Palette

“I hate being your ex twice.” Albus didn’t even look at the man opposite him. His blue eyes, hidden by the elegant glasses, were focused on the newspaper. The morning was dull and grey, and the coffee had that bitter taste that no amount of sugar or milk could make fade. “Are you even listening to me?” “Of course, I am,” Albus turned the page and politely asked. “Why do you think it’s twice?” “Maybe it’s even more than that. Ex-friend, ex-lover, ex-enemy… How many exes am I to you, Albus Dumbledore?” “Stop being dramatic, I can’t focus on the article... and not all of the exes you mentioned are still valid.” “It’s a shitty article. Why would you want to focus on it? They are rambling about the fact that the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time is on the loose. Nothing new.” “Just listen to this humble fellow! The most powerful of all time was it?” Albus let out a soft chuckle, the kind that made the other man roll his eyes sometimes. Those ever polite Brits, he would say in a tone both desperate and kind. Kind… that was an unusual choice of the word to describe the living legend. “They are talking about you, my love… See on the second page.” Albus opened the second page and saw Gellert had told the truth. The newspaper did call him that, and Dumbledore decided he had had enough news for today.

They went for a walk trying to get some sunshine but they only got drizzle. The clothes got damp, so did the long auburn river of hair neatly combed and braided in the simplest of braids known to humanity. It took Grindelwald almost a quarter of an hour to get the same effect Albus could have achieved in a matter of seconds with his wand but it wasn’t the result that counted. It was the process, it was always about the process. The most powerful Dark Wizard. That line wouldn’t let Albus go the whole time. He took in the grey and dull scenery, trying to enjoy the walk and reminding himself that there is no such thing as bad weather. When he voiced this old saying, Gellert said something under his breath that could have easily been an eloquent German curse and a vague “I adore you, love”. Albus chose to believe it was the latter. He finally gave up in the evening. The darkness enveloped the sky unwillingly, just the way a tired woman gives in to her drunk husband’s advances — close your eyes and think of England. Gellert was reading by the fire, the most peaceful picture one could imagine. Albus thought of all the newspapers calling either Gellert, or him the Dark Lord, the Darkest of the Wizards and the Enemy — the newspapers could never make their minds up which of them was the lesser of two evils — and that was the last straw. “Do you think we are bad people, Gellert?” “Define “bad”, love,” Grindelwald didn’t even raise his eyes from the book, and a small defeated smile appeared on the other man’s lips. It was endearing to know that Gellert had foreseen the question and was refusing to participate in the old debate. “Oh, don’t give me that! You know perfectly well what I mean.” “Then you should know perfectly well what I think. By the current society standards we are bad people. The dark wizards or whatever they choose nowadays… but the society standards mean nothing,” Gellert put his book aside. “By the society standards our love is a sin itself, Albus. So, what is sin? What is bad and good? What is…” “Don’t. You are not on the barricades rallying the troops,” Albus was smiling now. Gellert was a born leader. Passionate, eloquent, sophisticated and brilliant. He could persuade anyone about anything, but Albus didn’t want the beauty of Gellert’s speeches to dull his conscience. He wanted to know what Gellert actually thought, and that didn’t have anything to do with the speeches. “I will bring us something suitable for the evening,” Grindelwald got to his feet. “Will you play the cello for me tonight?” “Gladly.” The evening gave way to the night, and Albus was caressing the Vial with their Oath meditatively. He was tired, and happy, and loved. He could feel Gellert’s heartbeat. “We are not bad people, Albus,” Grindelwald suddenly said. Albus was surprised to hear him talking that clearly. He thought Gellert fell asleep several minutes ago. “And even if we were, everything we do is worth it.” “Albus!” Albus Dumbledore startled and turned to face his brother. Aberforth looked annoyed. “Have you gone deaf or something? I’ve been calling for you… what is that mirror?” “Nothing.” “Alright. You’ve been staring at nothing for an hour already. Instead of helping me out with the dinner.” “I am sorry, Aberforth. I will make it up to you by washing the dishes.” “Big deal! Waving your wand is not washing the dishes really… is that some special mirror?” “Why would you think so?” “I know that you are vain. But an hour is too much even for you.” “This is an old artifact I purchased… the Mirror of Erised. It shows…” “I don’t care what it shows, Albus. Cover it up with a cloth or something. Or you’ll waste away in front of it without a proper dinner… your bony ass will soon start ruining the cushions.” “We can’t let that happen,” Albus nodded and covered the mirror. The Vial on his chest, covered with clothes, was pulsing with the heartbeat of his enemy. The Mirror of Erised offered neither truth nor knowledge. Only dreams. Only what-ifs.