One of the benefits of aging is that people no longer ask him when he’s finally going to settle down with some nice girl and bring the next generation of Dumbledores to Hogwarts. Now that he is old, people believe that he is functionally asexual or that he, like a priest, has given up earthly desires for some higher calling.

For the most part, they are correct. He gave up romance when he was eighteen and devoted himself to Hogwarts, to the education of the young minds who would solve the next great problems of the world. He curbed his youthful ambition under a strong yoke of hard work and devotion. He locked up all his desires under his need to serve, his need to try and absolve his sins.

Now that he is old, it is easier to be alone. He has good friends, trusted colleagues he can rely upon, and he doesn’t ask for more than that.

But for all that, he is still a man. Sometimes, he can’t help himself. Sometimes his flesh is weak.

He is walking in Diagon Alley on his way to Gringotts when he catches a glimpse of barely-tamed, golden curly hair. For a moment, he is transported back to the summer of 1899. One afternoon, he had stared at Gellert’s hair for so long that it left after-images in his eyes. His hair was spun gold, the most brilliant blonde he had ever seen. Gellert was all light, all fire, uncontrollable, everything that he had wanted, had needed after growing up in a household filled with secrets, filled with darkness, where everything was whispered, everything controlled. A ready smile, bright blue eyes, and an even more brilliant mind... he had loved Gellert from the start, from their introduction after his mother’s funeral.

He follows the golden hair through the crowd without knowing why. His blood is pounding in his head, in his ears, in his chest. It’s throbbing. The world seems oddly colorless, like everything has been drained of color becoming a bland gray except that brilliant hair. It’s almost calling to him.

He can’t tell anything about the owner, not even whether the person is male or female. The hair is unfashionably long for a young man, but somehow he doesn’t think the owner is a woman either. He is walking away from Gringotts. He is supposed to go to Gringotts. He forces himself to stop. Whoever he is following is not Gellert. Even if he catches up to whoever they are, what is he supposed to say? “Your hair reminded me of my long lost love, and I had to follow you?�

He forces himself to take a deep breath. He watches the hair fade into the crowd, and then turns around.

He has too many things to do, too many people depend on him, he can't get distracted now.

There are whispers and rumours about Voldemort. He suspects that he knows who it is but he cannot be sure - not yet.

He goes to Gringotts. Then he spends the rest of the day trying to gather information, but he doesn’t have much luck.

He returns to Hogwarts to brood and think. He drinks a glass of wine but even that fails to calm his nerves. He lost so much control just over hair. It was ridiculous. He finishes his glass and cleans it absently.

In a week, it will be the anniversary of his duel with Gellert. Often, some reporter tries to get his thoughts on the historic event. At least this year, he thinks that fears about Voldemort will overshadow the duel. The yearly articles are the only news he gets about Gellert. The German is still alive and locked up in a literal prison of his own making. Some years, Gellert decides to grant an interview, as well. He is unrepentant. Once in a long while, an intrepid journalist tracks down one of Gellert’s descendants, and Albus is reminded of the years they spent apart.

Eventually his clock reads, “long past time to go to bed� and he gets into his bed. Everything is uncomfortable. He is too warm, so he pulls down his covers. Then he is too cold. His sheets feel scratchy. He stares up at his ceiling, then forces his eyes shut.

When he finally manages to fall asleep, he dreams of Gellert and of what could have been. He is at home in Godric’s Hollow. Today is his eighteenth birthday, 15th August 1899. He is gripping Gellert’s hand tightly in a way that he never had in reality. Gellert’s mouth quirks up at the corners in his quiet smile, the one that made him fall in love, the one he could spend all day staring at.

“We’re going,� he announces. “We’re going to make the Wizarding world a better place, and we can’t do that from here.�

“What will you do with Ariana?� Aberforth demands. “She needs you! You can’t just leave -�

He Stuns Aberforth. “We’re doing this for Ariana,� he informs his brother coldly. “Muggles are too stupid to govern their own affairs. If our people ruled things, then Ariana wouldn’t be in this state. She could have gone to Hogwarts like us. She would have been normal.� He’s trying to remain calm, but Aberforth is opening his mouth again to protest.

Albus Stuns Aberforth again. “Father wouldn’t have gone to Azkaban for teaching those boys the lesson they deserved!�

His voice cracks, and he isn’t sure if it’s from fury or despair. “Mother wouldn’t have died, trying to keep Ariana’s problem a secret from the rest of the world!�

Ariana appears in the room suddenly. “Go back to your room, Ariana,� he growls.

“No,� she replies, stepping between him and Aberforth. “Stop it, Albus.�

He snarls a curse at his sister, and she goes flying and hits the wall with a sickening thud. Albus should care that he hurts them, his siblings, the only family he has left, but he doesn’t. “Let’s go,� he says to Gellert, clutching his hand.

“Yes, we’ll get a Portkey to the continent.� Gellert presses a quick kiss to his lips. He shivers. He never knew how good kissing could be until he started kissing Gellert. He tastes like the sweetest, richest wine. He whimpers into Gellert’s mouth. Somehow, there’s an undertone of something else, which may be his subconscious reminding him of what is real and what is a dream. Underneath the wine, Gellert tastes like bitter poison.

Albus’s one bag of important possessions is already by the door. He picks it up as they leave.

After that, he’s lost in a haze. He’s working for the Ministry, he’s getting promoted, eventually, he becomes Minister. He meets with the Muggle Prime Minister and only barely manages to not sneer in the man’s face. He takes a bath afterwards to get rid of the Muggle stink. He’s organizing anti-Muggle legislation. He’s living with Gellert. Every moment that isn’t spent working is spent in bed with Gellert. He should be worried about what people think, but he’s too powerful for anyone to dare say anything. Gellert is always with him. He has to go away, go back to the Continent. Gellert is annexing large parts of Europe. They’re learning Chinese to converse with the Emperor’s delegation. They’re traveling all over the world, meeting with the Peruvians, the South Africans, the Australians. Their list of allies grows and grows.

They’re making their vow of “For the Greater Good� come true.

Albus wakes up with a start, almost flinging himself out of bed. His heart is still pounding in his chest. He had killed his ambition with his love. He would never be a politician, and he would never have a lover. He had only shared one bittersweet kiss with Gellert, and that had been right after their fateful duel.

His flirtation with ambition had left his sister dead and his relationship with his brother in tatters. He is soaked in sweat. Nothing scares him more than what might have been, if his ambition had been stronger than his morals and his sense. He needs to work harder to wash away his crimes. It was his fault that Grindelwald rose to power. He knew what Gellert was capable of. He should have stopped him years earlier. And now, another Dark Lord is rising. Albus can’t be sure, but he somehow knows that he could have, should have done more. Voldemort is British, which means he almost certainly passed through Hogwarts walls. And so this war is Albus’s fault... again.

Albus has a hard time sleeping after the nightmare. His clothes are cold and clammy. He tosses and turns, and almost takes a Sleeping Draught just so that he can finally get some rest. Eventually, he gets up and pours himself another glass of wine.

He drinks it a little too quickly to really enjoy the flavor. Maybe I should have tried Firewhiskey.

Albus had never expected to see such a visceral reminder of Gellert in Diagon Alley. The hair was so much like Gellert’s it was uncanny. He considers that for a moment. Gellert had married a scion of one of the oldest pure-blood families on the continent. They had several children. Their two oldest sons had involved themselves in the war, as an army commander and a pioneer in the air forces. It is not impossible that whoever he saw was a relative of Gellert’s.

Gellert was always surprising him.

After that fateful summer, he had never expected to meet Gellert again. For years, Gellert has haunted him. Sometimes, it feels like that summer was just a dream... or a nightmare. He can never forget, but often it feels so unreal. Meeting someone like Gellert, someone so intense, so wild, so ambitious, who answered all his questions, even the ones he didn’t know he had... it was utterly unreal. Considering the peace and serenity that Gellert had brought him at first, and then the chaos and destruction that Gellert left in his wake... some days, he expects to wake up again and discover that it’s still August 1899, and Ariana and Aberforth are still living with him in Godric’s Hollow.

But it is all too real. Albus can never forget the things Gellert told him... or the things he promised Gellert. They had envisioned a world under their command. They would be Masters of Death. Albus had hoped for a love that would last for all time, that when Gellert said that he would never leave, he meant it. He had meant to tell Gellert of his feelings after they left. The words caught in his throat for decades.

Albus should have known better. Gellert had left him, in the end. Worse, Gellert was never the type to simply fade into the ether, get an ordinary job, get married, have some children and live in comfort. He had gotten married, even had children, but Gellert would never be ordinary. He had worked his way up through the government until he stood at its very peak and proclaimed himself its leader.

The last time he saw Gellert was to duel him over the fate of the wizarding world. His blonde hair had faded to white, just as his own auburn had become more grey. His lips had thinned with age, but were quirked in a familiar smile. Gellert had spoken to him. He doesn’t remember what. He doesn’t want to remember. Gellert’s voice was the same. It burned.

Gellert had the Elder Wand. He still isn’t sure how he beat Gellert. He assumes that somehow, he beat Gellert all those years ago that summer.

After he won, he gave Gellert one kiss. He had intended for it to be on the cheek, something he could claim was just being culturally sensitive, something European, a last goodbye, something like a priest’s benediction. Instead, their lips had brushed very gently. It was his first and last romantic kiss. After they took Gellert away, he never saw Gellert again.

He pours himself another glass of wine. Just one last one.

Eventually he manages to drift off again. He dreams of a field of bluebells and Gellert. There is no plot, no point to this dream. It’s just a hazy fantasy, an impression, a pink bubblegum daydream. It’s as if his subconscious is trying to make up for the nightmare earlier. It exists out of time. It feels absurdly ephemeral. It’s all gentle wind, flowing curly blonde hair, a carpet of purple-blue flowers and soft blue eyes. It’s the feeling of Gellert’s lips against his and the sun’s gentle rays against his skin. It’s how he imagines Gellert’s lips might feel, soft, warm, not broken from the battle, tasting like wine, like flowers, not like blood, and poison. Gellert’s body pressed against his, arms holding him tightly, his voice surrounding him. Gellert’s hands card his auburn hair.

The sun is shining directly in his eyes when he finally raises himself from bed. He is late for breakfast. Albus dresses mechanically, the nightmare from last night still resounding in his mind coupled with the bitterness of waking up to a world where Gellert was in prison for his crimes, not by his side. It had been wonderful, in a terrible kind of way, being with Gellert and conquering the world together. It had been even more wonderful to just lay with Gellert in a field of fairy flowers. It was all Albus had ever wanted from Gellert, really... to be by his side. His feet take him to the Great Hall, nimbly avoiding the trap steps after years of living here at Hogwarts. He takes his place at the head of the teachers table, and nods to his neighbors.

Today is another day. Another day to make up for his shortcomings, his failures.