Grindeldore //Like Ice and Fire\\

~ Ice and Fire~

Albus Dumbledore was laying on the soft sheets of his bed; the room was filled with the dark and the shadows of the night, and his eyes were staring at the ceiling, which with an able movement of the wrist, he had transformed in a beautiful sky, where little shining stars lightened the night.

He heard his breath next to him. Regular. Deep. He was sleeping like an angel, thought Dumbledore. He was so calm, quiet, the opposite of his active version.
Gellert Grindelwald was an explosion of energy and emotions. He was never tired. He was always ready to work on a new project, always searching new desires, new ambitions. Always in movement.

Grindelwald was like a flame, said Dumbledore to himself. Full of energy and passion. Pure fire ran through his veins, the same fire that was reflected in his shining, curious eyes, and also in his thoughtful gaze, as if it was always analysing every single situation. The fire that burned his lips when they met his mate's one.
And just as ice melting next to the fire, Dumbledore melt every time he was near his lover. Burned by his own feelings, too deep to be contained.

He loved his acute cleverness, his cunning intelligence. His plan was to submit the Muggle world to the magic one. He believed that the wizards, who had powers that the Muggles could have never imagined, were superior.

"Why we're hiding from them, when we should be the one reigning, Albus?" He used to ask him. "Why we're hiding when we could dominate everyone and everything? The both of us, together. Me and you." The young Dumbledore was charmed by those words. He could have listened to Gellert forever. His voice was sweet, melodic, sometimes it could be a little bit hoarse, aggressive, but it was always a wonder to listen to.

Dumbledore rolled by his side, and stared at him. His expression quiet, as if he was a little kid, not one of the most dangerous wizard of all times.
He always stared at Gellert when he couldn't sleep at night. The blonde, soft curls all over the pillow, his high forehead, and his eyes. Even if they were closed the english man could recall the picture of those same eyes, when they were awake. They were gray as a stormy sky, waiting for the hurricane to come. Acute, dangerous, calculator and deep. Albus used to immerse himself into that unknown ocean, he lost himself inside it, and he drawned.

His lips red and full, slightly cracked, because the german boy used to bite them every time he was nervous.
Albus' eyes went down to his naked neck, then the chest, marked with white scars, from the hard punishment that had been inflicted to him in Durmstrang. Dumbledore looked at the body of his young mate. Little beauty marks standed out from his extremely fair skin. The muscles of the abdomen were tonic and harmonious. The large shoulders, then the strong arms. He was handsome. He had the beauty of the avenger angels. That expression of challenge on his face, the malicious smirk. As if he was inviting everyone to provocate him, so that he could show them what he was capable of.

The eyes of the young man opened slowly. They stared right into the english man's one. They stayed like that for a few seconds. Looking at each other, in the silent night. Without uttering a word.

"Run away with me" commanded Grindelwald, with his deep and hoarse voice, the voice of who has just waked up from a long sleep.
It wasn't a request, his words sounded more like an order. Dictated with the steadiness of the captain, reorganizing his army.

The desire of a lover, who wants always to have his companion by his side. Who wants to be always supported by him. That was his only request, that Dumbledore wasn't able to fullfil. They hd already talked about that. More than one time. He had to take care of Aberforth and Ariana. His family. He couldn't just abandon them, not after what his parents had done. His father was in Azkaban, because he had killed  three Muggles, who had threatened  his little sister. Meanwhile his mother had began to suffer from depression, and she couldn't take care of her children anymore. She always  stayed in her bedroom, laying under the blankets, which protected her from the real, dangerous world. From the pain.

Albus couldn't follow him, he knew that. When Aberforth would have been old enough to take care by himself of Ariana and their mother, then maybe he could have followed Gellert. But the German would have never waited for him. With him was always all or nothing. Black or white. Day or night. Ice or Fire.

What should the young wizard have done? Follow his mind or follow his heart?