Dead Promises

Though the dimly lit corridor he passed through offered little in the sense of company, or even a sense of direction, a number of thoughts had occurred to him as he wound his way through the lavish labyrinth. The first was simply nagging doubt. Why hadn't he simply apparated inside, giving himself the advantage of surprise, cast a few strategically timed hexes, and been done with this whole situation in a matter of a few blinding moments? Of course, he knew the answer. They both deserved better than a blind-sided cheap-shot. If the other hadn't already planned for such brazen acts of heroism.

The second was sickening nostalgia. He had all too quickly noticed the dreadful poetic irony that lay in their time apart. They meet in one home, and end it over an ocean, in something that felt as far from a home that he could imagine. The German ventured forth into Britain to begin a quest. The Englishman snuck into Germany to end it. It was fitting. Forty-six long years. Too few weeks together, and nearly a lifetime apart, only to come back to a strange mockery of how the entire incident started.

The third was blood-chilling, honest to Merlin, fear. The world seemed to think Albus Dumbledore incapable of being frightened. He had trespassed so many boundaries already, why not also fear? Of course, for anyone who truly knew him, such assumption was merely more than the result of public hysteria, propaganda even, as so many things had been in the past few years. But truth be told, he had been afraid. For himself, and discovering secrets about poor Ariana he still wanted to deny. For his country, and the constant paranoia of being overrun - by muggle or wizarding means. There had been all that talk of another war. And for his school, though his old friend's power struggles had very little to do with the disturbed mind of a poor, half-blood orphan.

These thoughts, along with all the contemplations that had both urged him on and kept him away from the doorstep he trespassed, gave him yet again enough pause to consider giving up the cause and returning home. However, among all of these ruminations, there was still the one Albus could not ignore: that Gellert's grand ideal had long ago been abandoned. So, instead of turning around and heading back toward the load of worries that lay back in England which would still be looming in droves regardless of his choices here, he pressed forward.

That same jovial laughter he couldn't, for the sake of his own sanity, forget, echoed faintly down the corridor as he approached. And as the thickly accented German conversation behind the door ahead grew louder, he told himself it was now or never. Being unresolved would get him killed. Old friends or not. With a small nod of reassurance, he withdrew his wand, and inched open the door.

"Meine Herren," that all-too-familiar voice cried, "wir sind am Abgrund der Revolution!"

Albus' German, admittedly, was rusty, given nearly a half-century of falling out of practice. But he was more than certain that the claim, "Gentlemen, we are on the precipice of revolution!" was eerily similar to those of his youth.

Albus, we will be the glorious leaders of a revolution. You and I.

There would be no reasoning with him like this. Pushing the door open far enough to get a view of the room, Albus caught a quick glimpse of a tall, thin, sickly pale man in severely cut robes, his blonde curls the only softness to his gaunt, angular silhouette, animatedly lecturing a trio of men, their style equally severe and formal. Their backs were turned to the door.

He aimed for the abandoned table. Aim for attention, not harm. Not as long as he could help it. "Expulso."

Thunder and flame exploded underneath the table, sending sparks, cinders, and wooden debris about the room.

All four wizards immediately drew wands in response, but it was the blonde who narrowed his eyes with a maniacal grin. "I had been wondering when you would show."

"And keep you waiting?" Albus asked, keeping a safe distance from the group as he entered. "I'd never think of it."

Gellert only laughed in response, as he shooed the soldiers out of the room. They clutched to their wands and glanced about hesitantly, but Gellert's tone as he dismissed them was not one to argue with. Convenient, possibly, but Albus was in no position to complain if it cut down the risk of inadvertent casualties. Never again.

"I thought it would be better we do this alone."

Still, Albus refused to lower his wand. He had been foolish enough once to give Gellert every inch of his trust. His love. This was hardly the time or place to repeat the mistake. Devotion too easily gave back into naive, blind trust. To see what he wanted to, rather than what he should.

Rolling his eyes with a pointed sigh, Gellert lowered his own wand. "Always did know how to make an entrance, didn't you, Albus?"

"As opposed to the man known for his exits?"

He couldn't be absolutely positive, but Albus thought he saw a quiver in Gellert's once persuasively-charming smile. "She was never supposed to..."

"I am not here about Ariana, Gellert. That apology is not mine to accept." And it never would be.

Gellert nodded. "Regrettable. She served a purpose, mein schatz, you have to know that."

Albus shook his head. No. "The Greater Good was something you abandoned a long time ago. We both know that."

"But it was! It was! The Hallows...the wand...Albus, I was right! It's all real, it all works! This is what she would have wanted, Albus. A society where we can coexist. Where none of us have to hide! It's all still here. Right here!" he cried, clutching the Elder Wand, waving it about wildly as he spoke.

Unfortunately, where Gellert's enthusiasm had once been nothing but enthralling, it failed to convince Albus that this had been a cause worth dying for. "She would have wanted tyranny? Oppression? So many dead? Gellert, listen to reason. Please."

Albus knew he wouldn't. Gellert was so tied to the idea that his righteous wrath was also right, that the definition of "good" was as morally ambiguous as the means used to achieve it. And that final thought was the one thing that spurred him on. Gellert would be angry, for a time, perhaps. But there was one thing he couldn't argue with…

"Ever the hero, aren't you, Albus?" Gellert's trademark smile faded into a tired, frustrated sneer.

"It's all for the Greater Good, Gellert."