August 21st, 1972
Albus walked side by side with David in comfortable silence as they moved toward Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. The afternoon sun caught on the silver stars embroidered across his robes, making them shimmer with each step. His buckled boots clicked against the cobblestones in a steady rhythm.
As they moved away from the shadowed corner where Margins & More sat—that careful boundary between respectability and the darker commerce of Knockturn Alley—the character of the street changed. The shops grew brighter, their windows gleaming with fresh polish. The crowd thickened with families and students, their voices creating a pleasant buzz of anticipation and excitement.
The sounds of Diagon Alley in late August had always been one of Albus's favorite things. Children pressed their faces against shop windows, pointing at broomsticks and cauldrons. Parents called after wandering youngsters. Owls hooted from Eeylops. The clink of coins at Gringotts. The smell of fresh parchment from the stationers mixing with the sweet scent drifting from Fortescue's.
Life. Magic. The promise of another year at Hogwarts beginning.
Many of the shoppers recognized him as he passed. A witch in lime-green robes nearly dropped her packages when she spotted him. A wizard buying scales at the Apothecary did a double-take. Albus gave them all friendly waves, letting a gentle smile settle on his face. He'd learned long ago that people needed to see their Headmaster, their Chief Warlock, as approachable. Someone who belonged among them rather than above them.
Even if the weight of his positions sometimes made him feel very far removed indeed.
"What do you think of the store, sir?" David asked, drawing his attention back.
Albus glanced at his companion. David looked every bit the man he was becoming rather than the boy he'd been just a few short years ago. Fourteen years old and already carrying himself with the poise of someone twice his age. His clothes were of high quality—that long black coat with its clean lines, the charcoal shirt, the fitted waistcoat. Fashionable in a way that reminded Albus uncomfortably of his own youth, of the continental styles he'd favored in his twenties and thirties when he and Gellert had—
He pushed the thought away. Gently but firmly.
"The rent is also quite cheap," David quipped.
Albus gave a chuckle, the sound genuine despite the careful analysis running beneath it. "Indeed, I imagine it is."
They walked a few more steps. A group of first-years hurried past, their parents struggling to keep up. One of the children was clutching a brand new wand, waving it excitedly despite her mother's frantic warnings not to.
"I did have several observations," Albus said, his tone remaining conversational. "First, the second smaller sign. A cleaning business? An interesting choice."
He let the question hang in the inflection. A tone he knew David would recognize—the same one he used during their chess matches when he'd just moved a piece that seemed innocuous but carried deeper implications.
"Is it?" David's response came easily, without hesitation. "What better place for those who struggled to find work due to their blood status? Cleaning is a skill that can be taught relatively quickly. It also keeps the employees active and healthy."
The answer was perfectly reasonable. Practical, even compassionate. Exactly the sort of thing David would genuinely believe and advocate for.
And yet.
Albus raised an eyebrow, allowing a hint of knowing amusement to touch his expression. "And I'm sure the fact that cleaners are often ignored—that they move through homes and offices largely invisible to their employers—has no bearing whatsoever on your choice of enterprise."
He said it gently. Almost teasingly. But the point was made.
David was building an intelligence network. Of that, Albus had no doubt.
"Why Headmaster, what need would I have for a business that works invisibly?" David's eyes glinted with humor. "I am but a humble Hogwarts student."
The smile that accompanied the words spoke of pure mischief.
Albus felt warmth bloom in his chest despite his concerns. Ah, he truly enjoyed these moments—the rare instances when David allowed himself to joke, to laugh, to simply be a fourteen-year-old boy rather than the revolutionary leader he was becoming. They were precious because they were so infrequent. David spent so much of his time focused on his cause, burning with that intensity of purpose that Albus recognized all too well.
He understood why, of course. When you believed you were fighting for justice—when you'd experienced loss that crystalized your worldview into sharp, painful clarity—it became difficult to set the burden down. Even for a moment.
Albus had learned that lesson himself, long ago. In sun-drenched days that had seemed full of promise before they'd twisted into something dark and terrible.
He pushed the memory aside again. Focused on the present, on the young man walking beside him who deserved better than to have Albus's past projected onto his future.
"A humble student," Albus repeated, his own smile widening. The twinkle returned to his eyes. "Yes, I can see how I might have been mistaken. Clearly, you spend your time focused solely on Transfiguration essays and Potions homework, with no thought whatsoever to grander ambitions."
They were approaching Florean Fortescue's now. The striped awning came into view, and the scent of fresh waffle cones grew stronger.
"Indeed, sir. Nothing unusual to see here."
Albus gave a last fleeting chuckle as they moved into the establishment, walking past the outside tables and chairs where witches and wizards sat enjoying their treats in the afternoon sun.
He truly had been craving butterscotch ice cream. The house-elves at Hogwarts were magnificent in countless ways, but they just couldn't quite get the butterscotch the way he liked it—that perfect balance of sweetness and salt, with just a hint of burnt sugar that shouldn't work but somehow did. Florean had the touch for it.
The shop was busy but not overcrowded. The cool air inside was a pleasant relief from the August heat. The familiar clink of spoons against glass dishes, the cheerful chatter of families, the soft hum of preservation charms keeping everything perfectly chilled.
Florean stood behind the counter, his round face flushed from the heat of the day but smiling as always. He looked up as they entered, and his expression brightened immediately. "Albus! Come in, come in! Butterscotch, two scoops with flakes of chocolate as per your usual?"
Albus nodded a greeting, feeling a small measure of comfort at being known, at having a "usual" in this small corner of the world. "Indeed, thank you, Florean."
The ice cream maker gave a cheerful nod and turned his attention to David. "And what would you like, young master?"
"Mint, please," David answered.
"Of course, of course!" Florean gestured toward the back of the shop. "The booth at the back is free. Please, make yourselves comfortable and I will bring your order over."
Albus led the way through the shop, past families with excited children and young couples sharing sundaes. The booth at the back was his favorite—tucked into a quiet corner where conversations could be held without being overheard, yet still open enough that it didn't feel clandestine. He'd had many important discussions in this very spot over the years.
He settled onto the cushioned bench with a small sigh of relief. His boots had been pinching slightly during the walk.
David sat across from him, his posture relaxed but alert. Always watching, always thinking. Even in moments of apparent ease, there was that quality of focused attention that reminded Albus uncomfortably of a young man he'd once known who had possessed that same gift—the ability to be present in a moment while simultaneously calculating three moves ahead.
"So Headmaster, what is so important that it couldn't wait until school starts?"
Albus folded his hands on the table, considering his words. "I would not quite put it that way. It could have waited until another time. But I have considered a great many things of late, and after I discovered your purchase of the bookstore, it changed things." He paused, letting his gaze settle on David's face. "Before, your Circle was a school club. A most unusual club to be sure, but a club nonetheless. Now, however, you are building a presence in the larger wizarding world. I notice you have employed Mr. Tonks, which would lead me to believe both Ms. Black and Ms. Finnegan are still in your Circle. You have moved beyond the bounds of Hogwarts." His voice grew quieter, more serious. "Moved beyond the bounds of my protection."
David was quiet, listening with that intense focus he brought to their chess matches. His grey eyes steady, revealing nothing.
Albus had contemplated long and hard what to reveal to David about the growing pure-blood threat, about this mysterious figure calling himself Lord Voldemort. Albus was used to playing his cards close to his chest—he had always done so, building strategies within strategies, revealing only what was necessary when it was necessary. He remembered quite fondly how frustrated Newt used to get with that particular trait of his, demanding straight answers when Albus offered carefully constructed possibilities.
He had been leaning toward not revealing the threat just yet. To allow David to live in ignorance for a short while longer, to let him enjoy what remained of his childhood before the shadow of war touched him directly.
That had been before he'd seen the sign: Practical Solutions - Domestic Services.
He had deduced the purpose of that particular vocation immediately. Cleaners went everywhere, saw everything, and were treated as invisible by the very people whose secrets they might observe. It was brilliant in its simplicity and effectiveness.
The knowledge that David had started a budding spy network changed everything. David would find out about the threat regardless of what Albus chose to share. Could already know, depending on what his cleaners had reported.
Better, then, to be honest. To treat David as the strategic mind he was becoming, rather than the child Albus sometimes wished he could remain.
"I wonder," Albus said carefully, watching David's face, "has your Practical Solutions brought you any distressing information of late?"
David gave him a searching gaze, those grey eyes sharp and assessing. "You speak of the rumors of the rising pure-blood movement. I have indeed heard of this. We investigated and found a strong possibility that this group has attacked a Muggle village."
Albus couldn't hide the surprise that flickered across his face. He hadn't heard anything about an attack. His own network—extensive as it was, built over decades of careful cultivation—had reported whispers of gathering pure-bloods, increased activity among the old families, but nothing concrete. Nothing about violence spilling into the Muggle world.
"Where did you hear this?" The question came out sharper than he'd intended.
David was quiet for a few moments, his expression thoughtful. When he spoke, his voice was measured. "I take it you wish for an exchange of intelligence, then?"
Albus felt a wry smile touch his lips despite the gravity of the conversation. A fair question. A pointed one. David was asking: Are we going to cooperate with each other, or are you simply gathering information while offering nothing in return?
He had already decided he was going to cooperate. Had, in fact, been considering moving up the timeline on something he'd been planning to offer David eventually. This conversation merely accelerated matters.
"Yes, David," he said, meeting the young man's eyes directly. "We will do a mutual exchange."
David nodded once, seemingly satisfied. "Well, in that case—one of our employees who lives and works on the Muggle side of the world found news of a village being destroyed and its inhabitants killed. The newspaper said there was an unusual variety of deaths. Some seemed to have dropped dead, others lit on fire, and so on. They also believe that some of the inhabitants are missing."
Albus felt his chest tighten. That would explain why he hadn't heard about it through his usual channels. Ingenious to also employ cleaners on the Muggle side of the world. It gave David access to an entirely separate flow of information—one that existed completely outside the magical community's awareness.
He had once had contacts in that world himself. During the war against Grindelwald, and later while watching the rise and fall of Nazi Germany, he'd maintained connections to Muggle authorities and journalists. But after Grindelwald's defeat, after the horror of watching another war tear through Europe, he had let those connections wither. Perhaps that had been a mistake. Perhaps he would need to rekindle them.
As for the news itself—dropped dead, lit on fire, people missing—it had the unmistakable whiff of magic about it. Dark magic, specifically. Killing Curses would cause people to simply drop. Incendio or Fiendfyre for the burnings. The missing could be anything from kidnapping to Fiendfyre leaving no remains.
"Before you ask," David continued, his tone businesslike, "we are investigating the village as we speak. I will have a report of the findings as soon as we know anything."
Albus studied the young man across from him. Fourteen years old, and he'd already deployed people to investigate a magical attack in the Muggle world. Had the infrastructure in place to hear about it, verify it, and respond—all apparently without Albus's knowledge or the Ministry's involvement.
Remarkable. And deeply concerning.
"I see." Albus kept his voice gentle but firm. "Please move with caution. I fear this threat is graver than you know."
David gave him a look—curious, measuring—and appeared about to ask a question when Florean arrived at their table, balancing two generous portions of ice cream.
"Gentlemen, here are your orders." He set them down with a flourish. "If you need anything, give me a yell."
Albus nodded his thanks. He grabbed the cone and gave it a large lick, savoring the rich butterscotch flavor with its perfect hint of salt and those delicate chocolate flakes that added just the right amount of bitterness. Delicious. Exactly as he'd been craving.
David did the same, but distractedly. His attention clearly remained on their conversation rather than the mint ice cream in his hand.
"Please elaborate, sir."
Albus set his cone down carefully on the small stand Florean had provided. He reached into his robes and pulled out the shrunken document that had been occupying his thoughts with increasing frequency these past months. He gave it a tap with his finger, muttering the counter-charm, and it enlarged to its regular size.
The pages rustled slightly as they expanded. The parchment was expensive—high quality, the kind favored by old families. The text written in sharp, precise script that suggested education and breeding.
"Some time ago, this was delivered to the desk of the Minister, alongside a letter." He handed it across to David, watching the young man's face carefully. "I was able to obtain a copy through my position as Chief Warlock."
The skull with the serpent emerging from its mouth was stamped on the first page—the same seal that had been on the mysterious letter. Dark wax, darker intentions.
David placed his cone into the stand Florean had thoughtfully provided. Albus picked his own back up, taking another slow lick while he observed.
The next few minutes passed in silence broken only by the rustling of pages as David read through the manifesto. Albus could track his progress by the subtle shifts in his expression—the slight tightening around his eyes when he reached the section on Squibs, the way his jaw clenched when he encountered the rhetoric about Muggleborns as "magical thieves." His fingers gripped the parchment edges harder as he continued, knuckles going white.
Around them, the ice cream parlor continued its cheerful afternoon business. Families laughing, children exclaiming over their choices, the clink of spoons against dishes. The ordinary sounds of a peaceful August day, blissfully unaware of the darkness being discussed in the back booth.
Albus let his butterscotch melt slightly on his tongue, the sweetness a counterpoint to the bitterness of the conversation. He'd read this document enough times now to know exactly which passages would hit hardest. Could almost time David's reactions to specific sections.
When David finally finished, he looked up.
The cold fury on his face made Albus's chest tighten with recognition. It was the same expression he'd seen in the memory David had extracted from Mulciber all those months ago—that frozen, merciless look when David had turned the pure-blood bullies' blood into mud creatures. The look of someone who had moved past anger into something far more dangerous.
Absolute conviction.
"This," David's voice came out quiet, controlled in a way that only emphasized the rage beneath, "is what you wanted me to see."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes." Albus set his ice cream down, meeting David's eyes directly. "You and your own organization are an antithesis to this leader and their organization. Conflict is inevitable." He paused, letting the weight of that sink in. "And if what you have said is true about the attack on the village, then you have far less time to become ready than I had hoped."
David's fingers tapped once against the manifesto. A controlled gesture that suggested he wanted to do something far more violent. "Do you know who wrote this?"
"He calls himself Lord Voldemort. An alias, no doubt." Albus picked up his cone again, more for something to do with his hands than from any desire to eat. "I have looked into the records of the ICW and there is no one registered with that name. It could be derived from the French phrase vol de mort—flight from death, or theft of death if you prefer."
"So we don't know who he is, then?"
Albus thought for a moment before deciding to answer truthfully. They were exchanging intelligence, after all. And David deserved to know what he was facing. "Know? No. But I have a suspicion."
David raised an eyebrow. "A suspicion you are willing to share?"
Albus gave a small smile at the frustration in his tone. Ah, it had been years since he'd heard that particular note of exasperation directed at him. The professors at Hogwarts had grown used to his ways and didn't deign to give him such honest responses anymore. They'd learned to simply wait patiently until he chose to reveal what he knew.
He rather missed being challenged.
His features shifted to something more serious. "When I began investigating, I looked into several of the prominent pure-blood families. I found a pattern emerge." He leaned forward slightly. "Many years ago—thirty years ago now—there was a group of Slytherin students who called themselves the Knights of Walpurgis."
David's eyes narrowed slightly, thoughtful. "Walpurgis. Ah, Walpurgis Nights, the Walpurgisnacht. A gathering of witches who gave grand sacrifices to dark powers."
Now it was Albus's turn to raise an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. "And why would you know that? Research into German myths?"
David shook his head. "No, not originally. It was the pagan ones I researched first." He made a dismissive gesture. "Nevermind that. Please continue."
Albus studied him for a moment—there was a story there, clearly, but now was not the time—and nodded. "Where was I? Ah, yes. This group of boys were what one would have expected for a gathering of pure-bloods. Arrogant, entitled, convinced of their superiority. Except for one." He paused, remembering. "The leader. Tom Riddle. He was a half-blood, not that many would have believed it. Tom was exceptionally talented—both magically and socially. Not unlike yourself, actually."
David's expression flickered with something that might have been discomfort at the comparison.
"Unlike you," Albus continued, his voice gentler, "his smile hid darkness. A darkness so few could see. There were incidents throughout this group's time at Hogwarts that could never be attributed to them, yet I was certain they were responsible. Students petrified. A girl who died in the bathroom—a Muggleborn, though that was officially ruled an accident." His hands tightened around his cone. "I couldn't prove anything. Tom was too clever, too careful."
He took a breath. "So when I began covertly investigating this Lord Voldemort and his followers, I looked for patterns. And I found one. All twelve members of the Knights of Walpurgis—now grown men in their forties—are mysteriously unaccountable at the same times. Gone from their usual haunts, unavailable to their families, yet no one seems to know where they are." Albus met David's eyes. "I have no proof. Only a suspicion that this Lord Voldemort is the very same leader they had at school."
He let the name hang in the air for a moment.
"Tom Riddle."
David's eyes sharpened. Processing, cataloging, already thinking through implications. "Have you spoken to the Minister about this theory?"
Albus shook his head slowly. "No. We still do not know who follows this Voldemort. We do not know if he has people in the Ministry." He gestured toward the manifesto. "This appeared on the Minister's desk and we cannot identify how it arrived there. Perhaps someone placed it there physically. Or perhaps they didn't—perhaps it was transported by magic we don't recognize." He spread his hands. "Either way, we know too little at this moment. Until I have more certainty, speaking openly could be dangerous."
He paused, choosing his next words carefully. They mattered, perhaps more than any he'd spoken in years.
"I tell you because you have earned that trust, David." Albus met the young man's grey eyes directly. "I worry a great deal about where your path will lead you. I worry about the certainty I see in you, the unwillingness to compromise, the way you gather followers with such ease." His voice softened. "But I also know you are a kind person. A good person, despite everything. And a good person would never be party to something like this."
He tapped the manifesto with one finger. The skull and serpent seemed to stare up at them.
"You will oppose this," Albus said quietly. "Not because I ask you to, but because you cannot do otherwise. That much, at least, I trust absolutely."
David nodded, something that might have been gratitude flickering across his face. Then his expression shifted—became more focused, more intent. The look he got during their chess matches when he was preparing a decisive move.
"Then let me ask you this, Headmaster." David leaned forward slightly. "Without the word games we are both so fond of—will you aid me in becoming ready to combat this threat?"
The question landed between them like a chess piece placed on the board with deliberate force.
Albus felt the weight of it. The implications spreading outward like ripples on water.
This was the moment. The point of divergence.
He could say no. Could refuse to help David grow stronger, faster, more dangerous. Could try to keep him contained within Hogwarts' walls, limited to what a student should know rather than what a revolutionary leader might need.
Or he could say yes. Could acknowledge what David was becoming and choose to guide it rather than merely observe it. Could arm him against Voldemort while hoping—praying—that those same weapons wouldn't one day be turned toward equally destructive ends.
Albus took a slow breath. Let it out.
"There is something we need to do before I can answer that question." He held David's gaze steadily. "There is someone I would like you to meet. After the meeting, I will make my decision. Is that acceptable?"
David seemed somewhat relieved that he hadn't been turned down outright. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. "Meet who, sir?"
Albus shook his head, a small smile touching his lips. "In due time. First, we should return your young friends to their homes safely. You did promise to endure they returned safely. Then we can be on our way."
David looked at him in surprise. His grey eyes widened fractionally. "This meeting is today?"
Albus met that surprise with a look of gentle severity. The kind of expression he'd perfected over decades of dealing with situations that required immediate action despite everyone's preference for delay.
"For what is to come, my boy," he said quietly, "patience will not always serve us."
He stood, leaving a few coins on the table for Florean—more than enough to cover two ice creams and a generous tip. His star-spangled robes settled around him as he straightened. The silver embroidery caught the afternoon light streaming through the windows.
"Come," Albus said, extending one hand in invitation. "Let us collect Miss Evans, Mr. Snape, and Miss MacDonald. I imagine they've been wondering what secrets we've been sharing over butterscotch and mint."
His tone was light, almost whimsical. But underneath ran a current of urgency that David, sharp as he was, would certainly notice.
Because Albus had made his decision in that moment. Not whether to help David—that question still hung in the balance. But whether to take the next step, to introduce David to the one person whose opinion Albus trusted above all others when it came to matters of darkness and light, of good intentions and terrible outcomes.
It was time for David Price to meet his dark reflection.
It was time to meet Gellert Grindelwald.
o–o–o–o
A/N: I almost left this on a cliffhanger but I imagine most would have been able to figure out who the meeting was with. I am still tossing up the POV between David, Dumbles or Grindles. I'm leaning towards David at the moment.