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“It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends,” Albus Dumbledore once said. He, more than anyone, knew the truth of that.
“Albus,” said Gellert, wild, defiant and beautiful even when cornered. “My friend. My lo…”
“Don’t,” Albus cut off, a golden shield shimmering in the air around him. “Lying never suited you.”
Around them lay a desolation they’d made for themselves, duelling. They were still young; hair still auburn, still golden. Yet Albus felt oh so very old.
Gellert was pressed up against a mountainside, his body Bound by Albus spell, Albus’ wand against his throat. And yet he smiled, wide and beautiful.
“You’re quick to judge me a liar,” he said. “What can I do to change your mind?”
Nothing, thought Albus. The thought was visible in the way he clenched his jaw, audible in his voice when he spoke.
“We both know that there’s only one Curse that will let you win now. God knows you have used it often enough. So: if I ever meant to you a millionth of what you’ve meant to me, you won’t use that Curse now. That’s what I ask of you. Give up, let me win. Give me the wand.”
“Take it,” said Gellert. “It’s yours.”
A pause, a smirk, then;
“I’m yours.”
Albus Dumbledore claimed the Elder wand in silence. Then he turned away from the first and last man he ever let himself love.

hersked Wed 08 Feb 2017 06:10PM UTC
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