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The Fortress of Nurmengard
High atop a lonely mountain stood Nurmengard, an imposing fortress shrouded in mist and dread. It was a monolithic shadow against the starlit sky, carved with intricate wards and protections that whispered of its dark history. Once the prison where Gellert Grindelwald had confined his enemies, it now served as his personal cage—a paradoxical punishment of solitude and reflection, luxurious yet inescapable.
Within its oppressive stone walls, Grindelwald resided in what could hardly be called a cell. It was a private chamber, modest yet refined, boasting a comfortable bed, shelves brimming with books on ancient magics, and a heater that fought off the mountain's perpetual chill. Though stripped of his ambitions, Grindelwald maintained his dignity. Even in isolation, he retained the aura of a man who had once sought to reshape the world, now reduced to contemplating the futility of his endeavors.
Seated by the lone barred window, Grindelwald gazed out into the abyss of the starry night. The vast expanse of the heavens seemed as empty as his own soul. He had chosen not to escape, despite having the means—what awaited him outside was nothing but ashes of a dream long extinguished. No cause. No followers. No future worth rekindling.
---
The quiet of the night shattered suddenly. A deafening crash reverberated through the fortress, shaking its ancient stones. Grindelwald's sharp gaze turned toward the source of the noise as the heavy iron door to his chamber was blown off its hinges. It slammed against the wall with a resounding clang, stirring the stagnant air and raising a haze of dust.
Emerging from the debris was a figure—a pale, gaunt youth whose very presence seemed to distort reality. His face was an unsettling blur, as though it could not decide on a single identity. His skin, marred with the scars of dark magic, clung to his bones like parchment stretched over firewood, and his eyes glowed with a feverish light.
The youth grinned, his lips curling with mockery and false reverence.
"Well... well... well. If it isn't the great first Dark Lord. Such an honor to be in your presence."
Grindelwald's sharp eyes drifted past the intruder, landing on the bodies of his guards strewn across the corridor. Lifeless, crumpled forms bathed in the sickly glow of torches.
"Who are you?" Grindelwald asked, his voice cold and steady, cutting through the youth's mockery like a blade. "And what do you want?"
The youth took a deliberate step forward, his movements serpentine.
"Me?" he sneered. "I'm but a humble practitioner of the arts... A fellow dark wizard here to seek wisdom from his esteemed senior."
Grindelwald's expression hardened. His disdain was palpable.
"I have nothing to say to the likes of you," he declared. "Get out."
The grin on the youth's face faltered, twisting into a snarl.
"Oh, no," he hissed. "That won't do at all."
With a flick of his wand, he unleashed his fury.
"Crucio!"
The curse hit Grindelwald like a tempest. Pain lanced through his body, searing every nerve. He gritted his teeth, determined not to scream, but a guttural growl escaped his throat. His hands clenched the arms of his chair, nails digging into the wood. The agony was unrelenting, yet Grindelwald's defiance remained unbroken.
"Tell me," the youth demanded, his voice a venomous whisper, "where is the Wand of Destiny? The Elder Wand!"
Grindelwald's eyes blazed with fury despite the pain.
"It's not here," he spat through gritted teeth.
The youth's eyes narrowed, his frustration boiling over.
"WHERE IS IT?" he roared, driving another burst of the curse into the older wizard.
"I don't know!" Grindelwald snarled, his voice hoarse but resolute. "It's a weapon, not a plaything for the likes of you!"
The youth stepped closer, lowering his wand but keeping it aimed at Grindelwald. His grin returned, colder and more sinister.
"Is that so? Or perhaps you simply don't want to admit that you've lost everything—including the right to decide who's worthy of power."
---
Grindelwald, though weakened, managed a bitter chuckle.
"And you believe yourself worthy?" he said, his voice laced with scorn. "Look at you. Dark magic has consumed you. You're nothing but a hollow shell, grasping at shadows."
The youth's face twisted in rage, and he raised his wand.
"Well, then, you leave me no choice—Avada Ked—"
The words were cut short by a blinding flash of light. A spell shot through the wall, striking the youth's wand hand and sending the weapon clattering to the ground.
"Stop!"
The authoritative voice was unmistakable. Albus Dumbledore stepped into the chamber, his presence commanding and purposeful. His piercing blue eyes bore into the youth with an intensity that froze him in place.
"Back off, Tom," Dumbledore warned, his tone grave. "I won't hesitate to end this."
The youth—Tom Riddle, or Voldemort as he now styled himself—sneered but did not retaliate.
"Oh, Professor Dumbledore," he said mockingly. "So quick to defend your old friend.huh...
Another time, then, you'll regret it. all of you will!!."
With that, Voldemort dissolved into black mist, vanishing into the shadows.
---
Dumbledore turned toward Grindelwald, who slumped in his chair, his strength spent. Blood trickled from his lips, but his sharp eyes still held a flicker of defiance.
"What brought you here, Albus?" Grindelwald rasped. "Let me face my destiny. I'm rotting in here anyway."
Dumbledore approached him, his expression a mix of concern and determination.
"Wait," he said softly. "Before you make that decision, there is something I wish to show you. Something I know you'd like to see—at least once in your life."
Grindelwald's gaze lingered on his former lover, his curiosity piqued despite himself.
"And what might that be?" he asked, his voice heavy with suspicion and longing.
Dumbledore offered a faint smile, tinged with sadness.
"You'll see soon enough."
The room fell silent as the stars outside Nurmengard bore witness to the rekindling of a bond, however fleeting, between two men who had once sought to shape the world—and each other.
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Back at Hogwarts, the ancient castle basked in the golden hues of the setting sun, its empty halls echoing with the soft footsteps of two figures. Albus Dumbledore, clad in his flowing robes, walked side by side with Gellert Grindelwald, the notorious dark wizard who now carried an air of wearied resignation. Their silence spoke volumes—an unspoken conversation about the weight of their shared history and the uncertain purpose of their reunion.
As they neared Dumbledore's office, the sound of approaching voices broke the stillness. From the opposite end of the hall came Minerva McGonagall, her sharp gaze landing immediately on Grindelwald, and Newt Scamander, the famed magizoologist whose arms were laden with scrolls and a satchel that wriggled suspiciously.
McGonagall stopped dead in her tracks, her expression shifting from surprise to stern disapproval.
"Goodness, Albus," she said, her brogue cutting through the tension. "Where have you been? And—" she gestured sharply at Grindelwald, her lips thinning into a line, "why in Merlin's name have you brought him here?"
Grindelwald, unbothered by her reaction, offered a faint, sardonic smile. "Ah, the ever-sharp Deputy Headmistress. Still as commanding as ever, I see."
Newt Scamander, on the other hand, looked thoroughly perplexed. His eyes darted between Dumbledore and Grindelwald, his usually soft-spoken nature betraying an uncharacteristic unease. "I-it is you," he stammered, addressing Grindelwald. His grip on his scrolls tightened. "Professor, what's the meaning of this? And why did you send me such a cryptic letter?"
Dumbledore raised a calming hand, his voice measured and gentle.
"Please, Minerva, Newt. All of this will become clear shortly," he said, his tone carrying a note of reassurance. "But for now, let us step into my office. There is much to discuss."
Minerva hesitated, her sharp eyes narrowing in suspicion, but she trusted Dumbledore enough to follow his lead. Scamander, still visibly uneasy, nodded reluctantly. As they entered the circular office, the door swung shut behind them with a faint click, sealing them in the warm, book-filled room that served as the heart of Dumbledore's world.
Dumbledore gestured for everyone to sit, though Grindelwald remained standing near the window, his gaze distant as if lost in thought. Fawkes, Dumbledore's loyal phoenix, let out a soft trill from his perch, tilting his head inquisitively at the unexpected visitor.
Minerva broke the silence, her tone icy. "I hope, Albus, that you have a very good reason for this. What could possibly justify bringing Grindelwald into the heart of Hogwarts?"
Dumbledore met her gaze evenly. "I assure you, Minerva, this is not a decision I made lightly. Gellert and I... have unfinished matters to attend to, and I believe his perspective may be of value to all of us."
"His perspective?" Newt interjected, his voice tinged with disbelief. "This man led a war that endangered countless lives, including—" He cut himself off, visibly struggling to keep his composure. "And now you want to hear his perspective?"
Grindelwald turned from the window, his expression unreadable. "Perhaps I could enlighten you," he said, his voice smooth yet edged with bitterness. "Though I doubt it would make much difference to you, Scamander. You have always been one for absolutes—dark or light, beast or man."
"That's enough," Dumbledore said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "This gathering is not for old grievances to resurface. It is for understanding, and perhaps... for resolution."
McGonagall crossed her arms, her stern expression unyielding. "Then start explaining, Albus. What exactly is this about?"
Dumbledore took a deep breath, his eyes momentarily flickering with a sadness that hinted at the weight he carried.
"It is about choices, Minerva," he said softly. "And the paths that have led each of us here. But more than that, it is about ensuring that the mistakes of the past are not repeated in the future. Gellert has seen much, and though he has caused immeasurable harm, there is wisdom in his understanding of power and its consequences. I believe there is something he can offer—a truth we cannot afford to overlook."
The room fell into a heavy silence, the tension thick as each person processed Dumbledore's words. Fawkes let out another gentle trill, as if sensing the gravity of the moment.
Newt spoke first, his voice quieter but resolute. "And you believe that risking his presence here, in Hogwarts, is worth it?"
Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "I do. But I also trust each of you to hold me accountable should I be mistaken. That is why I brought you here—to ensure this decision is not mine alone."
Grindelwald's gaze lingered on Dumbledore, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. Then, with a faint sigh, he said, "Perhaps I should be offended by the lack of trust, but I find myself... oddly grateful. It means you still care enough to doubt me."
Minerva's sharp tone broke through. "You'll find we care quite a bit when it comes to protecting this school and its students. So let me make myself clear, Grindelwald—if you so much as think of stepping out of line, you'll wish you were still rotting in Nurmengard."
Grindelwald smirked, inclining his head in mock acknowledgment. "Noted, Deputy Headmistress."
Dumbledore glanced at each of them, his voice resolute. "Now, let us sit. We have much to discuss, and time waits for no one—not even us."
"Please, follow me," Dumbledore said, his tone calm yet firm, as he turned and strode to a corner of the room. There, nestled among shelves of enchanted artifacts, stood a stone basin etched with intricate runes—the Pensieve. Its surface shimmered faintly, holding the soft glow of silvery liquid memories.
Minerva McGonagall's sharp eyes followed his movements, and realization dawned on her. "You're going to show them that memory?" she asked, her voice laced with both concern and curiosity. "Are you sure about this, Albus?"
"Yes," Dumbledore replied without hesitation, his expression grave. "It is time they understood."
With a flick of his wand, he raised it to his temple, where a strand of shimmering silver light emerged from his mind, thin and glistening like spun silk. He drew it out carefully, the memory stretching like an ethereal thread between his wand and himself.
The others watched in silence. Newt Scamander tilted his head, his brow furrowing as he tried to decipher the meaning behind Dumbledore's actions. Grindelwald, leaning casually against a nearby bookshelf, seemed intrigued but otherwise unbothered, his sharp gaze flickering with faint amusement.
Dumbledore lowered the wand to the Pensieve, letting the silver strand slip into the swirling liquid. The substance reacted instantly, churning as though alive, patterns forming and dissolving within its depths.
"Follow me," Dumbledore repeated, stepping closer to the basin and gesturing for the others to do the same.
McGonagall moved first, her expression a blend of reluctant trust and guarded curiosity. She glanced at the others, ensuring that they followed Dumbledore's lead, then leaned over the Pensieve. As her face neared the liquid, it shimmered and pulled her forward, drawing her into the memory.
Newt Scamander hesitated for a moment, clutching his satchel tightly as if it were a lifeline. "I suppose there's no turning back now," he murmured under his breath. With a resigned sigh, he leaned over the Pensieve, disappearing into the silvery swirl.
Grindelwald straightened from his relaxed stance, his lips curling into a faint smirk. "Trusting me with your secrets, Albus?" he quipped. But without waiting for a reply, he approached the basin and leaned in, vanishing into the memory.
Dumbledore stood last, his hand resting on the edge of the Pensieve as he took a moment to collect himself. He gazed at the swirling liquid, his expression unreadable, before finally leaning in and allowing the memory to claim him.
The office fell silent as the last trace of Dumbledore disappeared, leaving only the gentle hum of Fawkes's soft trill.
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