germany in the finals, I'd bet my vault."

"Just one of them?"

"Well, my brother tells me I'm betrothed, so I can't bet them all." Charlus' eyes crinkled with laughter as he took a long drink. His expression changed to one of disgust. "Remind me why we're drinking at this hovel again?"

"Because the Hog's Head smells like goats."

"You're avoiding your brother."

"The Hog's Head smells like goats."

"Fine. Will you at least think about a trip to Germany? You were part of the committee. Everyone would like to see you there."

"I'm sorry. While you're heading travelling to Berlin, I'll be travelling to London to visit a Muggle orphanage."

"An orphanage?"

"Yes. A boy showed up in the book. Even Muggle-born orphans may manifest magic."

"Of course. Well, it will be an adventure for you, visiting the Muggle world."

Albus grunted noncommittally. He hadn't admitted to Charlus how much time he'd spent among the Muggle leaders of Germany in the last year or so.

"Are you going to dress in such lovely colours among the Muggles?"

Albus looked down at his red robes that had golden suns floating around the neckline. He'd burnt all his black and grey robes when he returned to England and had sworn to never wear such drab colours again. He would revel in the brightness of traditional robes, in his individuality. "I thought you wanted me to show some house pride," was all he said to Charlus.

Charlus snorted into his beer. "Oh, I meant to tell you that I heard the most outrageous rumour. One of Grindelwald's friends, the ones in the black robes, told me that he'd found the Elder Wand and had gone to retrieve it."

"He always was fascinated by it."

"Do you think he could have found it? It would explain his disappearance. Even his men don't seem to be certain of where he is. Another told me he was pregnant." Charlus laughed at that.

"He's from that family," Albus murmured. He didn't know what to think of Gellert's apparent disappearance. He liked to think that his departure had been an epiphany for Gellert; that he'd disappeared to get away from the Nazis and would show up at Hogwarts, ready to build a life together. A quest for the Elder Wand was far more likely. He continued with the conversation. "Male pregnancy is little more than rumour these days. The family's blood is so diluted that we're unlikely to see it again."

He shook his head, trying to get Gellert out of it again. The orphanage. He could think of his adventure into Muggle London.

"Where have I heard the name Marvolo before?"

"Isn't that the Gaunt's current pater? No, Marvolo died. Merlin, that's a name I only know due to my mother's insistence on studying the lineages. Why do you ask?"

"No reason. I guess I must have seen it somewhere."


The orphanage was miserable. Albus knew the Muggles had had some sort of economic difficulty that they were still feeling the effects of, and the papers spoke only of war on the horizon. A person without family would not have an easy time of it, all things considered. But Albus was here to change a child's life; there was a small boy, Tom Riddle, who was about to find out he was a wizard.

The matron of the orphanage led him up the stairs and the story she told of young Tom was worrying. Still, with the discipline of boarding school and the fun of learning magic – learning he was special – Tom was sure to settle down and become a productive member of society.

He made sure to warn the boy of Hogwart's policy about thieving before he left to speak to the matron again. The woman had a red-haired infant held to her shoulder.

"I'll be back next week to take Tom to collect his books," Albus told her. "I just need his papers. A birth certificate?"

"Of course, Mr Dumbledore." She bent over a drawer and the child began fussing. "Oh, would you mind? It would go much quicker if you held Matty."

"Of course not," he said, holding his arms out. It had been a long time since he'd last held an infant, but he remembered holding Ariana when she was this age. He'd been so much younger.

The woman gave him a grateful smile and disappeared into a back office and he pulled Matty away from him to give him a smile. "How are you doing there, Matty?" he asked.

Matty blinked back at him with green eyes so familiar Albus almost dropped him. The child was Aberforth in pictures. Ariana with red hair. But those eyes. Those eyes were Gellert's.

It wasn't possible. But hadn't Charlus said? There were rumours.

"I'm imagining things," he murmured, holding still as one chubby hand tugged at his beard. He counted fingers and toes and felt not a trace of magic and told himself that there was no way this was his child. It was paranoia speaking. Then he noticed something on the blanket. It was a crest featuring oak and wolf, so familiar after a year living in Germany. The Grindelwald family crest.

"Here you are, Mr Dumbledore," the matron said.

"This is an interesting crest on the child," he said. "Where did you get the blanket."

"Oh, Matthew was wrapped in it when he was left here. We're assuming his mother was aristocracy of some sort, though no one recognised the crest. There was just that and a note asking that he be called Mathias. We're not calling him that, of course, horrid German name. But Matthew's a good name and it suits him well."

"He reminds me of my younger brother. How old is he?"

"Three months."

Albus did a quick calculation. He would have been conceived just before Albus had left Germany. There had been that week of stomach flu, Gellert so sick every morning.

He ignored the matron's startled protest as he took a vial of Matthew's blood, then obliviated her, handing the child back.

"I'll see you next week," he said, and received a cheery wave in return from both her and Matthew.


A paternity potion was the easiest thing in the world to do. There was a thread of magic, like hair colour or green eyes, that was passed on from parent to child. Both parents, if they were both magical. All Albus had to do was mix a few ingredients together, add some of his blood and some of Matthew's, and then he'd be able to reassure himself that he was not the parent of an baby boy living in an orphanage in London. He could get on with his life.

The fourth batch of the potion went to ruin because he'd waited too long to add the blood samples.

He sighed and waved his wand, cleaning the cauldron and drawing out ingredients to start again. The door opened behind him but he didn't look around. Nor was he surprised when Charlus appeared at the edge of his line of sight.

"Albus," Charlus said in greeting.

Albus ignored him, continuing to try to exorcise the small sliver of fear pooling in his gut through shredding newt's eyes to within an inch of their life.

Charlus, Merlin bless him, didn't push. Instead he rolled up his sleeves and pulled the nettles and a knife towards himself and after a glance at the ingredients, began to powder them.

They worked in silence and the presence of a friend in the room calmed Albus somewhat. No matter what the potion told him, there were still people who would support him. Like Charlus. Even if he did knock up a descendant of the seahorses and one who was particularly nasty at that.

He lit a fire under the cauldron and had begun adding ingredients when he finally spoke. "Why aren't you in Germany? Game decided already?"

"No. There was a problem with my betrothal and the Black pater insisted on meeting with me in person."

"Is it sorted out? The lovely Dorea will still be yours?"

"Yes, of course." He shot Albus a saucy grin. "Who can resist the Potter charm? Now, do you want to tell me who we're making a Paternity Potion for?"

Albus looked at him and something must have shown on his face because Charlus' eyes grew wide and the steady sound of his mortar working in the pestle faltered.

"Oh. Well, that was unexpected. Who's the lucky girl?"

"That's not important," he said. "Let me see if my assumptions are correct first."

"Sure. But later you're going to tell me the whole, fascinating story, because I thought you were exclusively a wand-waving chap. As opposed to the cauldron-stirring sort, you know?"

"Yes, I understood. No need to belabour the point."

Charlus grinned as he handed over the mortar. "Just wasn't sure if you knew what I was talking about. You're a bit old to know the current vernacular."

"Oh, shut up," he said as he sprinkled the nettle powder over the top of the liquid. "I'm nervous enough without your dubious sense of humour.

"Well, better to get it all over with. Just put in the blood and find out, yeah. Go on, I'll be here."

Albus pulled a vial of blood out of his pocket and carefully let two drops hit the liquid. Next was the same amount from himself, welling from the knick he'd made on his thumb.

The potion flared bright and he couldn't see a thing, and when his eyesight cleared the mix had changed. It was a weak blue colour, but the change was definitely there.

He looked at Charlus. "I'm a father."


He hitched a ride back to Germany with Charlus. He'd sent a hurried owl to Armando asking if someone else could keep the rest of his appointments. He'd said there was a family emergency and even though Armando would make a quick visit to the Hog's Head and think he was lying, it was probably the most honest he'd ever been with his employer.

Charlus' boss looked completely unimpressed by his presence but he recognised a number of the German officials. He recognised the uniforms on a large number more. The black robes of Gellert's followers seemed to have multiplied in the year since he'd left and he saw some fans, obviously locals, giving them a wide berth.

After ascertaining that Gellert was at Grindelberg, Albus Apparated straight there, feeling a sense of déjà-vu as he landed in the entry way. He looked around as the house-elf popped in beside him, and noticed two flags hanging over the stairs. One was the familiar sign of the Deathly Hallows, in black and on a red background to match the equally familiar swastika of the Third Reich hanging beside it.

"Master Grindelwald is not available, Mr Dumbledore," Dilly said, with no hint of the warmth that had built between them during the year Albus was in residence. Well, house-elves were notoriously protective, doubly so if their charges are with child.

And there was no denying now that Gellert had been pregnant.

"I need to speak to him. About the child."

If anything, Dilly's eyes hardened. Still, she beckoned and Albus followed her to the library where they'd spent so many of their nights playing chess and talking politics or just reading together. Now their chess table had disappeared and a giant map of Europe was set on a large table in the middle of the room. There were notations and arrows and Albus wasn't entirely sure he wanted to understand what was being planned.

"Albus."

Albus spun and found Gellert standing in the doorway. He seemed to have aged far more than was normal in a single twelve-month period. His eyes had lost some of their spark and there were lines creasing his face that hadn't shown up in his first fifty years of life.

He was also holding a new wand.

Albus was distracted by that for a moment; a new wand was rare especially during peace times.

"From Gregorovitch," Gellert said when he saw Albus looking, before tucking it into his robes. "What are you doing here?"

Gellert looked... Albus paused, considering for a moment. He looked hurt. Had Albus' departure actually wounded him?

Albus shook his head, trying to shake the thought free. Gellert was prejudiced and hypocritical and Gellert had hid his son from him. "I'm here about our son."

Gellert's eyes widened. "How do you know about that?"

"You expected to hide it? I work at Hogwarts and you left him in England. It was going to turn up sometime."

Gellert shook his head and made his way to the brandy. "He's a Squib. If he was anything else, I would have kept him here."

"There's no way you can know that. He's only three months old."

"There are older magics than you English are willing to mess with. You should be pleased I did not kill him, Albus. I was urged to." Gellert picked up the two glasses and offered one to Albus, motioning him to a chair. His face was twisted, the pain quite obvious now, before he took a sip of the brandy and his mask returned. "I couldn't leave him in the Fatherland for his defect to pollute our population, but you English do not seem to care so much for purity."

"He's your son. Our child. Why didn't you tell me?"

"You left, Albus. Called me a monster and said my better world was not yours, and then you left me, pregnant and alone. Why would I tell you anything?"

"I didn't know you were pregnant."

"Would it have made a difference? Would you have stayed here and helped raise our Squib Untermensch together?"

"Maybe that would have been better. Maybe you could have seen that he's a little person, part of us, not a sub-human."

Gellert snorted. "It is below us. Beneath us. We have power at the end of our wands, at our fingertips, running through our very veins. It has nothing."

"He."

"What?"

"He. You must remember that you gave birth to a son. You even named him. Matthew."

"Mathias."

"Matt."

The sound of glass breaking made Albus look up at where Gellert stood by the window. "I have no son," he said coldly, letting the remains of the glass fall to the rug. "And I have no lover. And I have things to do."

Albus took the hint and put his untouched glass of brandy on the mantel. He opened his mouth to say something. There were so many things he wanted to put out there, about how lonely Gellert's life would be. About how power and the minions he was clearly gathering around himself would be no comfort.

In the end he said nothing. How could you convince a true believer that he was wrong? There were no words. Instead he walked back to the entry way to Apparate out.

"Mister Dumblesdore, Sir?"

"Dilly."

"You know of the little Master? He is not hurt?"

"No, Dilly, he's not."

"You keep it that way."


In the mess that was the end of the Quidditch World Cup, Albus couldn't get away earlier than with the English Ministry's contingent. As soon as he was back on English soil he went to the orphanage, only to find Slughorn there picking up Tom Riddle.

"Oh, Albus," Slughorn said. "I thought you had a family emergency."

"It's been dealt with."

"Well, I'm happy to leave you to take young Tom –"

"No. Please, Horace. You two look like you're all set." Indeed, Tom Riddle's face had untwisted and he looked like an eager and wholesome student who couldn't wait to go away to school.

"Please, Professor Slughorn. I'd like to hear more about the potions you create."

"Very well. Let us go, then."

Albus waited until they'd stepped outside to call the Knight Bus and stepped up to the desk.

"Oh, Mr Dumbledore. One of your colleagues was just here," the Matron said. "He said he was taking Tom to get his school things. Was I wrong to let him go?"

"No, no. I'm here about Matthew. I met him last time I was here."

"Matthew? Whatever could you want with him?"

"I, uh, I recognised that crest. I suspected he was my nephew and now it seems very likely he is. I wanted to take him home to his family; raise him as my own."

"I'm sorry, Mr Dumbledore, the child has already been adopted. It was that same day you were here, actually."

"Adopted?"

"Yes. A lovely family who were moving north."

"Can you – can you give me more information?"

"I'm sorry. As the child was left here with no information, he was immediately made a ward of the state. The state gave custody to another family and their details are confidential."

"My family is very rich, Madam, and could make the boy's home life very comfortable."

At that the matron got a glint of avarice in her eyes, so he continued.

"I could make the orphans' lives more comfortable. Or yours?"

An amount was negotiated and Albus walked out the door with the information he was looking for. It was time to find Matthew Evans.

By the time he made it to Spinner's End some of Albus' eagerness had burned off. What life was it for a Squib in the wizarding world? He'd seen children waste away without magic. He'd seen them live lonely lives of squalor and desperation, no good jobs, no skills for the Muggle world, left in jobs given to them as a charity, such as the Hogwart's caretaker. Who needed a cleaner when there were house-elves looking after the school?

Peggy and Stephen Evans looked at the little boy like he'd hung the moon. His son, the shock of orange hair and those bright green eyes, was gurgling with happiness in Mrs Evans' arms and Albus knew this was a better life for him than any he could provide.

It was time to go back to Hogwarts.


The Daily Prophet had yet another story of the war in Europe on the front page. Gellert's Unsterblichen had followed the Germans into France and Poland and Russia and rumours carried with those running from the advance spoke of persecution and murder and a prison fortress in the Alps that no one could escape from.

Now the Unsterblichen were retreating with the Nazis all the way back to their fortresses and there were more atrocities coming to light.

Albus switched to the Muggle paper and reports of death camps being discovered as the US Army moved into Germany. It was worse than he'd ever imagined it could be back in 1937; even knowing about how much hatred the Nazis had had, how they saw all of these people as lesser than them, he couldn't believe they'd resort to wholesale slaughter.

The only good thing to come out of Germany in the last six years was waving at him from the top of a slide.

"Uncle Al, Uncle Al! Watch me!"

"I'm watching, Matt!" Albus said and watched as his son slid to the bottom. "Well done!"

Matt had come to him early in the war. A few suggestions in the right ears and when Matt Evans was evacuated from Liverpool he was sent to Robert Black and his family, a cousin of Dorea's who was a Squib and lived within easy Apparition distance.

He visited every weekend and happily took the hugs and kisses so innocently bestowed. He was such a happy boy and Albus sometimes wondered where that came from; it certainly wasn't from him and Gellert.

Matt started running towards him and Albus held his arms out, but he ran past yelling, "Uncle Abe!"

Albus turned to see his brother scooping Matt up in his arms and throwing him into the air. There was a charm underneath it, leaving Matt floating for the briefest second before he fell back into Abe's arms.

"Abe." He could hear the warning in his voice, the big brother coming out, and frowned as Aberforth poked his tongue out.

"Go jump on the swing, Matty," Aberforth said before heading towards the bench. They sat together, the silence as awkward as it had always been since Ariana's death. Albus had no idea what Aberforth was here for. He started to fidget and was ready to ask about the goats when Abe finally spoke.

"You need to go to Germany."

"What?"

"You're the only one who can beat Gellert in a duel and somebody needs to."

"You realise I'm just a school teacher."

Aberforth snorted at that. "Even if I believed that, and I don't, you know him. You knew him as a boy and lived with him for a year as a man. You know his strengths and his weaknesses and if anyone is going to have a chance at beating him, it's you."

Albus' head spun around. "You knew about that?"

"I know you think I'm an idiot, but you weren't the only Dumbledore born with brains."

"That's not what I meant. I just –" Albus turned back to look at Matt, who had one of the older kids pushing him on the swing.

"You didn't want me to know."

"I thought you'd think I was betraying Ariana."

"I did think that. Do you think that?"

"No. Yes... I don't know. I think I wanted to believe the best about someone and that was a mistake. I was blind and stupid and..."

"Infatuated?"

"Yes."

"Is that why you won't go now? You must know you're the only one who can defeat him."

"I don't – I don't want to know who killed Ariana. I don't want him to tell me it was my curse that struck."

"Are you lying to me or lying to yourself?"

"I'm not lying at all."

"You wouldn't have been in Germany for a year if that's what you were afraid of. Is it Matty? I remember eyes that green. And he's from the right family."

Albus felt a little amazed at everything Aberforth had figured out for himself. He shook his head as he watched Matt running around, a huge smile on his face. He'd always underestimated Aberforth; he had to stop doing that.

"Matt may not know who his real parents are, but I can't go and kill one of them. Matt is a gift, and Gellert was the one who brought him into this life. You want me to repay him by killing him?"

"By defeating him. You don't need to kill him. And Albus, Matty is the one you need to do this for. Gellert's been killing Squibs, you know this. If he gets to England, Matty will be targeted."

"He won't make it to England. He was relying too much on the Nazis, and they're on the retreat."

"So it's okay for other Squib children to be killed? As long as it's not affecting you?"

Albus could feel his face flush. It was exactly what he'd done when living at Grindelberg. He hadn't cared about what Hitler wished to do to the Jews until he wanted to do the same to homosexuals. Now he didn't care about the Squibs, only about his son. He couldn't think like that, not and be the father that Matty deserved. And he was a good boy; one of his fathers should be a good man.

He had some preparation to do first.


A week later they were back at the park. It was drizzling and Matt's red hair was covered by the hood of his yellow raincoat. They were feeding ducks and Albus was struggling to hold onto every single second of this memory. He wasn't sure why, given what was about to happen, but he concentrated on the feel of his son's hand in his, the childish giggles as the ducks swam towards them.

"Matt, I'm not going to be able to visit anymore."

"You're not?"

Albus shook his head. "I have to go to Germany to help end the war, and you'll be back with your Mum by the time I get back."

Steve Evans had died in France and Peggy was going to be raising Matt by herself. Albus had met her more than once; his son was going to be in good hands.

"Uncle Abe will still visit, but you won't see me again."

Those green eyes welled with tears and Albus was struck by the fact he'd never seen this look in Gellert's eyes – genuine sorrow and because Albus was going away.

"I don't want you to go, Uncle Al!"

Albus picked him up and tucked Matt's head under his chin, settling them both on the wet grass. He rocked the child in his arms and felt his own tears flow into his lengthening beard. Matt had lost his adoptive father, and now his real father, his Uncle Al, was going away as well, and it wasn't fair, but this was for Matt's sake.

For the greater good.

When Albus finally felt able to speak again he pulled Matt away so he could look him in the eye. "I love you more than I can say, Matt. You're going to grow up with your mum in Liverpool and you'll be big and strong and smart. And you're going to be a good man. Do you believe me?"

"Yes."

"Good. And you'll never forget me?"

"Never, Uncle Al. Never."

He pulled the boy into another tight hug. "I think we should finish feeding the ducks, don't you?"

They spent the rest of the day together, feeding ducks and eating hot chips as a treat until Robert arrived from his job in a factory to pick him up.

"Thank you for everything, Robert," he said, giving the man a hearty handshake.

"You're welcome, Albus. We were happy to help."

When the two of them finally disappeared from sight Albus turned to his brother who had watched them the entire day.

"Are you ready?" Aberforth asked.

"Just let me pull today out and put it in the box. You give this to him, you understand?"

"Of course. Are you sure you want to do this? Are you sure you want to forget it all?"

"Yes. Take everything from 1937 onwards."

:;:

Harry pulled himself out of the Pensieve and wiped his eyes. He knew what had happened next, of course. Albus Dumbledore had confronted Gellert Grindelwald and defeated him. Taken the Elder Wand and control of Hogwarts, leading the defence against the next Dark Lord.

Harry's great-grandfather.

He hadn't known about Matt, but Albus – Dumbledore – had known about Harry. He'd found out right before Harry had been born.

He had to visit Hogwarts.


Headmistress McGonagall let him into her office and told him to take as much time as he needed. She gave his belly a pat and said he'd have to tell her that story afterwards. Then she walked out the door and left him facing Dumbledore's portrait.

"Harry, my boy. It's good to see you."

Harry didn't know what to say. Then, suddenly, he did. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why didn't you tell me? Why did you leave me there? My mother's blood? You're my mother's blood. I would have been safe with you, so why did you leave me there? Oh, Merlin. Aunt Petunia's your grand-daughter."

He sat down heavily, hand resting protectively against his child. His daughter. He'd found the tapestry last night.

"I thought that box was destroyed," Albus said. "I couldn't find it."

"So you decided to just lie to me?"

"Oh, Harry." He sounded so sad. As sad as he had telling Matt good bye. "My excuse is not a good one, and is one I've already given you. I couldn't let myself love you, not if I wanted to be able to keep you alive and free. I had to see the bigger picture and I knew that for you to have a good life, a happy life with children of your own, that Voldemort had to be defeated. And for that I had to be strong and leave you with your aunt, much as I left Matty with his memories forty years earlier."

"And then you sent me to die."

"I hadn't realised that that would be required when I decided to send you to Petunia. I had thought you'd be happy there."

"I guess Aunt Petunia took after Grindelwald."

Albus smiled. "Actually, your grandmother was married before she met Matt. She was his step-daughter and not a blood relation at all. Another reason she had to be jealous of Lily."

Harry remembered now. The first memory with his mother.

"Harry, you must know I loved you like you were my own. You are my own, my flesh and blood and so much like your mother and her father that it hurt to watch sometimes. When you arrived and those green eyes didn't have the same fire, the same happy glow that Matt and Lily always had I wanted to steal you back and raise you myself. I know it hurt you, but I want you to know that it hurt me as well."

"Why didn't you ever tell me? Why leave me to find out like this?"

"It was selfish of me, I know. But I didn't want you to be angry like this. There were so many things for you to be angry at me about, Sirius and Petunia and keeping you in the dark so often. I was afraid that this secret would be one too many. That you would not forgive me for this."

Harry wanted to be angry, he really did, but the Albus he had seen in the Pensieve was someone he knew too well. He'd seen him in love, seen him betrayed, seen him sacrificing his own happiness, a relationship with his son, to protect the rest of the world.

"I forgive you," he said. "I can hardly blame you for falling for the wrong man. It's what I did."

"I see you've inherited the family trait. Do you want to tell me about it?"

And so the whole story came out. His secret relationship with Draco, their final, desperate night together before Draco left to marry the woman his parents had picked out for him, pregnancy and feeling alone, but less alone than he had when he couldn't speak about Draco to any of his friends.

"Well, I still think I made the worse choice in lovers."

"At least he managed to be a Dark Lord. Draco was only ever a wannabe."

"I'm not sure he ever wanted to be a Dark Lord, Harry. There was some good in him. When push came to shove, he couldn't kill."

"How could you love him? Gellert, I mean. Was he controlling you? Were you confunded?"

"No." He looked far away for a moment, as if remembering something, and when he spoke Harry wondered if he was remembering Hitler, commanding respect and drawing everyone in.

"Harry, sometimes people are idiots who let their hearts be swayed by propaganda and the memory of first love. Sometimes hundreds of thousands of people are idiots who allow their country to be turned into hell by a madman. That is as true of wizards as Muggles. All we can do is learn from it. And if I have been any sort of grandparent to you, I hope that you learn from my mistakes rather than your own."

"I shouldn't be swayed by propaganda?"

"No. You shouldn't. And in this case the propaganda is that Draco is like his father and wanted to be just like Lucius. Lucius would have killed without a second thought, even at sixteen. Draco is not Lucius and not all Slytherins are evil. That's the lie you're fighting now."

Harry remembered the quiet nights on the couch, the way they held each other. Draco's brilliant mind analysing the front page of the Prophet, explaining the intrigues behind the headlines. The joy he'd always found in the kitchen, fascinated by the everyday things that Harry took for granted – boiling the water, making toast – so that he was always willing to jump up and get things and let Harry relax after a day at work.

"He's weak," Harry said again.

"Being a father will make him strong."

"It doesn't matter. He's marrying someone else."

"You don't want to fight for him, Harry? You always fought. For everything you cared about."

"Maybe I want someone to fight for me for once."

"Oh, Harry." And Dumbledore – his grandfather – sounded so sad and regretful that it brought tears to Harry's eyes.

"Stupid hormones," he said, wiping his hand across his face.

"Draco deserves to know he's going to be a father, no matter what else you decide. It hurt me so much that Gellert didn't tell me; don't do that to him."

Harry nodded, because Dumbledore was right. "I'll tell him."

"Good. And bring your little one to meet me once he's born."

"She. I'm having a girl."

"Bring my great-great-grand-daughter to meet me."

"Of course." He paused, then, "Grandfather."


Harry broached the topic with Althaia the next day, wondering if the stress was good for the baby. He remembered his mother saying she was trying to stay calm, but Althaia said it was like pulling off a band-aid. He should just do it quickly otherwise all the stress would start to fester.

Draco would have called that a mixed-metaphor and Harry felt that tendril of warmth that thinking of him always brought. If he could convince Draco that he should try this, that they could make it work, then there would have to be some changes. But he wanted his daughter to know both her fathers and he wanted her other father in his life.

He pushed open the door to his apartment and immediately drew his wand. The smell of tea was wafting through from the kitchen and it was the only scent still turning his stomach. He prayed whoever it was didn't want to hurt him and made a break for the bathroom, quickly emptying the remains of a burger into the toilet bowl.

"Harry?"

Merlin, it was Draco. He pushed the bathroom door closed with his foot as he continued to dry heave.

"Harry, are you okay?"

"Don't come in," he managed to say. He'd wanted time to prepare for this; wanted to think about what he was going to say. "What are you doing here?" That was a good start.

"Do you want some tea?"

"No! No tea. Just tell me what you want." He hadn't meant to sound so abrupt but he was about to vomit again.

"Through the bathroom door?"

Harry's only response was to empty his stomach once more.

"Okay, Harry. I'm sorry. I can talk from here." There was a long pause which Harry was grateful for; he managed to catch his breath and get a glass of water. "I actually wanted to say I was sorry. I – I was wrong to leave. I'll never be happy with Astoria and an heir isn't worth ruining my life for."

"Marrying Astoria would be ruining your life?"

"Not marrying you would be ruining my life."

Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he stayed silent, sipping his water.

"I know you weren't happy, that you wanted people to know about us, and I'm sorry for that. I wasn't ashamed of you, you know. I was ashamed of me. But I want to do better, be better. You make me want to be better."

He stayed silent, hand resting on his belly as he tried to gather his thoughts. He'd just been thinking that he wanted Draco in his life, but this was too sudden. What if he left again? It wouldn't just be his heart broken; it would be his daughter's as well.

Albus had been wrong going back to Gellert, but Draco wasn't Grindelwald. He couldn't kill; he'd saved Harry. And Dumbledore would surely have recognised it if he'd seen those traits in Draco. He'd have warned Harry.

"Are you going to leave again?" he asked in a small voice.

"Never." Draco's voice was near his head, as if he was also resting against the door, their backs touching but for the flimsy plywood separating them.

"We'll tell our friends and go out in public? Build a proper relationship?"

"I've already told my mother."

Harry's heart thudded painfully. He'd thought that Draco just wasn't as interested in the relationship as he was; that that was the reason for the secrecy. If he was honest with himself, it was part of the reason he hadn't told him about the baby. For Narcissa to know...

"She wasn't happy. I told her I didn't care." He did care, Harry could hear it, but he'd stood up to her. Stood up for them. He might change his mind once Harry told him. "I told her we'd adopt or get a surrogate or something to carry on the family name, but I wasn't going to raise a child while being miserable like they did."

"Draco, I- shit." He didn't know how to say it.

"Harry?"

"I have a confession as well."

"Merlin, you've found someone else. I waited too long. I hadn't heard, hadn't seen anything in the papers, but of course you like your privacy. I know that-"

"I'm pregnant."

"You've never like the publicit- You're what?"

"I'm pregnant."

There was a thud against the door and Harry thought Draco had probably let his head fall back.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm. You're pregnant? Harry, that's..."

"Impossible."

"Improbable. Nothing's impossible for Harry Potter."

"You had something to do with it too."

Harry waited, rubbing circles on his belly while trying to decide what to say.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Draco asked into the silence. "You knew I left because of this whole heir business; you could have – I would have come back."

"I didn't want you here because I was a freak yet again; a guy who could get pregnant. I didn't want to trap you here. But I was going to tell you. I was just trying to figure out how," he finished softly.

"Oh, Harry." Draco spoke so softly that Harry had to strain to hear him. Then there was a crack and Draco was standing in front of him. "We can start again, can't we? I can court you properly; make an honest man out of you?"

Harry struggled to his feet and gratefully took Draco's hand to help him up. He held on to it, pulling it to his belly where their daughter seemed to be celebrating. There was an immediate feeling of relief as their magic mingled and the movement seemed to speed up.

"How did this even happen?"

"It's a long story."

Draco looked at him and Harry saw the wonder that he'd felt the first time he'd felt her move. Then Draco's head was tilting, his lips moving forward and Harry quickly pulled away.

He spoke at Draco's hurt look. "You can't kiss me. I've just vomited!"

Draco smiled and pointed his wand at Harry's mouth before murmuring a breath-freshening charm. "Better?"

Harry nodded. He felt breathless, and he hoped his lack of oxygen wouldn't hurt the baby. Draco smiled as he leaned forward and they kissed softly, as tentative as that first time.

"Our baby," Draco said as a particularly strong kick interrupted their kiss.

"Our girl."

"A girl." Draco sounded amazed.

"Alba, I thought, after my great-grandfather Albus."

Draco's eyebrows shot so high that they almost reached his hairline, but he nodded as he rested a hand on the bulge of Harry's belly. "Alba. Is this part of the story?"

"Yes. Come sit down and I'll tell you."

There were still questions to answer and decisions to be made, but if he approached this as a fresh start, a new chance to build something with the father of his baby, then they could do this. The war was over – all of them – and Draco was no more his father than Harry was Gellert Grindelwald. They were just them, a new family, and they would build the future they deserved.


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