My Sacrifice
It was in quite the towering rage that he returned to the hotel room he was sharing with Albus, and it took all of his self-control for Gellert not to truly lose his temper.
The wand, he was certain that Gregorovitch either possessed it, or the man knew exactly where it could be found, and yet, somehow, he’d been wrong.
It was a rather alien feeling for him. Gellert was never wrong.
“He doesn’t have it. I saw the truth in his eyes, Albus. Gregorovitch doesn’t have the wand.”
Albus frowned, and though Gellert was as confused as he was peeved, his thoughts of the wand were momentarily forgotten as he watched the other man feeding a small, featherless bird, his eyes widening as he realised what it was.
“Is that a phoenix?” he whispered.
It wasn’t often he found himself in a state of awe. Living in a world of magic, there wasn’t much that could elicit such a response from him, but to see a phoenix in person was not something Gellert had expected.
“It is,” Albus confirmed. “I found him at the palace. I’m not the first Dumbledore to bond with one. My great uncle Wilberforce had a companion, as did many others.”
“Incredible,” Gellert murmured as he joined the two, the presence of the bird serving to calm his temper. “Do you think he is your companion?”
Albus shrugged.
“It seems that way. He can leave any time he wishes, but he hasn’t. He seems happy to be here. I can feel what he wants, and he is already trying to bond with me.”
Gellert beamed happily and wrapped and arm around Albus’s shoulder.
“What a most wonderful gift. If that isn’t a sign that we are doing the right thing, I don’t know what is.”
Albus nodded, and he seemed to be much more relaxed since the two of them had departed Britain.
He’d not said as much, but Gellert suspected that his farewell to his mother and sister had not gone as he’d intended, and now, that seemed to be far from Albus’s mind.
“So, Gregorovitch wasn’t any help?”
Gellert’s nostrils flared.
“No, and I was so very certain that he would know something, Albie. Every last piece of evidence I have discovered points to Gregorovitch. He was honest with me, and even mentioned another who’d visited recently to ask after it…”
“Harry?”
Gellert shook his head.
“I saw an image of the man, it wasn’t Peverell. Gregorovitch says it is a common thing, so…”
“Even if he did have it, it is likely that someone else took it from him long ago.”
Gellert hummed.
He remained undeterred in his quest to find the elder wand, and the other two Hallows, but he could not put everything else on hold indefinitely to do that.
No, many men had wasted their lives in the pursuit of them, and his goals were much bigger than a few trinkets. He and Albus were to change the very world as they knew it, and though the Hallows would be a boon to their efforts, the two of them were talented enough that they were not essential.
“So, what now?”
Gellert frowned at the question.
“I think it would do us both good to see the continent for a few months before we move on.”
“Move on?”
“To America, Albie. It is the land of opportunity that our efforts will begin taking shape.”
Alus did not seem to be convinced, but just one look at his new companion changed his expression, and he nodded eagerly.
“America,” he agreed. “We will begin in America.”
(Break)
“I can only imagine that with the bond my younger self is forging with Fawkes, the magic connecting you to him through your wand has been broken,” Dumbledore mused aloud.
It had been all but unresponsive to him since he’d come into possession of the elder wand, and Harry was certain it was something to do with Death’s magic that had caused Fawkes to reject him, but even Dumbledore did not believe that was so.
“It’s not my wand anymore then.”
“Perhaps only for now,” Dumbledore replied thoughtfully. “I expect that if and when I am forced to confront the truth about Gellert, that might change.”
“Unless you stay blind to the truth.”
“Love is blind, Harry,” Dumbledore sighed, his gaze shifting towards the window longingly.
Despite the predicament he faced, Harry had insisted on the promise he’d made being fulfilled, that Dumbledore, whilst he was here, spend as much time as he could with his family, even if they were unaware of his presence.
“How bad is it going to be?”
The apparition deflated.
“Gellert alone plunged the entire continent into war, Harry. He is not so obviously as cruel as Tom but certainly influential, a respected leader, and exceptional wizard in his own right. Even without the elder wand, he will not be bested easily.”
“And with you fighting at his side?”
“We are perhaps as unstoppable as duo as you will find, but you have the advantage, Harry. I have and will continue to guide you as best I can in what lies ahead of you. When you receive what I have left you, you will have every tool at your disposal, more than enough knowledge to defeat the younger me, if that becomes necessary. Even then, I preferred to use transfiguration and the environment to my advantage.”
“And Grindelwald?”
“Wields charms and combat magic better than any I have ever met and is exceptionally versed in dark magic. You must learn to outmanoeuvre him, put him on the backfoot, and to become cautious of you. It is his own spells that you must show competence in countering. He must see you as a true obstacle to overcome, and you countering magic he believes only he knows will succeed in making him cautious. There is, however, only one person that help you in that, and that is Gellert himself.”
“So, I need the stone,” Harry sighed.
Dumbledore shook his head, his expression morphing into one of guilt.
“No, Harry. The Gellert where we hail from yet lives. Upon defeating him, I had him locked away.”
“He’s still alive?” Harry choked.
“In the very prison he built. Now, I am uncertain on how much he will be willing to help you, but if you take him the news of my death, you may be able to strike up something of a friendship with him.”
“You want me to become his friend?”
“Not in such a way,” Dumbledore said sadly, “but you will never break him. He will welcome your attempts, and even death. He has been begging me for five decades to kill him. He may be old and physically weaker, but do not underestimate him, Harry. Gellert’s mind is as keen as ever.”
Harry could only shake his head.
Fighting a war against Voldemort was one thing, but then a second on a much larger scale against two foes perhaps even more powerful than the Dark Lord was another.
“How long will I have here?” he asked.
“Some years yet, Harry, but I would suggest you do not allow Gellert to build such a force as he did. You will find yourself fighting a war against enemies numbering in the tens of thousands across the entirety of Europe. I am uncertain of his movements, but he will make his way to the United States within the next ten years where he will assume the identity of another. Perhaps that will not be so this time, but that was where he gathered many of his followers. From there, he will return to Europe and his influence will spread quickly. You must be prepared, Harry.”
He dragged a hand through his hair and shook his head once more.
“What choice do I have,” he chuckled humourlessly.
Dumbledore offered him an apologetic smile.
“I wish things could’ve been different for you, Harry,” he offered sincerely. “I wish that I had the courage to have done what I should have before Tom Riddle became what he did.”
“You couldn’t have known, and you definitely couldn’t have predicted all of this. It’s not your fault, Professor.”
Despite everything, even how irritated he was with the headmaster, as Harry felt the approach of the cloaked figure he’d pledged himself to, he did not resent Albus Dumbledore. If anything, his admiration for him had grown, and he would not see them part for the final time on nothing less than the best of terms.
Were it not for the man before him, he would maybe not find himself in the position he was, but equally, he would not be as prepared as he’d become.
He would not forget that many of his final hours were spent doing everything he could to ready Harry for what lie ahead of him, and even now, he was doing just that.
“It is time, isn’t?”
Harry could only nod as the presence grew stronger.
“What is it that waits for me on the other side, Harry?”
He swallowed deeply as he closed his eyes.
He’d yet to mourn for the man’s passing as everyone else would’ve been for several days now, and with his absence imminent, he began to feel that loss as much as he himself was lost at what he was to do.
Even so, there was no hostility from Death as he arrived but something of a contentment filled the room of what had been the Peverell home.
“For you, Professor, peace,” he answered. “You have earned it, and it will be granted. Those you lost are waiting for you, and they are eager for you to join them.”
“Then I should not keep them waiting any longer,” Dumbledore chocked as he turned to face the waiting cloaked figure, which towered over the man.
He paused briefly and turned to face Harry, a ghostly tear running down his cheek and into his beard.
“Thank you, Harry Potter, for being the most exceptional young man I have ever met, for all you have done for those here, and what you will continue to do in all that is ahead of you. I do not doubt your success, Harry, and my hope is that when we meet again, we can share in the peace you, more than any will have earned.”
Harry could only nod in response as a lump formed in his throat, and watched as Death wrapped an arm around Dumbledore’s shoulder, putting him on the path of the next great adventure he’d spoken so acceptingly of.
“It truly is remarkable,” Tullius spoke, pulling Harry from his thoughts. “It is like I am examining an entirely different person from the one I met a year ago. Not just physically, Mr Potter, but your magic has become perhaps the most unique I have ever seen in a human. I strongly suspect your encounters with the various creatures over the years have played their parts, but it is the very nature of your own magic that is perplexing. It is undoubtedly your own, but…”
“Like nothing else you’ve ever seen?” Harry snorted.
“Indeed,” Tullius acknowledged.
He was tempted to ask about the relationship he’d once had with Fawkes, and how the phoenix tears in his system would react to the changes within him, his wand, and being at odds with another Dumbledore.
Was it somehow the very same Fawkes that he’d come to know that had bonded with the younger Albus?
Harry was not foolish enough to dismiss such a thing, even if the very notion seemed as ridiculous as his own ability to flit between two different existences.
He had once again taken his leave of the other place shortly after Dumbledore had passed on knowing that the man’s funeral would be held shortly, and now with an invitation to attend Bill and Fleur’s wedding only a couple of days after.
Truthfully, he found it to be a rather distasteful time to hold a wedding, but he did not doubt that Dumbledore would approve, even if Harry had his reservations.
Of course, he would attend the ceremony.
Despite Fleur’s haughty and aloof nature, he quite liked her.
He didn’t really know Bill Weasley at all outside of the few times he’d spoken with him, but he was pleased for them. At least there was something positive happening here.
The country was indeed in mourning for Albus, but it wasn’t that Harry was focused on. No, Tom had been far too quiet for his liking in light of the news, which could only mean he was planning something.
He did not even need to question if the man would be so uncouth to interrupt the funeral of the revered headmaster, chief warlock, or any other title bestowed upon Albus Dumbledore during his many years of service.
Riddle would do so in a heartbeat, if only to attempt to sully the memory of the man.
“Well, I must say, Mr Potter, that whatever had been ailing you before the two of us met is well and truly a thing of the past, and given what has happened…”
He broke off with a shake of his head.
“They’re already talking about who will stand up to Voldemort,” Harry chuckled.
“And it is your name on the lips of most, Harry,” Tullius said apologetically. “The people have so little faith in the Ministry of Magic. They remember just how incompetent they were during the last war, and do not expect it will be different.”
“Then it is a good thing that I plan on putting the bastard in the ground then, isn’t it,” Harry snorted.
Tullius was taken aback by the declaration.
“You do not fear him, do you?”
Harry shrugged.
“What is there to fear? The worst thing he can do is kill me, and I don’t fear dying, Tullius. If the world was as it should be, I would already be dead several times over. He fears Death. He has much more to lose than I do, and I will take everything I can from him before I send him to his personal hell.”
The healer eyed him curiously for a moment before nodding.
“I think Arcturus Black would’ve quite liked you, Harry Potter. He did not have time for many outside his own family, but he respected men such as yourself, and he would see the truth in your eyes as I do. I will even rest just a little easier at night knowing that it is you doing everything you can to stop him. For now, it seems that our business is concluded, but should you need me, anytime day or night, Kreacher will be able to bring me to you immediately. I would be remiss in my duties if I did not continue providing for your medical needs.”
Harry nodded appreciatively, and Tullius took his leave via the fireplace, though given what was ahead, Harry doubted it would be for the last time.
Still, although his thoughts were turbulent at best, and he could not see a way forward to winning both wars he would inevitably face, they were to be put on hold whilst he prepared to attend Dumbledore’s funeral and a wedding shortly after.
Before either, however, there was somewhere else he needed to be, and Harry saw no reason to delay the inevitable meeting of a man the world believed to be dead.
What he would find upon entering Nurmengard, he did not know, but Harry suspected that Gellert Grindelwald would be devastated by the news he was to deliver.
He knew that he was, along with the rest of Great Britain, mourning an imperfect but great man as Albus Dumbledore had proven to be throughout his life.
(Break)
For several days now he’d been pondering what he would do with the revelation that Dumbledore was dead. Of course, he’d acted immediately by placing Wormtail within the castle in the interim, and yet, the other piece of information that had been brought to him was somehow just that little more intriguing.
Security at the funeral would be exceptional, and though the Dark Lord would not admit it to any other, there was a part of him that admired and respected Albus Dumbledore for what he’d achieved during his life.
He did not like the headmaster by any stretch, and truly despised him, but there was no denying he’d been an exceptional wizard.
No, the man would be granted his burial as a mark of respect, but the same could not be said about the wedding being hosted at the home of the Weasleys.
“You are certain, Augustus?”
The former Unspeakable nodded.
“Yes, my lord. Everything is in place. So long as you strike at the right time at each place, it will work. The entire country will be left in a state of panic, and your takeover will be secured.”
The Dark Lord nodded as a cautious smiled tugged at the corner of his lips.
“Then proceed, Augustus. Do what you must.”
Augustus offered him a bow before leaving the room, and Lord Voldemort leaned back in his chair.
The Ministry of Magic and the rest of the country would expect him to put on a display at Dumbledore’s funeral, but they would not expect him to care so much for the union of a Weasley and a French veela.
It was the perfect place to strike to rid himself of as many enemies as he could, whilst claiming the Ministry of Magic in the ensuing chaos.
Yes, it was the right course of action, and just when Britain believed things could not become much worse, the final nail would be hammered into the coffin when he took control of Hogwarts too.
“Cunning and guile,” he murmured as he went over the plan over and over again, ensuring he accounted for every possible outcome and fallout along the way.
(Break)
The man he found himself looking upon did not appear as though he had once been the greatest threat to the magical world. Dumbledore had never appeared to be the age he was, not until he’d become sick from the curse, at least, but Gellert Grindelwald did not look well.
His clothing hung loosely on his frame, his white hair was thin, and skin deeply wrinkled. What did not escape Harry, however, was how keen and eager his eyes had remained throughout his incarceration.
“Come to kill me, boy?”
Harry shook his head.
He’d not known what to think when Dumbledore had revealed that Grindelwald yet lived, that he’d spent five decades locked away in his own prison.
He’d thought perhaps that he would get the measure of the man who would inevitably become his enemy in another place entirely, but that wouldn’t be so.
No, this wasn’t the same Grindelwald he would face, just as it wasn’t the same Albus Dumbledore he’d come to know these past months.
“I was asked to bring this to you.”
Grindelwald frowned as he accepted the offered roll of parchment, and his hand trembled as he accepted it, a trembling that became more prominent as he unfurled it and read the contents.
“The damned fool,” Grindelwald murmured, his voice catching in his throat. “So, he’s dead then.”
Harry nodded sadly, and Grindelwald chuckled.
“I should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to face me in the end, that he wouldn’t be able to do what he should have the day he defeated me. He should’ve killed me then instead of making rot in this hell. Do you feel it, boy, the magic that holds this place together?”
Harry could.
It was oppressive, almost suffocating, and he could not fathom what would happen to him were he to remain here for any length of time.
“My own creation turned against me,” Grindelwald snorted. “It is the only prison in the world that can hold me.”
He spoke of it proudly, and Harry could not deny that Nurmengard was quite the construct. Still, he did wonder how it was no one else had been here, and certainly not how the man before him still lived.
There were many who would see to his demise, after all.
Had Dumbledore found a way to hide it?
That was the most likely outcome given that Grindelwald had seemingly been undisturbed for so long.
“What is your name?”
“Harry Potter.”
“Ah, the boy who survived the killing curse. Of course, Albus discussed you at length with me, wanted to hear my thoughts on what happened that night. So, Riddle hasn’t managed to kill you yet then?”
“Not for lack of trying.”
Grindelwald hummed as he continued to eye Harry with his penetrating gaze.
“I’ll help you,” he declared.
“What?”
“Well, without Albie, you will need all the help you can get, but you will do something for me.”
“How are you supposed to help me?”
Grindelwald chuckled humourlessly.
“Do not think me a fool, Harry Potter. If Albie was going to give it to anyone, it would be you. Tell me, how does it work in your hands?”
Hary removed the elder wand, and he did not miss the look of hunger that filled the Dark Lord’s gaze.
“Better than I thought it would,” he answered honestly.
“Indeed, I suspected in the hands of a Peverell, it would work better than it ever could for me. I neither possessed the blood, the magic, nor the soul,” Grindelwald murmured, his gaze flitting towards where Harry’s scar had once sat so prominently. “So, do we have a deal?”
“You do not even know what help I will need.”
“All of the help I could ever give you is right here,” Grindelwald declared, pointing to the small desk in the corner of his cell. “My life’s work, my own magical journey all chronicled for whomever it was who found me. Not that they would’ve so easily. No, both me and Albie did our very best to hide this place, but when his magic fades, they will come for me.”
He did not speak with any fear. If anything, Grindelwald accepted the fate he believed awaited him.
“What do you want from me?” he asked.
“I would see Albus’s final place of rest, and then you will kill me, Harry Potter. Yes, you’re not like Albie. You are a killer, and I would die with dignity at the hands of one worthy of taking my life. If you do that, all of this is yours.”
Harry frowned at the request, and wondered if Dumbledore suspected that this was what Grindelwald would ask for.
No one knew the Dark Lord as well as the former headmaster, after all, and if he’d expressed his desire to be killed, which Harry did not doubt, it must’ve crossed his mind.
Maybe he knew that Hary would agree to grant the man’s final wish, and that he would readily hand over another willing soul to Death. Even so, it was not without risk, and yet, if that was what Grindelwald wanted, who was he to deny him when he could be provided with just that little more he would need to succeed against his enemies?
“Fine,” he agreed. “He is going to be buried tomorrow. I will take you so that you can say your goodbyes, and then Death will claim you, as you wish.”
“Death?” Grindelwald asked curiously.
“I am a Peverell,” Harry said with a shrug. “I serve Death, and he serves me.”
The former Dark Lord was rather taken aback by the declaration, but nodded, nonetheless.
“Until tomorrow, Harry Potter.”
(Break)
“Do you think we can expect trouble, Severus?”
“The Dark Lord is impossible to predict, but I would expect not. He would not risk so many of his followers with how many will be in attendance.”
“But he must suspect that Potter will be there.”
“I do not believe the Dark Lord is in any rush to engage Potter. I think he has learned that he must be cautious where the boy is concerned. He seems to have had luck on his side thus far, and without knowing the prophecy in full…”
“Does Potter know it?”
“Undoubtedly,” Severus said severely. “Have you heard from him since…?”
“Not a word. I am quite worried.”
“I would not be worried, Minerva. Potter has a way of somehow surviving against the greatest of odds. Besides, if any had befallen him, do you think the Dark Lord would remain silent on the matter?”
The voices of the two faded, and Peter breathed a sigh of relief.
He’d been rather nervous about returning to Hogwarts, especially after what happened the last time he was here. Even so, outside of the serving professors, he doubted there was anyone in Britain who’d spent as much time as him in the castle, and though Potter undoubtedly still possessed the map, Peter had found ways of avoiding being seen on it.
There were many rooms that the Marauders had failed to find, and many others Peter had over the years.
Besides, being away from the Dark Lord was just the reprieve he needed.
Somehow, the man was more insane than he’d been fifteen years prior, his temper only worsening, and punishments becoming crueller. Lucius could certainly attest to that, and if he did return without finding his wayward wife and son…
Peter did not wish to dwell on what would happen to the man, not when he needed to remain focused whilst he was here. What he was doing remained a mystery to him, but the Dark Lord had assured him that he would be in touch in due course with further instructions, and Peter could not help but think that he already knew what they would entail.
The Dark Lord wanted Hogwarts for himself just as much as he wanted Potter and the Ministry of Magic, and soon enough, it was likely he would have everything he desired.
Harry may have been lucky thus far, but that luck would inevitably run out, and when it did, he would be at the mercy of the Dark Lord, who would take no further chances where the boy was concerned.
Between now and then however, Peter needed to ensure that he did not find himself confronted by the boy.
He was so unlike James and Lily in his ways.
Peter remembered the anger he’d shown when he’d come upon him, Sirius, and Ron Weasley in the Shrieking Shack, how Harry had pummelled Sirius when his wand had been taken from him.
Had he had it in his possession, there was no doubt in his mind that the thirteen-year-old Harry would’ve killed his own godfather.
What he would do to Peter did not bear thinking about.
No, he could not allow himself to be put in such a position.
Doing so would inevitably be a most agonising way to meet his end.
The only question was, who did Peter fear more?
Was it the vengeful youngster who would tear him limb from limb, or the master who’d dispose of him quickly were such an eventuality to occur?
Peter knew what he’d prefer, and it wasn’t finding himself on the wrong side of Harry Potter’s wand. No, despite the cruelty he often exhibited, the Dark Lord would not inflict as much suffering on him as the son of the two friends he’d betrayed to seek the favour of Lord Voldemort.
(Break)
It wasn’t entirely unusual for it to rain during the summer months in Britain, but today, it was oddly fitting and reflective of the mood that hung over Godric’s Hollow, which had likely never seen so many visitors at one time.
Thousands of witches and wizards from across the entirety of the wizarding world lined the streets, and filled the churchyard as far as the eye could see to pay homage to a most enigmatic figure.
Among them, Harry had seen the Delacour family, Madame Maxime, who was not easy to miss, and even Viktor Krum, who had joined them to stand with Hermione.
There were many others Harry recognised, some he was surprised to see given the unfolding conflict, and others who would not miss saying goodbye for the world.
Harry found himself with Remus on one side, Professor McGonagall on the other, and the towering figure of Hagrid, who was sobbing into an enormous handkerchief directly behind him.
“The house is all fixed up now,” Remus murmured. “I think you’ll like it.”
Harry offered the man a smile, pleased that he finally had a home to call his own. It was all Sirius would want for the werewolf, as would his parents.
“Why is it so cold?” McGonagall grumbled.
Death.
With so many having gathered, Death had been unable to ignore the prospect of so many souls waiting to be claimed. One day, they all would be, but not today.
Despite the chill of the familiar magic in the air, Harry sensed nothing amiss, and yet, he would remain vigilant. If Riddle was to impose himself here today, he was ready for the Dark Lord.
The same, however, could not be said for the other waiting for him at Nurmengard, though that wasn’t something he would concern himself with until later.
For now, he was here, like the others, to lay Albus Dumbledore to rest in a ceremony befitting the man.
Oh, Harry knew he was far from infallible, that he’d made many mistakes throughout his life, but there was no denying that he had served the people of Britain as the headmaster of the prestigious school, the chief warlock on the Wizengamot, and the supreme Mugwump of the ICW.
That was why so many had come, and here and now, his mistakes did not matter.
Silence fell as the coffin was carried into the churchyard, and remained as it was gently placed on the apparatus that would lower it into the ground. Save for the gentle sobbing of several onlookers, only the gentle pattering of the rain could be heard.
For Harry, it was a solemn moment, one he would not forget, and it would not be the only burial he attended.
Others would perish in the war ahead of them, and he could only hope that it was his enemies who would suffer the lost more than him.
(Break)
Abe,
Albie left with Grindelwald to travel. Mum is not happy about it, and the two of them argued before.
I haven’t heard from him since, but I will let you know when I do.
He’s such a prat.
I do have some better news, and that is that Harry is back! He is sorry that he missed you, and he promised to write while you are at Hogwarts. Anyway, how are your lessons?
Love Ariana
His nostrils flared as he read the name of the man that Albie had become rather taken with these past couple of years. Aberforth did not like Grindelwald. There was something about him that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he simply could not trust him.
Albus was an idiot for going with him, but that was his business. Still, he knew that their mother would not take his departure well, and Abe wished he was home with her and Ariana to look after them as his older brother should be.
“Idiot,” he grumbled, though his countenance shifted as he opened the next envelope that had arrived for him.
To Abe,
I am sorry that I missed you for the summer, but I’m sure I will see you during the Christmas break.
I know that your sister is worried about Albus and your mother, and you will be too. Try not to worry, I will keep an eye on them for you and even try to talk some sense into your brother when I see him.
Anyway, study hard,
Harry
He was disappointed that he’d not been home when Harry had returned, though he breathed a sigh of relief knowing he was near to Ariana and his mother.
Harry would watch over them in his absence, and when he did see Albie for himself, he would be giving his older brother quite the kick up the backside for leaving when he had.
(Break)
Dear Gellert,
I can only apologise for not being courageous enough to face you a final time in the knowledge that I would soon leave you.
I expect that you are angry with me and will even curse my name until your dying breath, and yet, despite everything that has happened these many, many years, I remain hopeful that you will not deny me final request.
Help him, Gellert.
In any way you can, help ensure that Harry lives through what it is he faces. I have every faith in him, but I would rest just that little easier knowing that have shared all you can with him.
I know that you are furious with me, but my hope remains that, in the next life, things can be different than what they were this time around.
Yours, forever,
Albus
He’d lost count how many times he had read the missive from the man. It hadn’t been written in Albus’s familiar scrawl, but they were undoubtedly his words.
Gellert had received enough letters from him during their youth to know if they’d been from anyone else.
“It’s time, isn’t it?” he asked as the footsteps he’d heard approaching came to a halt outside of his cell.
“Yes.”
Gellert watched as the Potter boy tore the door away from the fixings, and he felt the last of the magic holding him here already beginning to fade away.
Finally, he would be granted the escape he’d craved these past decades, and if there was any mercy left in the world, would be reunited with Albus in a place where his crimes no longer mattered.
They had spoken of it from time to time since Gellert had been locked away, had joked of an eternity together where they could pick up from where they’d once left off before the unfortunate death of Ariana Dumbledore.
Perhaps it had been something of a fever-dream born of the many regrets between the two, but now, it felt that their shared words could become a reality.
Albie firmly believed that there was indeed something else on the other side, and even the young man escorting him from Nurmengard seemed to believe it too.
Gellert had always been something of a sceptic, yet, here he was, putting his faith in a young man he did not know, all because there was something about him that he believed in.
He snorted at the thought as he eyed the elder wand.
In his state, he’d never be able to wrest it away from Harry Potter, and he had neither the intention or desire to do so.
No, this was truly the moment he’d been waiting for, and Gellert was a willing, condemned man.
The familiar feeling of being transported by portkey was something he’d not experienced in a very long time, and Potter had to steady him when they arrived at their destination; the very familiar graveyard in Godric’s Hollow that he and Albus had frequented.
“It’s cold,” Gellert murmured.
Potter nodded.
“Death waits for you,” he murmured.
Gellert shuddered at the declaration, a lump forming in his throat as he was confronted by the graves of the Dumbledore family, with only one missing.
“Aberforth lives.”
“He does.”
“I’m glad,” Gellert said sincerely, his gaze roaming over the monuments belonging to Percival, Kendra, and Ariana before coming to rest on Albus’s.
“Oh, Albie,” he whispered emotionally, taking a knee to feel just a little closer to the man.
Potter allowed him several moments of privacy before resting a hand on his shoulder.
“He’s waiting for you.”
“Albie?”
Potter nodded and even offered him something of an encouraging smile.
“He is not pleased that you have chosen this way, but he understands, and is grateful that you are helping me.”
“You can really feel him, can’t you?”
Potter nodded once more.
“For now, but when he rests, not so much,” he said fondly. “When you’re with him there will be no reason for him to linger anymore.”
“Stupid man,” Gellert chuckled. “Well, I suppose we shouldn’t keep him waiting any longer, but before we do whatever it is we must, I think this will be of some use to you.”
Potter frowned as he accepted the final piece of parchment Gellert had written on.
“What is it?”
“Something of a gift. I do not see why I should die and not help you as much as I can, not when you are giving me what I have craved for more years than I care to count. You should draw those on me in your own blood,” Gellert instructed, pointing to the runes. “There is significant power in sacrificial magic, Potter. Oh, Albus would not approve, but I think one last act against his wishes will do us both some good.”
“What will it do?”
“Nothing so nefarious, but it will make my other gift all the more beneficial for you. In short, I am willingly giving you just a little piece of my magic, not enough to impact your own so much, but just enough that it will be of considerable use to you. This way, a part of me will live on through you. I never had children, Harry. That was never going to happen, so, we would be doing each other quite the great favour by ending it this way.”
“It’s not a Horcrux, is it?”
“Nothing of the sort. No, my soul will pass on whole. It is a little of what makes me who I am that I am gifting you.”
The young man seemed to ponder it for a moment before nodding thoughtfully.
“Okay,” he agreed.
Gellert remained still as he set about the task of removing just enough blood from a cut he inflicted himself before he began drawing the runes. It was clear he was inexperienced, but was careful enough that he didn’t make any errors.
When he was done, the chill in the air somehow became more prominent, and Gellert found he was lost for words as a cloaked figure appeared a short distance away from them.
“What would you like me to do with your body?” Potter asked.
Gellert cleared his throat, his gaze remaining firmly on the waiting figure.
“Burn it,” he decided. “Any grave would be desecrated. I would sooner the world believe that Albus truly defeated me that day. There should be nothing left of me, Potter.”
“Then that is what I will do.”
What happened next, Gellert wasn’t sure but a coldness like nothing else he’d ever felt filled him for just a moment before the sound of his own body thudding to the ground brought it to an end.
He was dead.
There was no more pain of loss, no more ache in his old bones to plague him, only a peace to be at, and the waiting figure to lead him through a glowing archway that had not been there before.
Without hesitation, he allowed himself to be taken, his final image of the world he’d tried to conquer being that of a young man who’d granted him the mercy of death rather than the fate of rotting in his own prison for what remained of his days.