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Albus knew it was a bad idea.
No, scratch that. It was more than a bad idea. It was a horrible idea. It was the kind of idea that could change the course of a life; could shift the tide of a war. And not necessarily in Albus's favor.
But when Newt's face warps through his fireplace, pleading and soft, with only a whispered, "Please help," as his bargaining chip, Albus knows there has never been another option, not really.
He'd given Newt the card to Nicholas Flamel's in case of emergency, and also so that he wouldn't attempt to try and contact Albus for help — because as much as he hated it, Albus could not fight Gellert, and the idea of Newt coming to Albus, asking for something he couldn't give, hurt more than words could express.
As always, however, he'd underestimated the magizoologist, and thus when Newt ducks inside the Flamel's fireplace to Firecall Albus from his office because of course Newt had been clever enough to figure that, if Nicholas was close enough to Albus to offer a safe house, then surely he'd have a way to contact him, too, Albus is completely unprepared.
"I can't," he says, once Newt's finished pleading his case, of the lost Yusuf Kama and the magical mishaps in Paris.
Albus can only imagine Tina Goldenstein's, the American Auror Newt had told him about, disapproval in the background at his lackluster reply. But Newt only says, completely free of judgment and yet unable to hide the utter exhaustion and, yes, a sliver of fear, in his voice, "That's alright, Albus. I understand. We'll… We'll find Yusuf on our own, and stop Grindelwald's rally."
Exhaling deeply, Albus pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows it's a horrible, idiotic decision, but it seems it's already been made for him.
"No," he says. "No, you're right. I'll be there, Newt. I can't Floo from Scotland — but I will be there as soon as I possibly can."
The way Newt positively lights up at that, the optimism Albus had so admired him for at school visible even when he's but logs and charred embers, makes Albus feel like this risky idea could almost, almost be worth it.
Then Newt is gone, and the weight of his decision comes crashing back down.
There's no use for it, though; Albus has said he will support his student and he will die before he breaks that promise.
It takes more effort than it usually would to create an illegal Portkey, considering the monitors on his wrists — yet another reason why this is truly an atrocious idea — but soon one is acquired, set for France, and all he has to do is touch the rusty little spoon and off he is spinning.
He lands unceremoniously in a street he recognizes only a few blocks away from Père-Lachaise cemetery. It's a brisk walk there, and he still sees some wizards and witches, no doubt having Apparated after hearing the news of the rally instead of being instantly transported by Grindelwald's calls, hanging outside the cemetery.
Plunging into the depths of the Lestrange Mausoleum, Albus quickly hears voices up ahead the dim staircase.
When he emerges, the first thing that hits him is the sheer amount of people. They fill every space, every crevice, of the Mausoleum; no seat is left unturned, and even in the corners near the pillars holding the structure upright, there are many a straggler crowding beside him.
Somehow, through it all, Newt finds him. He appears at Albus's elbow with a shocked but pleased, "Albus!"
"Newt." Albus returns Newt's relieved smile and tries not to feel hurt at his student's uncertainty that he'd arrive at all. It's clear he's only caught the rear-end of the rally, and he shivers as Grindelwald's deep, suave voice reverberates back at him for the first time in decades.
"Come here," Newt says, guiding him over to a nearer pillar where Tina, Jacob, and Queenie are standing as well. Somewhere beyond them, Albus thinks he sees a flash of Theseus's ginger hair. "It's not — he had a skull, and showed a vision, and —"
A witch below them shushes them harshly. It's louder than anything Newt or Albus had said, in whispered tones as it were, and it echoes oddly off the stone walls.
This turns out to go from rather unfortunate to an utter disaster as Grindelwald's gaze flicks upwards at the noise and his words halt, mid-speech, at the sight of Albus half-hidden in the shadows.
Albus is at once both too hot and too cold, adrenaline rushing to his head and causing him to feel dizzy. Even just that gaze, still as penetrating as it had been in 1899, has his knees going weak beneath him. He clutches halfheartedly at the pillar next to him as Grindelwald takes in the sight of him, reevaluating, before doing what Albus had hoped he'd do least: smiling.
"Well," he says. "Look what we have here. The Great Albus Dumbledore, gracing these halls with his presence. It is most unexpected indeed, that our fiercest enemy would appear here —" at these words, several dozen witches and wizards start to draw their wands, only pausing when Grindelwald makes an appeasing motion with raised hands " — Now, now, let us not get ahead of ourselves. He is but a wizard, just like you and me. I believe it would be more prudent to greet him like — a friend. Wouldn't you say? Come down here, then."
The weight of the others’ stares is pressing. There is little to be done for it, though, not unless Albus wants this to escalate into a situation he cannot control. It is with immense regret already building into his chest that Albus lightly takes to the stairs, stepping around witches and wizards that eye him with equal distrust and disgust, some practically leaping away and others not even bothering to contain a sneer as he passes by.
"I'm here," Albus says, once he's reached the bottom and dragged his feet onto the center platform. It's a rather redundant thing to say, really — unintelligent and bland, but somehow Gellert's mere presence has already managed to reduce him to an unthinking mess. At least he hadn't stuttered.
"That you are," Gellert agrees. He's changed, Albus notes, but in other ways he's exactly the same as he had been as a boy; his hair has been lightened with age, subtle lines beginning to mark his face. But his eyes are the same as ever, one cobalt blue and the other an intense, enticing white.
The newspapers don't do his beauty justice. When he was young, he'd been wild, a reckless aura of both arrogance and danger constantly surrounding him, doubled with his effortless, handsome features. Now, he'd taken that vivaciousness and twisted it, turning it into something strong and undeniable, something that made you want to turn your head and stare.
And oh, did Albus stare.
At least the favor was returned; Gellert seemed to be drinking up Albus's appearance, in a way that both made Albus's pulse race and rage start to creep in.
How dare Gellert insinuate they were friends — how dare he force Albus down here with him. How dare he call this rally at all , endanger these lives who likely don't even know the delicate balance they currently hang in. How dare that this be their first meeting since 1899 — a place where everything they do, say, will be a spectacle, where every word must be chosen carefully and revised privately for double-meaning.
Albus breaks eye-contact first, flickering up to glance at a worried Newt. Of course, he's concerned for his old Professor's well-being; maybe even slightly regretting bringing Albus here, with how Gellert had so instantly targeted him.
Gellert takes this distraction as the opening it was never intended to be, and steps closer, bowing slightly and grabbing onto Albus's hand. This development is so shocking — the feel of Gellert's cool skin on his, familiar and unknown all at once — that it takes until Gellert is bending down to kiss his knuckles that he realizes Gellert really is acting as if he's an old friend, enacting an ancient Pureblood greeting.
Albus yanks his hands away, but not fast enough for the metal of the cuffs to peek out traitorously. His wrist is caught before he can fully free himself from Grindelwald's grip, and Gellert inspects the cuffs, before holding them up for the whole crowd to ogle at.
"Look at this," Gellert practically spits, genuine rage that surprises Albus to see gleaming in his eyes, "The Ministry has shackled their biggest asset. If this is how they treat their allies, how will they treat us, whom they falsely view as their enemies? "
Murmurs break out within the crowd. Albus spots Theseus and his team of Aurors gently step forward, and Albus nearly closes his eyes in commiseration.
No, he thinks, no, stay away. This is what he wants.
The same could be said for him, of course. Perhaps Gellert hadn't expected him, but him coming he will surely twist into his favor, of that Albus is sure.
Gellert says, "Do not be alarmed, and do nothing, my friends," and predictably, half of the populace bristles instantly in response, "But there are Aurors among us."
Theseus halts in his tracks as people whip around to face the Aurors, some jeering and others whispering desperately to each other. It's clear what is going to happen next, but Albus is absolutely helpless to stop it.
The girl is behind him. She sees the Aurors and reacts in rage — rage that Albus is not sure is entirely unfounded. The threatened wizard responds with a spell Albus is certain was unnecessary, and she drops, dead.
Albus closes his eyes and doesn't entirely process what happens next — Gellert walking over and proclaiming fake sympathy, dismissing the crowd, the sudden rush of Disapparation flooding the room. It is not we who are violent. The entire reason for this rally has been completed, every member an unwilling part to the play. And a girl's life was all that had to be paid in return.
It is only when Grindelwald is walking back towards the center platform that Albus reopens his eyes to speak — to move — to do something — but then Newt does it for him, stomping down the stairs and foolheartedly pulling his wand on Gellert. Oh, how loyal his old student was. How foolish.
"Get away from him!" Newt yells. Tina says something indistinct, clinging onto his arm, clearly trying to get him to be quiet. "Albus hasn't — get back!"
"The little Scamander," Gellert says, already spinning on his heel to stare down the man Albus had sent to — successfully — spoil his plans. A dreadful fear creeps in Albus's heart, urged on by the undeniable anger in Gellert's eyes. "Don't think I forgot about you. Oh, no — I remember your… Misadventures in America quite clearly. You are the reason I was captured, as I'm sure you know. They tortured me there. Forced my head underwater until I couldn't hold my breath any longer; ripped my fingernails out; they even took my tongue. All the Muggle way, of course, or as close as they could get. I believe they thought it'd send a message. "
Gellert stalks closer. The violence in his gestures is obvious, palpable in the way his magic crackles in the air. The Aurors have their wands up, pointed, but Theseus holds them back yet. Albus wonders why — this is clearly the time to stop him, before he hurts Newt.
But they are not stopping Grindelwald. That much is clear, and when Gellert starts to lift his wand, Albus realizes he will have to be the one to do something, to protect his old shy, sweet student — no, to protect the brilliant, strong man he'd turned out to be.
It is without little conscious thought that Albus lurches forward and clamps a hand onto Gellert's wrist, digging in firmly until Gellert's tight grip on the Elder Wand loosens some.
" Don't, " Albus warns. "Don't you dare hurt him, Gellert."
Gellert tilts his head to face him slowly. When they do finally make eye-contact, Albus is shocked to find none of the depths of anger he'd expected, possessive mixing with jealousy in an ugly haze. Instead, disturbingly, he's grinning.
It is only when Albus looks back to the thinning crowd that he realizes why. He'd called Gellert by his first name. How could he have been so stupid ?
This was all a trap, and Albus had walked right into it.
People are staring at him in various stages of confusion and shock. Both Goldstein sisters look disturbingly contemplative. Theseus has a narrow-eyed, unreadable expression Albus recognizes from his school days, when he'd be faced with a particularly difficult problem, one where all he had to do was revalute with fresh eyes and the answer would be obvious. But Newt — Newt's face strikes the hardest. Clutching his Niffler, Newt only looks purely, completely upset, and not at Albus — at Gellert, at Albus's predicament, at the state of things in general, selflessly giving away his worry and concern as he always does.
Gellert is still smiling when he leans in and says, in a hushed whisper that does nothing to stop the words from echoing in the nearly empty chamber, "For you, my dear, anything."
Albus hastily releases Gellert's wrist, stumbling backwards. Neatly and seemingly completely unbothered, none of the previous anger that Albus now realizes was a farce visible, Gellert lowers his wand.
He's played right into Gellert's hands, he realizes too late. Whatever Gellert says next is completely tuned out, impossible to hear over the ringing in his ears; the subtle call of mistake, mistake, mistake. Theseus' eyes flicker between the two, as if sensing two predators circling him and unsure of which to focus on.
It is only when the blue fire starts to rain down that Albus rockets back into his body, and he stumbles back with a gasp. The strange, redefined Fiendfyre — because that's the only spell it can be, although it looks nothing like Albus has seen before, blue and stabilized instead of red and raging — licks at his hand before he can fully step off the center platform, and he braces himself, expecting throbbing, bristling pain where the fire had made contact.
Except that pain never comes. Of course — Gellert had cast the fire in clear malicious intent, and he and Albus — they cannot fight. That doesn't mean they can't hurt each other, however, as has been made obvious over the years, this night especially.
Newt says something to him, but Albus only has eyes for the fire. Gellert goes on about loyalty; about proving yourself; and Albus knows, he knows, that if the fire did not destroy him, then he is the only one who can destroy it.
"Theseus," Albus calls, and Gellert's voice quiets immediately, eyes snapping over to watch as Albus takes several cautious steps closer to the Auror. "Theseus. Listen to me — I can destroy this fire. No one has to die here tonight. Just —" he raises his hands, where the sleeve pulls down slightly and reveals the raised metal of the monitors. " — remove this."
Theseus had always been a bright boy. Brighter than most, he saw through people right down to their core, whereas his brother struggled in most social situations, floundering for the right things to say and the correct perceptions to have. And even more intelligently, Theseus usually kept his observations to himself, viewing the world and all its machinations at a distance. Albus cannot say how much Theseus has gleaned through the small interaction that passed between Gellert and Albus, but he is sure it is more than he is comfortable with.
"I can't," Theseus says finally, a horrible reversal of their roles on that ill-fated day the Ministry came to deliver the cuffs in the first place. Perhaps Theseus doesn't mean to make the connection, perhaps he does; either way, Albus curses his earlier-self's words.
" Please, " Albus attempts, not even caring for the way the fire crackles higher, outraged at the display of weakness, behind him, the caster likely just as annoyed as the inferno. "I can help."
"He's not done anything wrong, Theseus," Ever-loyal Newt jumps on. Tina shakes his arm where it's still latched in her grip, but Newt doesn't stop. "And he's Dumbledore. If anyone can stop Grindelwald, it's him."
But this is the wrong thing to say. Albus can't help the grimace at the words and Theseus likely can't help the memories pouring back from the day the Ministry visited. He already knows a sliver of Albus's past with Grindelwald; a sliver too much.
"Professor Dumbledore."
That voice is unexpected. Slipping effortlessly into the exchange, Leta Lestrange glides down the catacomb, coming to a stop only a few feet away from her fiancé.
"Leta," Albus says, a twinge of relief entirely out of his control bursting in his chest at the sight of one his former students safe and sound. Except — well. They're not safe here. No one is, not with Grindelwald still smiling beyond the flames, so assured of his victory yet.
"If you say you can stop him, you needn't magic to do it," says Leta, and Newt blinks rapidly as he tries to process this. Albus feels much the same. " Ask him. "
"I'm sorry, what? " It comes out harsher than intended, but Albus makes no move to refute the words.
"Ask him to stop," Leta asks — no, demands. Lestrange has been a dark line for centuries and she'd carried the burden of that at school, endured the whispers and taunts fearlessly, digging into books instead of seeking friends. At times, she'd reminded him of all the worst parts of himself. In that, Albus has forgotten she's her own person, with her own wishes, ambitions, suspicions. "If what we've just seen is any indication — just ask him. "
The ploy is obvious. If he refuses, then perhaps he really is on Grindelwald's side. If he doesn't, and Gellert refuses, then he isn't. But if he asks and Gellert does, then, well…
But there's nothing for it. Albus already knows what Gellert is going to choose — him simply watching them speak benevolently, like a king granting his citizens time to plot a coup, makes that obvious enough — and so it is with a resigned air that he turns, stares into Gellert's wide eyes, and says, "Dispel it."
With a slight, sly smile, Gellert only bows shallowly and says, "Of course," before the flames reverse themselves, trickling back towards his wand until not even a scorched mark on the stone floor remains. Albus hates him. He hates him so much he almost chokes on it.
Spells are instantly shot towards the now defenseless Gellert, who waves them away and conjures a shield charm that nothing seems to be able to break through. The Aurors close in, but it makes no difference.
At the very least, Albus consoles himself, no one has died yet.
Glancing about the stands to ignore Newt and the others for a bit longer, he notices the presence, forgotten in the midst of it all, hanging in the back. Credence, he recognizes. The Obscurial, the boy with the ever contested origins. And someone else, a woman about his age, with black hair and a ripped dress.
"You… How…" Newt's voice draws Albus back, and he meets his gaze reluctantly. Spellfire courses in the background, a one-sided duel commencing between Grindelwald and the Aurors, with Grindelwald's attention on none of it.
Newt audibly swallows. Jacob, the Muggle friend, looks ill beside him. Tina is visibly reassessing, likely reworking what she's heard about the British Professor into what she's seeing now; and Queenie, Queenie just looks sorrowful. "Why would he listen to you?"
"I'm not with him," Albus says, fervently. "I'm not. You must know that I oppose all of his views. I could never… I do not know what he plans to gain with this game."
" Game ?" Newt echoes, and Albus winces. Poor word choice. "You call this a game?"
"That's not what I meant. Grindelwald means to tear down our world in violence and fear, I — I do not condone that."
"But you won't fight him," Theseus says, softly. "And he will listen to you when you tell him to stop."
Albus can't help it — at that, he scoffs. " Listen to me when I tell him to stop, " he repeats, turning to glare at the man in question, who only blocks another Stunning spell and smiles effusively. "Gellert's never listened to me a day in his life, of that it is very clear. And I am not on his side."
"But you knew him," Theseus continues, undeterred. "You knew him in your youth, that's why you're wearing those cuffs in the first place. The Ministry doesn't trust you, and — and I'm starting to see why. You're hiding things, Albus."
"Of course I am hiding things!" Albus exclaims, anger finally working its way into his voice. "Your Ministry deems it justifiable to needlessly restrict my magic based on one image collected decades ago! What am I supposed to feel, indebted to them? Like they're trustworthy? All they've done is push me away and coerce me into things I don't want!"
Here is the thing — despite the Aurors, many in this crowd don't particularly like the Ministry. Newt has never been fond of them, and their restrictions to his travels has only furthered that dislike. The Americans are suitably wary of a foreign government power, and even Theseus can see the corruption that holds the Ministry in its iron grip. But never have they heard such an outburst, such a raw and unfiltered rage, from Albus Dumbledore, and there is a reason Albus has never let them — because, like so many other things about him, it could be taken the wrong way. It's a bad decision to say anything in response to Theseus's words at all. And yet, that is all Albus seems to be making today.
The tension in the air is palpable, palpable enough to have Gellert raising his hands in a faux-peaceful motion and saying, "Calm yourselves. It is true, of course — Albus opposes all that I do. He is not with me. Whatever claims you think you've found —" At the idea of someone discovering their shared history, he scowls furiously, " — are likely loose in truth. Albus hasn't even had contact with me — not once — since 1899. To think just because of my actions he's with me is, frankly, ridiculous."
All of that — every single part — is true. And that's the brilliance of it; it doesn't matter, not a single bit, what Grindelwald had to say. Because it's Grindelwald. In fact, just the pure idea of Gellert giving testimony for reasons someone's not on his side seems to sway several people to believing he is on his side. But Albus can't refute Gellert's words either, because they are the truth. They are just truths that don’t reflect reality, and, well… Who would take the words of a madman over the actions of one?
Only Newt still seems unswayed, but even he is not foolish enough to say something like, "I believe Grindelwald." Instead, he only stands, Niffler still attached staunchly to his person, eyes wide and hurt and still with that stinging trust in them.
"Aurors," Theseus says, after exchanging one last dark look with Leta, "Arrest Gellert Grindelwald… And Albus Dumbledore."
Noises of shock and protest do echo through the room, but there isn't much of it. Surely not enough to have the Aurors reconsidering.
Albus steps back, thinking frantically. There are likely already anti-Apparition words up — not that he wouldn't be able to rip through them with his wand as a focus-point. But of course, because of the abominable cuffs, that means nothing now. All he can do is accept his fall with dignity.
Except, when the first Stunning spell comes hurtling forward, it is met by an impeccable, invisible wall, dispersing the spell on contact. Gellert stands smoothly in front of him and wades off the incoming attacks.
He's not on the defense this time, easily swatting away each Auror's spell like it was a particularly bothersome bug. No, this time, he's fighting back; and with the Elder Wand, what a fight it is.
The pillars arch back and shake at his touch, growing elongated to trap wizards in their stone arms. Stairs transform into slides, to which people slip and fall on, the very stone they're standing on becomes quick sand that pulls them in without mercy. The very Mausoleum itself becomes an enemy, torches flaring with anger that burns and ceiling shaking with the force of zipping spells.
No one is killed. Not yet. But it is clear what Gellert is doing; he's taunting Albus. Waiting to see how far he can toe the line before Albus reigns him in again. And Albus hates him for it — but, well, he's hated him for a long time, and people's lives matter more than such a useless emotion.
He touches Gellert's shoulder and doesn't have to say anything this time. Gellert half-turns to him, looks into his eyes, and knows.
"It won't be free this time, you know," Gellert says. "I'll want something in return."
Albus closes his eyes. "And what is that?"
A hand slips into his back, holding him both close and at arm's length.
"A chance to try again," Gellert says. "To start over. With us. With this. But this time… I'll listen to you."
"It's not much of a choice at all, is it?" Albus weakly smiles, the expression falling as he sees the painted faces of betrayal beaming down at him from around the Mausoleum.
"That, my dear," Gellert says, "is entirely up to you."
Something fierce and warm is starting to crawl into his chest. Still, Albus must ask, "You'll listen? Truly and utterly, to what I have to say?"
"Yes," says Gellert promptly. "For you, anything."
Albus breathes in deep. The Mausoleum smells of dust and the electric aftertaste of spells gone wild. Somewhere below them, Newt calls his name.
"Alright," Albus says, as Gellert pulls him closer. Gellert smiles, then, dizzying and exuberantly boyish, and Albus can't help the flicker of a thing tugging at his lips in response. "Alright."
"Wir gehen nach Hause, meine Liebe," Gellert murmurs, the familiar pull of Disapparation starting to fizzle between them. Before they disappear entirely, he bends down and presses their lips together. A rush of emotions flit by Albus, too fast and too complicated to name.
"No," Albus says, when they separate, bitterness and anger and something else taking his breath away. "You're forcing me out of mine. But I always did hate Godric's Hollow, didn't I?"
Albus has made many bad decisions. Countless ones today alone. But this one — this might end up being the worst of them all.
Or, perhaps, if he dares to hope — if he dares to see past Gellert's manipulation, his crimes, and find the lonely boy still stashed inside — it will be the best decision he's ever made.