Noble Souls

The concert hall was large, ornate details showing their age yet still creating a grand and opulent atmosphere. The mid-size crowd began to settle into their seats as the musicians came onto the stage. The audience paid them little attention, but continued their conversations, posturing and posing and kissing and embracing, as if they really cared and weren't just there to make the appearance required of them to maintain their name and rank in society.

Muggle society.

Gellert Grindlewald shook his head, trying not to let the slightly disgusted sneer he felt inside make it to his face. Yet his companion could sense it, and he laughed lightly next to him.

"One would hardly need magic to read your thoughts, Gellert," said Albus Dumbledore. "If you are so uncomfortable, why are we here?" He was sitting in the velvet chair of the box where they would be spending the evening, perusing the program. Now he glanced up and raised an eyebrow. "Although I do thank you for the tickets, I was rather surprised by your choice of outing, after all."

"You deserve a break, Albus--a night out for your birthday," replied Gellert, for it was true, no matter any of his other underlying reasons for planning such an evening. "And I know you enjoy music, even Muggle music. " He turned toward his friend with what he hoped was as true a smile as he could muster. He suspected Albus would see through it, and when Albus merely raised his eyebrows even higher, Gellert simply shook his head in resignation.

"I do not understand your fascination, but I am trying my best. Or I will, I promise." He had no intention of any such thing, but the concert hall in Liverpool seemed the perfect place to begin his conquest.

"Simply enjoy the sounds from the stage, Gellert," laughed Albus, returning to the program before him. "It will transport you, I promise. Now, tell me, how did you come to choose this particular concert tonight? Why not Manchester or Leeds?"

This time Gellert did not hold back a small smirk. "No Englishmen on the program," he said, and punctuated it with a sly wink. Albus laughed again, though it was a bit more throaty this time, and Gellert knew he had him--or would, very soon.

"England has produced some very fine composers, Gellert," Albus finally replied. He gestured down at the program. "Certainly better than Wagner."

Gellert faked a gasp. "You blaspheme the maestro of German music!" he exclaimed. Albus inclined his head in the subtle way he had of indicating his sarcastic displeasure.

"Wagner is no maestro," he murmured. "He is exceedingly dramatic, overly chromatic, and simply far too bloated for my tastes."

"Then perhaps you will enjoy the Strauss," Gellert offered, not particularly interested or knowledgeable enough to attempt to defend Wagner. "It is not one of your beloved serenades, but I have heard it is a remarkable piece none-the-less."

"Also Sprach Zarathustra," said Albus. "A tone poem. Well, I will give it a chance as it is fairly new and has been well received. But The Sorcerer's Apprentice? Really, Gellert--how obvious."

Gellert threw back his head and laughed, earning himself several stares from the nearby boxes. "I could not resist, my friend. I am actually rather fond of the Goethe poem and am looking forward to hearing the work."

"You? Fond of a Muggle poem?" Albus feigned shock. "I would have never thought it possible!"

"Nor I," replied Gellert, lowering his voice as the musicians on stage began to tune. "But I find that Muggle writing is far less pretentious than Muggle music."

"You wound me, Gellert," said Albus, just as softly. "Music speaks to that which words cannot express. No book or poem can ever convey the sense of love and hate, tragedy and comedy, sadness and joy that music can instill in one's heart."

"Words express ideas, Albus. I prefer ideas to feelings, you know that."

Albus raised an eyebrow. "I certainly do. But ideas are born of feelings, my friend. You cannot have one without the other."

Gellert simply nodded in acknowledgement as the orchestra below grew silent, awaiting the conductor. As they sat in companionable silence, Gellert glanced sideways at Albus, pondering his next move. Yet before he could speak, the conductor appeared to spattered applause and bowed to begin. Gellert took the opportunity to cast a charm around their booth that would allow them to speak without disturbing the audience.

"Are you familiar with the overture?" he asked softly. Albus glanced at him as a single note from the trumpet sounded below.

"I am not, though I have read a bit about the opera. I am looking forward to it, if only to see if I might reconsider Wagner." It was a dismissal, and Gellert nodded as he turned and tried to engage himself with the performance before him. And yet he could not: music was not his passion, as it was for the man next to him. Albus had grown up listening to his mother sing and play the harp; he enjoyed music in any shape and form, though usually in smaller chamber ensembles.

Gellert knew the Liverpool orchestra might not have been to Albus's tastes, but it was the program itself that had piqued Gellert's interest in attending that night. He might not appreciate Muggle music, but he could not deny that it often took grand ideas and created feelings that many people could relate to through the power of music. The program that night was one such program, and he hoped it might speak to Albus.

The overture--the opening to an opera about ancient Rome, a favorite subject of his--soon ended and the audience showed its appreciation. Albus nodded his head as well.

"I rather liked that," he said. "It was almost light for Wagner."

Somewhat familiar with Wagner, Gellert agreed. And yet, it did not resonate with him. He was not left with images of a grand empire, ruled by a wise and benign emperor, guided by an elite class of senators. If he must endure the arts, he much preferred the German stories, complicated mythologies that they were: at least there was magic in those tales, gods and heroes striving for power.

The conductor stepped down from the podium as the orchestra tuned for the next piece. Gellert leaned over to Albus once more. "Do you know the Goethe poem at all?" he asked. Albus nodded.

"I have read it before," he replied. "It is a fine poem."

"Goethe was a wizard, you know," Gellert said, and Albus looked at him in surprise. "He simply chose not to practice magic in order to concentrate on music. But I think his feelings are clear from the poem."

"His feelings on what?" asked Albus, eyeing him curiously.

"Power, of course," murmured Gellert. "Magical power in hands of the wrong people."

The piece began below them, a quiet murmuring of the strings introducing the poem. Albus gave him a skeptical look. "I did not get that impression at all," he replied. The bassoons soon entered with a clunky, comical theme. "Rather, it seems to me that it is more about knowledge."

"Exactly," said Gellert, giving him a small victory even if he disagreed. "The knowledge of how to use magic must be kept secret from those unworthy. It is too powerful a thing to have otherwise."

"It is secret, and I do not disagree with you on that, as you know," said Albus, sounding slightly annoyed. "Knowledge is quite a different thing than power."

"With knowledge comes power." Gellert was enjoying the conversation already, even though this was merely the opening; he had much more planned. He moved slightly closer, certain Albus noticed.

"I'm afraid I don't see your point," Albus whispered, now sounding more distracted than annoyed. Oh how Gellert enjoyed his reactions.

"The apprentice tried to acquire knowledge that was not his to have," Gellert replied. "With it, he attained great power, but he abused that power to an almost disastrous outcome."

"And your point?" Albus asked, moving away and deliberately trying to sound skeptical.

"We must be careful with whom we share our knowledge, Albus," said Gellert. "It could be dangerous."

Albus turned away and snorted. "You mean Muggle-borns. Really, Gellert, I expected better of you than to try to use a piece of music to convince me of something you will never change my mind on."

"I am merely pointing out the deeper subtext." Gellert touched his leg, and Albus turned back to him, eyes wide for the briefest of moments.

"No, you are missing the point, " said Albus. "There is nothing inherently inferior about a Muggle-born. Nor are they predisposed to any sort of lesser ability or intellect. Anyone with magical ability simply needs to be trained to it, and trained properly. You forget, Gellert--my mother was a Muggle-born. And the poem bears no prejudices as I see it."

Gellert backed off; he had not forgot, he had simply wanted to gage his friend's thoughts once more. He suspected he would never convert his friend on the subject of Muggle-borns, and in truth he was of mixed mind of it himself. Perhaps Albus was right, and magic--any magic-- was good enough. It was still something they had that Muggles did not. Gellert wanted Albus on his side, wanted Albus to believe in him and have faith in his cause; it was likely worth the compromise to abandon vague prejudices he did not really believe in anyway.

It occurred to him that faith and belief were feelings, but he shook it off and listened to the music below, as the apprentice lost control of magic he was not prepared to wield and disaster threatened until his master reappeared to save him. He enjoyed the piece, but more importantly, he agreed with what he saw in the poem: some people were not meant to have knowledge, and especially power.

He, on the other hand, craved both--particularly power.

The music ended and the orchestra took a slightly longer break this time. Gellert took the opportunity to bring up some of his last points for discussion.

"Do you know much about the Strauss?" he asked casually. Albus shook his head. "It is based on the work of Nietzsche," Gellert continued. "Have you read any of his writing?"

"I have heard of him, of course," said Albus. "And you have mentioned him several times now so perhaps I should read his work."

"I think you would approve of much of his work," said Gellert. "He is the one who said 'God is dead.'"

Albus gave him an amused look. "Do not let my more pious brother her you say that. He still says my grandparents' prayers with Arianna every day."

"It is true," Gellert said, ignoring the reference to Albus's uncouth brother and ill sister. "God is dead. He is unwelcome, unneeded. Humanity is moving on."

"I don't understand," said Albus, frowning. "Moving on from what?"

"Nietzsche wrote much about the Ubermensch, particularly in this piece." He gestured at the stage below, where the musicians were preparing for the final, more massive work by Strauss. He waited for Albus to translate.

"Superman?" asked Albus. "Or overman?"

"Yes, the latter," replied Gellert. "Over man--better than man, more than man."

"And what about this overman? What does Nietzsche write?"

"That humanity should aspire to it," Gellert replied. He settled in: this was what he had come to discuss, to propose and win from Albus. "It is the pinnacle of self-realization, of self-mastery, of self-power."

"A higher evolution of man," said Albus, nodding thoughtfully. "It is not an uncommon philosophy in world religions. It is an admirable one. We should all strive to be more than we are."

"It is my ultimate goal, Albus," said Gellert. "So I am glad you find it admirable."

Albus was silent. "I did not realize you were such a philosopher," he finally said. "Nor a spiritualist."

"I am neither." Gellert laughed. "I am merely able to see something I believe no one else has seen yet. Something that will change the course of human history."

"What's that then?" asked Albus, sounding amused.

Gellert moved closer, because he wanted to not only see and hear his friend's reaction, but feel it. He laid his hand on Albus's knee and leaned toward him.

"We are the Ubermensch, Albus. We are the overmen."

He felt Albus stiffen beneath his touch, his muscles tensing as he processed the bold new thought. Then very slowly he began to relax; Gellert patted his leg as he sat back, satisfied that he had at least planted the seed.

"You mean wizards," Albus finally said. "Wizards are the overmen."

"We should be. We could be." Gellert paused. "We are. We just need to reveal it to the world."

"What!" Albus exclaimed. "But you just supported the statute of secrecy--what are you saying? That we allow Muggles to know about magic?"

"To know it exists, yes," said Gellert. "To know its secrets, no. Knowledge is powerful. I know it sounds trite, Albus, but it is true. We have knowledge. They do not. With our knowledge we should claim our rightful place. Our rightful power."

Albus just stared at him. "Over Muggles."

Gellert nodded. "It is our fate. And it is for their own good. We could rule them, guide them, grow them into better human beings. Magic for the greater good--not for the hidden few. Imagine the world we could create!"

Albus blew out a long breath as the orchestra returned to the stage. The lights dimmed and the audience below them returned to their seats for the final piece of the program. Albus finally seemed to have found his voice.

"What you propose is…it goes against everything we have been taught, everything we believe. Everything that has been for hundreds of years."

"We talked about little less at Durmstrang," Gellert replied. "Though it is not spoken openly."

"Magical power is not meant to be power over others, over Muggles," Albus pointed out, sounding as if he were trying to convince himself.

"What is it for then?" When Albus gestured rather helplessly, obviously still struggling with such a radical thought, Gellert continued. "There is much potential for abuse, I admit. But Muggles need our help, our guidance." He paused before moving in with his final point. "If they knew their place, and ours, your sister would not have been harmed at their hands."

He saw Albus suck in a breath and open his mouth to berate him; but it was true, and Albus instead glanced away, his mouth set in a hard line.

"You should not bring her into this," he finally said. The orchestra finished tuning, and the conductor came out to speak about the final piece. Gellert ignored him, wanting instead to finish before the music started, so that it might reinforce the ideas he was trying to gain Albus's support for.

"I apologize," he murmured. "I did not mean to bring up unpleasant memories."

"It is all right," Albus replied, though stiffly. He sighed. "It is more the idea that perhaps you are right that bothers me."

"Then think on what I've said," said Gellert. "We could lead this new way of thinking, you and I. We are worthy of it. We could travel the world and find the Hallows." Here Albus's eyes went wide, because Gellert knew that Albus was as fascinated with the Deathly Hallows as he was, though for different reasons. It was what had drawn them together mere weeks before. It was also his last hook, and he was certain he would have Albus now. "With them we could rule both the wizarding world and the Muggle world. For the greater good."

"The greater good," murmured Albus. He remained silent as the music began. A single low note in the orchestra grew by intervals into a stunning climax. It continued through nine continuous movements, some beautiful and subtle, some humorous and playful, some powerful and dramatic. Gellert let his mind wander, often finding himself watching Albus instead of the stage, wondering what was going through his friend's mind as he listened to the music. Would it reinforce what Gellert had just revealed as his ultimate endgame, or would Albus be transported instead into determined opposition to such revolutionary thoughts?

The piece ended quietly, a subtle conflict of keys indicating the unresolved nature of perhaps the never-ending riddle of existence. Gellert wondered if it reflected Albus's own inner conflict as well. As the audience finished its thunderous applause, he turned to his friend and asked his after thoughts.

"A remarkable work," Albus said, looking thoughtful, as if carried away elsewhere by the music. "I enjoyed it immensely."

"I am glad," said Gellert as they began to exit the box. "I found it enlightening as well."

"I must admit I was distracted by your words," Albus said as they walked. "I dwelled on them quite a bit during the music. I see now why you chose this particular concert."

Gellert inclined his head with a smile. "Guilty as charged. And have you anything to add? Have you come to any conclusions?"

"It is not a matter to be taken lightly," Albus pointed out. "But I think there is merit to what you said tonight. It is something I would consider, with great thought and responsibility."

"We are noble souls, you and I," Gellert murmured, deliberately brushing against Albus's arm as they left the hall. He breathed in the fresh air and tried not to show his excitement over having won the victory he had set out to win. "We were meant to rule."

"For the greater good, Gellert," Albus said. "Not for our own."

As they continued into the night, Gellert smiled in satisfaction. Not for their own--for his. For Albus may be a noble soul, mindful of things like knowledge and responsibility, but Gellert knew he was destined for far more than that.

He was destined for power.

* * *