History Retold

Gellert Grindelwald fled!

Albus Dumbledore closed his eyes. Fifteen years ago, he’d turned his back to this place and everything it embodied. It had tried to catch up, but he’d been faster. Until yesterday.

It happens at the 29th of March 1962, around 3:00 p.m., a turning point in a seemingly finished story.

People had sent him letters, hundreds of letters. Panic had been everywhere, rightfully. Even before the Daily Prophet printed his special issue, rumors had been exploding all over the street.

Silent steps tear through the ever-present silence.

It had taken a few hours for the atrocious certainty to settle in, but now it didn’t let him go anymore, pressed him onwards – onwards but back. Spikes of ice were tearing at his stomach.

The keepers immediately travel upwards, on towards the highest cell. “I’ve never had a feeling as bad as this before”, one of them says.

But this time, he would not wait until it was almost too late. He would not repeat his mistakes – when it came to Gellert, he’d made enough of them.

Rightfully so. The door is open, the high security part of the prison is deserted. Even before they take a closer look, they know the truth.

He opened his eyes again – and in spite of it, he remained blind. Thick fog moisturized his cheeks. His face was a mask, carved of stone.

Gone. Escaped. The most dangerous wizard of all time is at large.

Fifteen years ago, he’d thought it was over, thought he’d finished his life’s darkest chapter. No prison was as secure as Nurmengard. In shackles, robbed off his wand, he’d given Gellert to the German pugnators, and disapparated head over heels.

In front of him, the mist clenched like a fist around something, a hazy, black silhouette in the grey bleakness. He looked skywards, but he couldn’t see where the tower ended.

“You are three minutes late!” The figure of Hermann Heller, a portly man with a goatee and reddened cheeks, emerged from the grayish haze and shambled towards him, arms outstretched. “You see, we almost thought you wouldn’t even arrive.”

“I couldn’t quite tear my eyes away from the mist.”

Heller gave a pained smile. “If you’ve got any suggestions – we are open to every single one. You see, we’ve been trying to get rid of that for years.” He waved his wand and suddenly, the thick fog cleared slightly.

They were standing in front of a massive entrance, sculpted like a gargoyle’s mouth, but that wasn’t what caught his attention.

The letters glowed in the shadowy twilight, barely recognizable. Every single one of them was as large as himself.

For the Greater Good.

His own voice, much younger, seemed to echo around him, mocking, and Albus closed his eyes. Heller had to have seen it, but he didn’t say anything. He waved his wand yet again.

Albus knew Azkaban. The glibbery rocks, the desperate screams, the black traces of mould and the moss that slowly conquered the island. Nurmengard, however, was in a wholly different league.

The glowing of the letters far above intensified, the silhouette of a mighty gate appeared in the stone, as thick as a fortress’s walls. Two rows of black stone cubes, all of them head-high, shaped the wall of the prison.

Flickering torchlight surged outside, reflected by the polished black. Cold air, smelling of oil, caressed his bare bones.

The foyer wasn’t as big as he had expected, its diameter about 200 feet, with two small counters at the other end. One of them was occupied; the guard stared worriedly at the blank wall. Magic tingled on Albus’s skin, stroked his senses, but he pushed it away. The feeling of disgusting familiarity was too strong.

Then he looked upwards, and his knees grew weak.

Rows of torches, every thirty feet, islands of lights in the darkness. Above them, there might be a ceiling – impossible to see.

(“We will have foes, Albus. We need a prison no one can ever escape from.”

“Well, we are capable of the most impressive feats – and still, I do not believe I have seen any wizard fly without a broom. Previous prisons have failed to make use of that – but I think we can do better.”)

Suddenly, there was a bitter taste in his mouth. He had never really wanted to grasp just how much of himself had been in Gellert’s reign of terror.

“We’ve investigated the whole thing, of course.” said Heller. “The protection spells are working flawlessly. His cell door was opened yesterday and we haven’t seen him since. You see, a strong wizard might have been able to open it, but Grin – Grindelwald was in the highest one. He’d have had to jump. Wouldn’t have been the first.” He slapped his meaty hands together and the sound echoed through the tower.

“But we haven’t found anything, you see, not a single clue! He must’ve known some other way out, after all, he’s built the whole thing – I always said we should’ve sent him to Azkaban anyway …”

“As interesting a tale as I’m sure this would turn out to be, I think it might benefit us to start investigating as soon as possible.”

Heller blinked. “Of course, excuse me.” He marched towards one of the torches and the stone to their left opened, revealing a cavity. In it, there was a snow-white hand, long-fingered, with parchment-like skin, protruded by its bones. Heller weaved his wand and the fingers bent backwards, their crackling ripping through the silence. Then, a rope appeared in the air; next to the gate it rose aloft.

As it seemed, Heller had noticed Albus’ gaze. “Rosier’s.” he said, almost apologetically.

“Before she died, she was the last guard of the prison. You see, every enchantment is keyed to her. We tried, but without that one, we can’t get to the rope.

Albus doubted he’d have needed more than two minutes to come up with a different solution, but now was not the time. Perhaps this place lacked the blatant malice of Azkaban, but if you got too close to the smooth stone, you could see the countless drops of blood the black walls had had to absorb, hear the tortured screams that shrilled through Nurmengard only twenty years ago.

Never again. It was time to act.

He reached for the rope, and even before Heller was able to do anything, he tapped it with his wand.

Below him, a wooden platform formed, then there was a violent jolt, and the floor rapidly began to move away from him.

Cool air took turns with fleeting warmth, whenever he passed one of the rows of torches. The burning in his stomach intensified. Magic, no longer light and tingling, pressed itself against his skin. Powerful protections indeed, unbroken for three decades, just like the impenetrably thick walls. The height was murderous. No wonder that even Gellert had needed fifteen years to escape.

The distance between the flares increased. He felt as if burning chunks of coal had settled down in his intestines.

The wall opposite him changed; bars, thick like tree trunks, replaced black granite.

For years he had been in denial, hiding from the truth, until he couldn’t go on like that anymore. And then, he’d stood in front of Gellert, determined and sad, Gellert had returned his gaze, and they had fought.

No words, no accusations, no excuses.

Disturbingly, not a single deadly curse. While everything else remained unsaid, their duel had spoken for itself.

The rope jerked and came to a halt, while Albus’ breath formed little clouds of smoke in the air. A raspy whisper breathed through the silence.

“High security. Enter at your own risk. Do not use your wand.”

There was a crackling in his ears when the rope carried him further upwards. The air seemed to squeeze him together, felt like a grater on his skin.

The cells here were thirty feet above each other. Finally, he was able to see the ceiling, a plain, grey block of stone. The light of the torches barely pierced through the air, seemed to be as suffocated as everything else in the high security.

Now, Gellert’s flight would become tangible reality. Now, the very chaos he’d ended would irrevocably start anew.

The wooden platform below his feet trembled slightly and began to move towards the cell that had to be the last, only twenty feet away from the ceiling.

Soft shimmers came from the solid iron rods that densely barred the room.

The door was open. There wasn’t much to see, apart from the blotchy grey of the floor. Tattered paper lay scattered everywhere – a Daily Prophet, apparently a few years old already. In addition, several pieces of parchment, covered with tiny handwriting. If Albus’ eyes didn’t fool him, Gellert had written countless countless crossword puzzles for himself.

No damage. Not a hint of a clue how he managed to break out.

He reached for the Daily Prophet, hastily turning the yellowed pages. The rustling sounded muffled, suppressed by the magic in the air – until, at once, it became silent. Albus stared at a large-sized article. The Elder Wand: The Most Important Hallow. By Morius Lovegood.

Of all things! The very man whose columns had brought them together, back then. A fanatic enthusiast for the Deathly Hallows, since more than fifty years. Enthusiastic enough to infect two naïve, arrogant boys as well. Albus clenched his fists, the decrepit sheet tore –

“Careful, please! I do not think I am going to get another one anytime soon.”

Albus froze mid-movement. Icy water ran down his back; his neck hair rose. He wanted to turn around, but he couldn’t, his muscles seemed to fighting against him.

Gellert Grindelwald threw the invisibility cloak away without hesitation. His green eyes glinted.

Albus stared at the shape in front of him, rendered speechless for the second time in his life.

“Please excuse my little charade, Albus – both of us know you would not have visited me otherwise.”

“You are still here.”

“That is, I believe, one of the most unnecessarily obvious statements I have ever heard from you.”

He blinked. Twice. Then, finally, his heart stopped trying to break through his chest, and his frozen brain melted just enough to allow for coherent thoughts.

Gellert hadn’t escaped. He was unarmed, but he had an invisibility cloak, freedom’s open arms in plain sight. For some reason, he had chosen to remain in Nurmengard.

“Why, then, are you still here? You could have escaped.”

“I know. There was no reason to, though. Last time, I lost against you, and I have little motivation to try battling you again.

The carefree tone, the hint of a smile on his lips – in front of him, there stood a Dark Lord that shoved his intended role away with a shrug.

“Forgive me, Gellert – but I am afraid I cannot quite bring myself to believe you.”

A shadow crossed Gellert’s features. “Oh, I also thought, sometimes, that I might as well jump. I did not dare to hope you would listen to me, not after everything that’s – that I have done.”

That I have done. Not that’s happened. Gellert’s deeds, not some unfortunate event – as if he truly thought himself to be guilty. Albus hated himself for the little spark of warmth which flowed through him after he had noticed that.

He couldn’t allow himself to believe them, no matter how desperately he wanted to – that, at least, he had to have learnt by now. “I am listening, Gellert.”

His old friend smiled shakily. “I had fifteen years to think, Albus, supported by the all too friendly guards. As it turned out, I managed to gain only minimal sympathies during the war, especially with the relatives of those I killed. Surprisingly, to be spat on gets old somewhat quickly.”

“Which is why most people would have taken the opportunity”, replied Albus, giving the cloak a meaningful look. It did not make any sense that he hadn’t tried, at least. The crossword puzzles proved how much Nurmengard had gnawed at him.

He stared at him, long, longer. “I have prepared so many words, Al, and none of them are of any use.”

“Words are filled by their very own kind of magic. However, at times, silence can surpass even the greatest of them.”

There was a small smile, for the fraction of a second. “I will not keep my mouth shut, no matter how eloquently you try to convince me to. No, at first, I thought I should apologize – but excuses would be worthless, just as worthless as all these years in this tower. I have done things I cannot compensate for. But you should know that I have finally understood this truth.”

The ensuing silence was almost palpable. When Albus had thought of Gellert in the years after the war, he’d expected fury, maybe even burning hatred, directed at the one that had dared to defeat him.

It would have been easier that way.

“How did you manage to open the door?” The question seemed profane, inadequate.

“I designed this cell for you originally. It cannot be opened from the inside, no matter how hard I tried. Just like, by the way, I am unable to crochet an invisibility cloak in here.”

He’d feared that already. “Who helped you?”

Gellert chuckled. “I am afraid the name just slipped my mind – maybe you should come back later?”

“Do you really believe - ”

“Aberforth and Ariana – what I have done – that’s what started all of this. I may not be able to turn back time, but my first mistake was my biggest one. I – I want a second chance, and if I give you the name, you will be gone and I will solve my own crossword puzzles for the rest of my life.”

Slowly, he let his sinewy, pale arms sink. “Is that so reprehensible?”

“I will not put my hopes over my mind a second time, Gellert.” Albus said. He looked away, because every time he looked into these green eyes, his heart beat louder, faster.

It scared him.

~ * ~​

Hermann Heller had shrunk at least five inches since their last talk, shortly after Albus had left the cell.

“Might it be possible that someone infiltrated this building?” he’d asked.

“Completely impossible – you’ve seen the walls, haven’t you?”

“In my experience, invisibility cloaks do not tend to appear randomly.”

“We’d have noticed. Without a single doubt, you see? But for all I care, we’ll investigate it.”

The overwhelming success of these investigations was written all over Heller’s face that was barely distinguishable from Fawkes’ bright red plumage.

The phoenix looked at him as if he was still wondering which part of his fatty body would taste best.

Dumbledore put the theodolite - a bronze maze of enchanted gears and tubes – aside. Originally, he’d been planning to scale Nurmengard with it. A pretty secure method to expose secret passages.

Maybe the guards had been faster.

“There is something you should know, Professor Dumbledore.”

“I take it you unsuccessfully interrogated Grindelwald, and now he wants to talk to me again?”

Hellers mouth opened and closed again. “How - ?“

“Only a guess.“ He didn’t admit it often, but it was a tremendously pleasurable endeavor to take people by surprise.

“Well – yes. You see, we tried everything we could think of, but he wouldn’t talk, not even when we used Veritaserum.”

Dumbledore frowned. “Did you test its effectiveness?”

“Honestly?! We are very much able to brew Veritaserum!”

“Just a thought.” And by far not as far-fetched as Heller seemed to think. Nothing he’d seen in Nurmengard pointed towards competent guards.

In general, Heller looked rattled. Standing on end, scattered, Heller’s fringe of hair did about as much to help that impression as his oblique horn-rimmed glasses. As it seemed, the false reports about Grindelwald’s flight hadn’t exactly helped the man. Him, or his career.

“Anyway – would you be ready to talk to him? We can’t risk something like that to happen again.”

“Well – “

That was what it was going to come down to, as much had been clear right from the start. Even at the very thought of Gellert maybe changing –

Several years ago, directly after his flight, back when he hadn’t really realized what had happened to Ariana, he had been convinced that Gellert would return. Try to apologize, even though there were no excuses. And he would prove that he had learnt, wouldn’t get involved with all of this again. But he had not trusted himself, back then.

Gellert hadn’t come. Now, fifteen years later, bereft of his power, trapped in an escape-proof prison, he wanted to try and remedy it all – or whatever his true intentions were.

“I do not think there is a reason not to.”

Some wounds didn’t heal, but left one's joints scarred and rigid. After all this time, he would be strong enough. Even though he doubted he would be able to get anything out of him.

Then, why again did you agree to this? The thought crossed his mind only briefly, and Albus preferred to ignore it.

~ * ~​

Again, the bulging knuckles cracked when the pale hand formed a claw, spread the little finger well beyond the natural capabilities of its joint – for a moment, Albus feared it might fall off. The rope appeared in the air, between the director of the prison and Nurmengard’s black boulders.

“One more thing.” said Heller, who was shifting from one foot to the other restlessly. “You will meet in the cell of freedom. Technically, we don’t use that one anymore, but he insisted, and, well – you see, we definitely don’t need any unbidden guests in here. The faster you get some information out of him, the better for all of us.”

The cell of freedom indeed. He was aware of Gellert’s sense of humor, he knew what kind of freedom that meant. But why, for all the world, wanted Gellert to meet him in such a place?

Apart from that, he had not heard yet of a prisoner who was free to decide in which room he wanted to be imprisoned. The prison director’s chair had to have become very shaky indeed; otherwise he would not have taken these risks.

Heller held the rope out to him. At once, it seemed oddly scratchy. His fingers felt numb.

“Don’t stay in there too long.” Heller said with a doubtful glance upwards. His eyes mirrored the torch rows’ erratic light.

“I am afraid I do not quite understand.”

Heller sighed. “Grindelwald didn’t kill his prisoners. He just put them in this cell, removed the lattice, and, well, sooner or later, they arrived down here.” He bent forward. His voice, whose reverb had previously chimed through the tower, was suddenly barely audible. “Of course, no one would really be bothered if he, say, slipped in an unfortunate way.”

“Is it common, in Nurmengard, to invite your guests to commit murder?”

Again, several unhealthy spots appeared on Heller’s pancake face. He nodded towards the rope, his lips pressed together.

Already it began to move, and around him there was nothing more than bare stone. So, Gellert wanted to see him again, in a room where countless people had committed suicide. No matter from which angle he looked at that, he hadn’t the slightest inkling what was waiting for him.

What if he truly felt regret? For someone like Gellert, it might be akin to a punishment.

His hand felt aflutter, the rope trembled in his grip. This morning, he had almost forgotten his wand in his nightgown, something that hadn’t happened to him since his NEWTs. For a moment, when he’d looked in Gellert’s eyes, it had seemed like they had only just got to know each other.

He shivered. Strange, the torches seemed so pale today, as if the fog had invaded the masonry. The air was moist, but there was no mould on the massive black cubes the tower was built from. This prison was timeless.

The rope slowed down and Albus closed his eyes, collected himself, but there was no such thing as a good preparation for a meeting with Gellert. Swaying slightly, the platform carried him towards the only cell that wasn’t barred.

Timelessness – that, at least, was something no one could say about Gellert.

Last time, he had been too surprised to notice. The blond hair was gone, had made room for erratic grey, sometimes even bald scalp. The corners of his mouth pointed downwards – he still remembered the earlier days, when he’d looked like he was always smiling.

“Albus” Gellert said and reached out towards him. His blotchy, grey prison cloak slid upwards, revealing angry red scores on cadaverous skin. “I am truly glad you brought yourself to visit once again.”

“They tortured you?” Albus nodded towards the outstretched hand.

“Not at all – they motivated me a little. Torture looks different.”

So, it hadn’t been the first time. He knew it would have bothered him in every other case, too – it was only just that this also applied to Gellert.

“Anyhow – I wish you a very warm welcome to the Cell of Freedom!”

It looked somewhat disappointing, considering its impressive reputation. The floor was just as black as the remainder of the prison. There were no torches, only weak, reddish reverberation. No item of furniture, apart from –

“Please Albus – do not look into the mirror!” Gellert shouted, his eyes wide open. “I have not always resided in the uppermost cell. Right before Heller became director, they discovered this one. And because, astonishingly, most guards disliked me quite a bit, they moved me here.”

“Into your own death cell.”

“My death cell, indeed.”

For a moment, it was silent, and Albus glanced up, in the direction of the mirror, looked in his own light blue eyes – and breathed in sharply. That was … impossible!

“Ariana,” he whispered, stepping closer. The blue eyes, just like his, the innocent, girlish smile, the unmistakably hunched nose – even after all these years, he would have recognized her between thousandth of twins. His bothersome mind might scream about phantasms twice as loud; the desire to touch her was overwhelming. Hope burned in his stomach, against all reason, and he reached out.

Cool, dead glass shattered the illusion. It felt like someone had hit him with a hammer. He stumbled backwards, breathing heavily.

“The Mirror of Erised” Gellert said quietly. “My prisoners sat in here, right where we are standing, and they were able to choose between looking into this mirror, being relentlessly tortured with what they could not have, would never get – or jump.”

“Why are we here?” He knew enough about Gellert’s atrocities as it was.

Before he was able to reply, screeching chimed through the walls, piercing through the silence like fingernail’s scratching on a slate.

Both of them looked upwards in the same moment, but there was nothing to be seen. Only flickering torches surrounded by oppressing blackness. And yet. Something was wrong; Albus knew that Gellert felt it as well.

It happened wholly on instinct – Albus pushed Gellert backwards and he stumbled against the mirror. Then, he drew his wand.

Screeching again, from dozens of raucous throats. The buzzing of flaps seemed to emerge from the tip of the tower, but it approached them quickly.

Albus closed his eyes and the magic in the air brushed his skin like an oily film, slid over his fingers and dripped off. The ground vibrated slightly.

Why didn’t the wards react? Hastily, he put his hand on the stone to his left – and withdrew it immediately. The black block of stone was scorching. The protections on this fortress wanted to do something, wanted to crush the threat, but something – someone? – held them back.

Again, high yelling, suddenly, shadowy wings covered the weak red light. The air was almost as heavy as it had been in the high security tract, and nothing happened.

Anyhow –

Albus waved his wand. The creature froze in the air, only five feet away from them. And yet, the buzzing of countless wings didn’t get even a slight bit quieter, instead increasing in strength and aggression.

He looked at the animal that had attacked him first. A doxy, but not the cute, English subspecies that, from time to time, occupied old underpants. It was the Scandinavian version.

The big brother’s big brother, so to speak.

Albus stood at the edge of the abyss – if Gellert still held a grudge, he would only need to deal him a small blow. Then, he would be an easy victim for the cloud of sheepdog-sized beasts, though.

That moment, every remnant of reddish light went out; the darkness hit the room like a bludgeon. The swarm had to be dangerously close now, but he could not see a single doxy.

He yanked up his wand even further, and a massive jet of flame pierced through the blackness; glaring yellow light bore into the eyeballs of their attackers and scorched those that had dared to come too close. Angry hissing filled the air, joined by the smell of burned chitin, while the first bodies plummeted downwards.

The fire concentrated directly over Albus; he felt the heat coming off his own spell – then he twisted his wand and a flaming ring spread through the tower; the creatures screamed in panic, but they were cooped up by the impervious walls, there was nowhere they could go.

Albus took a step backwards, felt for the stone to his left. It was under high pressure; he almost thought it would burst – there were microfissures in the granite.

For the moment, the doxies’ couldn’t attack, prevented by the fire. He had the time he needed.

Quickly, he turned around, tapping the smooth wall with his wand. A shiver went through the masonry, an ancient dragon that had finally been freed from his shackles.

The wards of Nurmengard awoke.

The torches flared up again, high and blazing, penetrating the darkness. Distant grumbling heralded disaster even as it was happening. The doxies flew through each other in utter desperation; they felt the sudden danger, and they knew they were trapped.

Pitch-black water trickled from the air, distantly smelling like lemons, mixed with the iron taste of blood. Every doxy that got hit withered mid-flight, their wings crumbling to ashes and their skin bursting open. They trundled against the walls, their dead bodies twitching in denial.

Then it was over.

Albus breathed in deeply, there was thin layer of sweat on his forehead. Doxies weren’t a big danger for him, that was not the problem. The problem was that they had somehow managed to enter the most secure building in the world.

And the wards had done nothing.

Gellert pulled himself up against the wall and stepped next to him. “Thank you, Albus.”

“How did these animals get in here?!”

Gellert’s lips were white, pressed together as heavily as possible. He, too, had understood.

“Who has the power to do that?!” Albus felt goose bumps spreading all over his skin.

“I …” His former friend was even paler around the nose than usual. “Both of us know I will not tell you that.”

“Someone just managed to deactivate your wards!” His voice was rough, clipped. “I would not be able to do that. You have to be aware that, from now on, you are in mortal danger every second you spend in here!”

“So, that is something you are still worried about?”

He looked to the ground and stayed silent.

“Why did you want to meet me in here?” asked Albus for a second time, pushing the thoughts about what had just happened towards the back of his head. He would need to talk about that with Heller.

“Because you should know why I did not jump, like everyone else. If I look into this mirror, I see the same things you see, Albus.”

Thoughts whirled through his head, all of them incoherent. “Is that so?”

“Every goal is empty if it cannot be shared.”

His chest constricted painfully. These were Gellert’s very own words, just after they had got to know each other – back when everything had been simple.

“When Ariana died, I knew had nothing left but my plans. So, I ran after those. It was the wrong way, I know that now. These were our plans, and they should not have been bigger than us.”

“Gellert,” said Albus, himself surprised by the steel in his voice. Whatever he was hoping to get from all of this – he had to be aware that all of this was long since over.

Gellert spread his arms. “Look into my eyes.”

Yesterday, it would have been unimaginable to do as he told him. Yesterday, and the days before. With the only notable exception of the day he had first met him. And of this one. Curiosity and the adrenaline of the short fight mixed with old memories, with their faded trust, and suddenly it seemed absurd to not take him up on his offer.

He stood in front of a mirror, his jaw strained, his hands clenched into fists. There were tears in his eyes – he had expected to see himself, enjoying the high point of his power, at the top of a perfect world he had, in the end, failed to create. Just like the first time, back when he’d found the mirror.

The image was cruelly beautiful. Albus and he, Ariana in the background, even a goat calmly nibbling at the juicy grass. Unreachable, tossed away all these years ago.

The façade broke and Gellert Grindelwald cried, cried for what he had given away far too thoughtlessly. For a second, he wanted to jump, wanted to enjoy the very last bit of freedom they had offered him.

That, however, was not him. He fought for the things he didn’t have. Not everything about this image was wholly unattainable.

Finally, Albus escaped the green eyes that simply continued to stare at him; his knees were wobbly. Between them, there was silence, but he did not know any words that would have said more. Gellert had not lied to him – everything before might have been a charade, but this wasn’t. It meant more than he was able to grasp right here, right now, but did it change anything?

He didn’t know. Yet.

Gellert’s face seemed to glimmer in the reddish light; his eyes twinkled.

“That’s why.”

~ * ~​

Hermann Heller eyed the tangled device Albus had just pushed into his prison.

“What is that?”

“A theodolit.”

He scratched his fringe of hair and a yellowish layer of scurf fluttered towards the stony floor, enlightened by the glowing of the torches. “A thodilot. And what is that?”

“A most fascinating apparatus, invented by the muggles in order to create detailed maps.”

“Interesting. You see, I didn’t want to map anything in here.”

“This one works in a slightly different way. If my enchantments haven’t developed unforeseen eccentricities, it should be able to discover possible hidden pathways. After all, it would benefit us to know where the unknown attacker came from.”

“Not that again! There is no unknown attacker, that’s impossible! All we had was a slight malfunction, and there’s no need to worry about that.”

“I would very much like to know which measures of malfunctions would suffice to make you feel a need to worry. Are there any death rates that have to be accomplished?” Dumbledore said, the sharpness in his voice surprising even himself.

“You are being pretty presumptuous, you see?! I don’t need your thidolot, and I definitely don’t need your help to find some secret pathways in my own prison! We turned all of Nurmengard upside down, and we found nothing – so there is nothing.”

A quarter of an hour later, Albus grudgingly had to admit that his invention wasn’t able to discover anything – which made the events of his last visit all the more vexing.

Frightening even.

There was no other way – he had to talk to Gellert again. At least, he was better prepared this time.

Heller didn’t even ask why, he simply activated the rope. Wiggling his stubby fingers, he waved him onto the wooden platform like an annoying fly.

This time, he would meet him at the top of the tower again. Heller had been very insistent about that right after the same attack he now desperately tried to play down.

(“If you – you tell no one anything about that, understood?! And this danger will sure as hell not get to choose his cell ever again!”)

That was something else he was worried about. The scales on Gellert’s arm … it was wrong. Considering how furious Heller had been while wiping the decomposed bodies of the doxies from the floor, there might be many more this time.

Albus shuddered to think what they might have done with Gellert if he hadn’t been there. Without the protective enchantments, without a wand, he would have been killed within seconds.

At the same time, the attack hadn’t made any sense.

There was a wizard who was powerful enough to override Gellert’s wards, someone who obviously wanted something from him. Despite his power, this wizard had stayed in the shadows. There had to be a reason for that.

One single person came to his mind, one person who maybe – maybe – was able to break through enchantments Gellert had woven with the Elder Wand. But he hadn’t seen him in years.

Tom Riddle. Powerful enough, of course. Intelligent enough, definitively. Unscrupulous enough? Most possibly. What, though, would be able to tempt him into attacking his former friend?

He hesitated. His former friend … did that really fit, even after what he had seen in his mind?

Albus pulled his cloak closer. The black stones of Nurmengard breathed clouds of ice into the tower. Even the warmth of the torches was just a short puff of wind his frosty skin immediately forgot.

Gellert was a pathologically ambitious man, possessed by his own brilliance and his desire for might and recognition.

Had been. As much he could tell even by now.

Sometimes, while he had worked on the theodolit, he hadn’t even been sure whether his mind did not play tricks on him. During that hapless summer, back when they had first met, he had begun to notice more and more of his flaws. He had pushed them away, in a rush of pubertal infatuation, but if he had been able to create his own, perfect Gellert, the result would not have been the person Gellert had been back then.

More like the one he had talked to just a few days ago.

“High security,” rasped the masonry. “Enter at your own risk. Do not use your wand.” The air was just as oppressing as it had been during his first visit, scraping his skin like sandpaper.

Now, he would see him again.

He had judged too quickly, before his first visit. People could change if they really wanted to. Gellert’s countless victims had crumbled into dust, but he was still there. Why not move on, why push just another life into the abyss it wanted to free itself from?

Every human deserved a second chance. That was a truth far too few people understood, especially not those who, in their desire for satisfaction, destroyed those that had harmed their beloved ones and only managed to create more pain than the original deed had caused.

The rope ground to a halt in weak twilight. Heller had apparently exhausted the torches that had illuminated the uppermost cell in Nurmengard.

Albus threw a skeptical glance downwards; for a moment, he felt dizzy. Fiery glimmers in the deep, endless black stone, and somewhere far, far below that, the main floor. All that separated him from it was a round wooden platform which rewarded every movement with a creaking that reminded him of a geriatric’s back.

With a determined flick of his wand, he set the torches on fire again, while his platform brought him towards the narrow passageway between Gellert’s cell and the abyss.

“Albus!” He tried to press his nose between the thick, grey bars that sealed his cell off from glances.

“I wish you a wonderful afternoon, Gellert. I hope that you are well?”

No answer. He might not be able to see his friend, but that said everything.

“What did he do?”

Quiet rustling came from the inside, then Gellert’s fingertips peeped out for a second, crusty with dried blood. When he drew them away, red, hard and slightly curved platelets remained. Fingernails, torn from their nail bed.

“Oh, Heller had nothing to do with that, he doesn’t even dare to come up here. After all, the platform might burst if it has to carry him.”

Whoever had done this, he would only dare to this one single time. Anger swelled in him, but he remained as calm as possible. That was best saved for later.

“I wouldn’t have reckoned with seeing you again so quickly.”

“Well, I have tried to get on to the track of our unknown intruder, and, regrettably, it has not been much of a success.”

Gellert sighed. “That again? I won’t say anything, not one word.“

“I do not need clear answers. Little hints would suffice.”

“Not one word, Albus.”

Albus fetched a small packet from the deep pockets of his purple cloak and placed it in front of the cell. “If I remember correctly, your room contained – apart from a few pieces of parchment – only one Daily Prophet, the one from the 15th of February 1951. As luck has it, I started a collection of these a few years ago – and it remains complete to this day.”

Even though Gellert didn’t say anything – Albus could almost hear the grinding of his teeth.

“And if the events of the day still seemed too boring to you, I would tell you that I am quite certain to have spotted several copies of “Transfiguration Today” in between.”

“You use pretty unfair methods!”

“My suggestion would be the following exchange: I ask a question and you tell me how many copies of the Daily Prophet its answer is worth in your eyes.”

“Agreed!” The answer came fast, almost desperate, and Albus’ face contorted all by itself. Imprisoned for all these years, without any literature, any pursuit – it had to have been brutal.

But still, it had moved Gellert to think.

“My first question would be … “ He let the sentence fade away. Gellert would not give him direct hints, so he had to check his theories as unobtrusively as possible.

Perhaps, someone had penetrated the building from the outside, accomplished his shenanigans that way, but perhaps the wards themselves had crumbled, revolting against the imprisonment of their creator - just to name a few options. It all depended on how exactly Gellert had secured his tower. The enchantments were far too complex to know for sure just by sensing the magic in the air.

“Why are the walls of Nurmengard as impressively thick as they are?”

“All Daily Prophets at once.”

Albus laughed. „I am afraid we will have to bargain a little.”

“Either that, or a different question.”

“Why do I feel like you simply wish to detract me from the fact that the walls are indeed wholly meaningless in this particular case?”

“Ah – of course they are, you see right through me. Or you don’t – who might know? Anyway, is there anything else you want to know?”

“The concept behind the protections – Perret or de la Verre?”

“Every single Daily Prophet. That is the same question!”

Albus chuckled – if he was to be honest, he hadn’t expected that to work. Perret stood for bell-shaped enchantments spreading from the center of the building they protected. Simpler, harder to penetrate, this system only allowed for limited variety. De la Verre, on the other side, was the spiderweb, which had to be connected to the walls. The better the ward was weaved, the more impervious it became. More variable, and very powerful, it was basically impossible to avoid loopholes, especially with big buildings.

Few had ever tried to protect a building of Nurmengard’s size with that, and even less had succeeded, but the twin rows of stone pointed towards de la Verre. A twofold spiderweb, possibly.

Or he simply wanted to hide secret passages in them, using the concepts of Perret like everyone else.

“Why does the Muggle-Repelling ward produce fog all the time?”

“Hmm … five Daily Prophets.”

“Agreed.”

Silence.

“Do you still plan on giving them to me sometime?”

Dumbledore smiled and pushed two randomly chosen newspapers through the small space between the iron bars.

“A deposit, as a start. After all, you never know.”

“Very well. I don’t know whether you have noticed, but Heller and talent are two things I would not put into the same sentence without negation. If I caught that correctly, he tried to renew my old charm – and forgot that, unfortunately, this building has had more than two decades to get accustomed to the way it was. He did not adjust even one of the other spells, and they did not quite agree with that.”

“He is no cursebreaker. Things like that happen, from time to time.”

“If you say so. Be that as it may, he trudges through thick fog on a daily basis and still hasn’t got a single clue what the problem might be. To be honest, I am not quite sure whether he knows which end of his wand the spells come from.”

He almost laughed – but this was exactly the kind of thing they had found far too amusing back then. “I do not think that with outstanding talent comes a permission to disparage others.”

“Well, apart from the little word ‘outstanding’. If anything, there is no reason not to do it. As long as abilities are proven time and time again, even arrogance has a raison d’être.”

The mellow mood immediately fled from the building. “This kind of thinking did get you very far, Gellert,” he said quietly.

“No – no, please let me explain. I wanted too much, too quickly, that I can see. I did not want anything wrong. The muggles would be happy if they had even a fraction of our lives.”

“It is one of our greatest trials to allow for autonomy even it is misused. That, even though it might not seem so, is the greatest treasure freedom has to offer: To make your own mistakes - which is to say, decisions - because only these mark a life as special, as truly yours, in all its facets.”

“And you think this precept should be without limits, do you? I have witnessed the war of the muggles very closely – let them off the leash one time too many, and they are going to commit crimes - not only against themselves, but against the whole world - that no one could want in any way.”

Albus didn’t know how much time they spent discussing, and he did not care. For ages, he had only been able to have philosophical discussions in French – and Nicolas unfortunately tended to fall asleep mid-sentence.

Hours passed and arguments went back and forth, no matter what topic. With every sentence, he felt more like he was flushed out of the prison, back into the past.

Before he knew it, he had conjured two comfortable wing chairs – one in front of the cell door, one behind. If he hadn’t accidentally thrown a glance at his watch, both of them might have stayed overnight in Nurmengard.

“Dear Merlin!” he interrupted Gellert’s current monologue. “I am afraid the prison will close in a few minutes – and I have one or two little questions left.”

“And I still want three Daily Prophets.”

Albus smiled. “In theory, only one of the guards or an unrecognized intruder would be able to play around with the wards, did I get that correctly?” he asked while guiding the washed-out paper past the bars.

“Fifty Daily Prophets. And at least one copy of ‘Transfiguration Today’.”

Progressively, he felt like Gellert was making the prices up as he pleased. In any case, he was making it as hard as he could for him to get any information out of this. “Do you really think that it is a good idea to give me as little hints? The danger you are in - ”

“I can cope with that.”

“I see there have been little changes concerning your stubbornness.”

“Some things do not change.”

Sighing, Albus gave him the first thirty Prophets as fast as possible. The bars were so close together that only three at once fit through.

“Very well,” said Gellert finally. “Of course, influencing the enchantments from the outside is impossible. For me. A more capable wizard might be able to do that – but if you can’t, then I am afraid I have no idea who it might be.”

“So, that also counts for the one that gave you the cloak?”

Behind the bars, things remained suspiciously silent.

“Good, then I have only two questions left: Do you know whether Clarence Rosier is still alive?”

Albus made a deposit of 45 Prophets, before Gellert replied. “I am not quite sure. They brought her to the cell of freedom, even before I had been in there, and I have not heard anything from her since then. Maybe she survived the jump – she had a tendency to accomplish the impossible. Why do you ask?”

“Because her hand can be found within the walls of the entrance hall, and, if I understood that correctly, the wards of Nurmengard could not controlled without it.”

Gellert snorted with laughter; it resounded from the walls, dark and sincere. “Brilliant! I really could not imagine a better way to administer my prison than steering it with the dead body parts of my followers. How is it that the tower hasn’t already collapsed over me?”

He needed a second to calm himself down. “And what was the last question?”

Albus breathed in deeply. “I have to admit, it is less of a question and more of a conclusion: If we are talking about the unknown intruder, you have – just like everyone else – not even the slightest of an inkling who it might be, am I correct?”

“Unbelievable!”

Gellert might be a good actor, but he had not quite managed to capture the subtle difference between someone that was in the know and did not want to give away his secrets, and someone that had no idea and had to hide this fact more than anything. His pale face after the attack of the doxies, his thoughts about the possibility of someone overpowering his wards, his alleged unconcern – it hadn’t made sense.

“Originally, I had hoped to conceal that little triviality for some more time.”

“But then, the danger you are in is all the more unpredictable! I would have taken you for a wiser man – we are wasting precious time! There is a stranger out there, who is most likely able to take on both of us in a fight!”

Gellert smiled softly, there was no fear in his eyes. “Can you imagine how petty wisdom can become, after more than a decade of being crammed in your own prison? Yes, I might die by the hands of this person, and it might be soon – so what? At least, I was able to have a few good hours before. You would not have come here if I didn’t make you do it – I think we can agree on that. If I am to be honest – I would at any time exchange the conversations with you, as short as they might have been, for a few additional decades of misery in this cell.”

Silence spread, disrupted only by the crackling of the torches.

“Rest assured, Gellert – this has not been my last visit. I am afraid I got accustomed to your presence rather more quickly than I would have liked to.”

“I somehow remember you saying something quite different last time.” The big grin on his face easily beamed through the bars.

Albus would have smiled back at him, but suddenly, time only passed drop by drop. There was a thought freezing the blood in his veins, and making it boil at the same time. His every muscle tensed. Somehow it felt right to wipe the slate clean right now, as if his whole life had been leading to this moment, since … since.

“Who?” breathed Albus, a simple yet devastatingly heavy word. “Who of us did … ?”

As if he was able to look into his mind, Gellert knew immediately what he meant. “It was me.”

Albus’ eyes snapped shut. His hand bolted forwards, towards the shaky railings.

He lies.

It was the most beautiful, meaningful lie he had heard in his life. But his breast ached at the very thought of leaving it at that. He couldn’t deny the truth. “Us.”

“Yes. Us.“

He had never thought the ignorance to be a bond, but at once, it felt like a tight string fell off his chest, allowing him to breathe freely. His guilt – now he knew how big it truly was.

“We’ll meet again.”

He tapped the railing thrice and the wooden platform floated towards him. His body felt numb – and yet: Perhaps, this wasn’t only a second chance for Gellert, but for him, too.

If he ever managed to find the culprit.

~ * ~​

Recently, his office felt strangely empty. Empty and silent, despite all the incessantly ticking instruments and the many portraits. None of their metallic hearts could replace a human one, and none of the spots of colour on the wall substituted real skin.

As much as he loved Howarts – in truth, it did seem to be little more than a particularly lively exile.

He was in contact with so many people, but how many of those truly knew him? So many acquaintances, and yet so frighteningly few friends. However, he had never felt like he was missing something.

Now, suddenly, he had to actively prevent himself from travelling to a prison.

When he had met Gellert for the first time, it had felt like he had finally found an oasis after years of wandering through a desert. Now, after he had nearly forgotten the taste of water, the oasis had reappeared.

And it seemed like it wasn’t poisoned this time.

An owl knocked against the high arched window to his left, and he opened it with a swish of his wand. She had a little scroll of parchment in her claws, only slightly bigger than a fingerbreadth. A letter – couldn’t that wait? He did not know the bird, but the white dashes on its wings proved that it could not be a ministry owl.

The scroll soared into his lap, and the bird disappeared again. Sighing silently, he unfolded the tiny note.

All of a sudden, time stood still.

Gellert Grindelwald is at my mercy. Come to Nurmengard, alone. If you do not, he will die before the dawn.

Albus’ hands trembled. He read the crumpled snippet, again and again – and bolted out of his chair with a roar. Too slow, far too slow again. He would have needed to do something, put in more effort – but he had always been far too good at waiting. There was no time to think, this one time he had to act immediately. He tapped the note, made a portkey from it, while the letters danced mockingly in front of his eyes.

“Woolen socks.”

A bolt of lightning shot through the office; colors whirled around him, and all of a sudden, his view was clouded by thick mist that conglomerated around an enormous black shadow. His stomach rebelled, making him gag – that portkey had been far below his usual standards – but he took a step forward nonetheless, straight towards the tower of Nurmengard.

For the Greater Good. The letters glowed wine-red, much brighter than last time, their light easily piercing through the fog. The stones lay as motionless as ever, and yet they seemed to be restless, almost trembling with anticipation. Images flashed through Albus’ mind, even though he’d never seen the prison during Gellert’s reign. Dozens of people, jumping at the same time, not caring for the ground that awaited them, controlled by desperation, the violent desire to get out.

The stones had swallowed their blood, just like everyone else’s.

The gate swung open, and uneasy torchlight shone from the entrails of the prison into the fog.

His wand raised highly, Albus Dumbledore stepped into Nurmengard, his breath held, a buzzing in his ears.

The prison was deserted, its counters abandoned. Heller’s bloated face was nowhere to be seen. The smell of oil penetrated his nose, a slippery blanket for his sinuses. It was much more intense than it had been during his previous visits. The torches were burning higher than he remembered, but it was cold, cold in the prison. Like dementors made of granite, the walls devoured their warmth.

They had always been frighteningly imposing, but now he could almost hear them whisper angrily. They towered in front of him, thick, insurmountable monsters full of power they couldn’t wait to release.

The stranger had managed to suppress the wards last time. What if he had learnt to use them against him?

Not important. He had to rescue Gellert, had to get up there, towards the highest cell of this behemoth, no matter how suicidal that might turn out to be.

As if the rope had heard his silent urging, it immediately darted upwards as soon as he stood on the wooden platform. Thrice as fast as he remembered, it shot through the oily air; his grey beard fluttering in the wind. It still felt like he was barely moving forward; he tapped the rope with his wand and it accelerated even more.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he stood in front of the highest cell of Nurmengard and tried to peek through the tree trunk-thick bars.

“Gellert?”

Nothing. His heart skipped a beat; there was bile in his jaw.

He hesitated for a second, but there was no time for careful consideration. Albus touched the cell door – and jumped backwards. The bars felt like they were covered with an ice sheet, burned his skin like a copper kettle that had just been taken off the fire. Cursed, of course. Whoever had done that knew how the exploration of enchantments worked.

“Gellert?!” The echo remained his only reply.

Albus grit his teeth until they made a crunching sound. He had to find out which spells were on the bars; he had no choice. The laying on of hands was not especially elegant, but it was the safest method at a place that sizzled with magic like Nurmengard.

Then, jerkily, forcefully, he pressed his hand against the burning, icy metal. Albus groaned, tried to hiss the pain away. His fingers were cherry-red immediately. They didn’t stay that way for long, though; they slowly began to turn blue. Pain tried to rip him out of his concentration, but he couldn’t let go, until –

That was it! Albus broke his cramped hand away from the bars. He did not care for the pain, that could wait.

“Glacius. Glisseo. Tergeo. Finestra.“

If he had not been as familiar with Gellert’s love for crossword puzzles, he would have never figured it out – normally, these weren’t useful charms when it came to cursebreaking.

Except if someone was skilful enough to weave his protection in a way that only allowed for one combination of spells to break it. A combination of spells whose initials formed, slightly rearranged “FTGG”.

For the Greater Good. A password made of magic.

Ice spread over the bars and that very moment, they dissolved like melted chocolate – only to transform themselves into a solid, grey block. The ice disappeared – and with it, all of the enchantments. Albus stepped aside while a chunk of metal, which slightly surpassed him in size, broke from the block. It crashed onto the railing, swept it aside as if it wasn’t even there, and plunged into the deep.

Now, he had a perfect view at the interior of the cell.

Leaned comfortably against the wall, a Daily Prophet between his fingers, Gellert stared at him. “Good Lord – I thought that rampaging was my profession, not yours?”

“Thank Merlin, you are well.” Albus felt his every muscle relax when he entered. For a second … he had thought he was too late.

“Quite excellent even. To be honest, I am not even sure how many days it has been since your last visit. These Daily Prophes are really … thank you.” He put the newspaper aside. “Nevertheless, might I ask what prompted you to break into my cell?”

“I am pretty sure to have shouted your name very loudly.” Something was wrong here.

“Nowl, I was immersed in my literature, but I think I would have heard that. Unless, of course, someone activated the soundproofing charms on the cells, but I see no reason why – “

That very moment, it occurred to Albus that, just a few minutes ago, an extremely heavy piece of metal had been falling down thousands of feet, and he had nothing close to an impact.

He reached for his wand, but it was too late. The fragment bolted in his direction and inserted itself exactly into the hole, creating an impervious block. There was no more torchlight in the cell. The blackness destroyed every sense of space; he felt as if there was only himself, surrounded by nothing.

Slowly, almost softly, a hand was placed on his shoulder. “If the stranger’s plans are what I think them to be,” said Gellert’s, his voice calm like that of a man who was too shocked even to scream, “we are as good as dead.”

Albus felt the air rubbing on his skin, even if he didn’t move. He wanted to light the room, but he hesitated in the last second.

“If I remember correctly, you told me that this cell was originally supposed to be mine.”

“Yes.”

“What will happen if I use my magic?”

“You … really should not try that.”

The blackness began to clear, barely noticeable at first, but all at once, Albus could make out his hands in the dark.

“I knew it,” whispered Gellert.

“I did not use a spell.”

“No, that’s – the protections are woven to form a net, but there is a nodal point where all threads converge. The nodal point is at the bottom of the – “

“Dear Merlin, of course!” How had he not seen that? This wasn’t some elaborate blackmail – someone wanted to see Gellert and himself dead. And Albus had managed to get himself into the very situation the intruder wanted to have him in. Both of them in one room, where the wards were the strongest.

The very wards you could steer by using the skeletal hand on the ground floor.

Glaring red suddenly pervaded the cell; deep humming shook the ground. Albus blinked, needed a moment until he recognized where the light was coming from.

A foot length away, on the wall, there stood a sentence.

For the Greater Good.

More letters lightened up grey stone, above and behind each other, below his feet and on the ceiling, one single message, over and over again.

For the Greater Good. For the Greater Good. For the Greater Good.

Gellert’s hand clawed into his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Albus,” he said, his voice breaking. “Please – you believe me, do you?” The glowing letters reflected in his eyes, his face illuminated in devilish red.

Albus took a step forward and hugged him.

His body was warm, despite all these years in the cold fortress. The prisoner’s cloak scratched his cheek, and he felt Gellert’s arms closing around him. They stood there, amidst the glowing walls, closely embraced, in defiance of everything the letters around them stood for. Many long, sapient sentences flashed through his mind, but there was no need for words.

The aggressive light above them flickered, was briefly covered by shadows. Both of them moved apart and looked up at the same time.

“I was furious, back then,” Gellert said quietly. “About Aberforth, but about you more than anything. I wanted to make you pay.” As if he had had to explain why he had created this cell. The middle of the ceiling arched like a huge boil and the floor began to tremble.

That moment, the walls began to close in, from all sides, robbing them off the tiny amount of space they had had.

An idea popped up in Albus’ head, completely insane, a fool’s plan. Even as it formed, he knew it was right. “If I were to do magic now – “

“If you do magic, every part of your body will explode separately! I have – “ Gellert’s sentence was interrupted by his jaw dropping. “Why are you grinning?!”

The letters continued to come closer, the bright red light bore into their eyes like a dagger. Albus stepped further into the middle of the room; now they stood shoulder to shoulder. “Indeed, if I were to do magic. If I understood that correctly, this cell has been aligned to me – and no one but me. It is built so that my spells would be turned against me.”

The air between them smoldered. And yet – the closer the walls came, the colder it got.

Albus held out his wand towards Gellert. “I do not fear death. But, truth be told, I do not plan to go on my next great adventure earlier than I need to.”

At once, there was something odd, something hard in Gellert’s face that had not been there previously. “You want … you want to give me the Elder Wand? After everything I have done?”

“I have always been of the opinion that past deeds should be of limited importance. We should be looking for the man that is standing right in front of us, not the one that he has been.”

Slowly, as if he feared to break it, Gellert took the wand. He caressed its tip, his hands trembling. The walls were very close now; Albus felt his cloak being dented, his hair being raised by the unnatural coldness. His mouth went dry.

His heart beat faster as he looked at Gellert, who was still staring at the wand like a beggar would stare at a crown. Had it really been the right decision to – ?

Then, he did one single, fluent movement.

And disappeared.

Simply – gone.

That was impossible! Gellert had not betrayed him, couldn’t have betrayed him, there was no way he had allowed himself to be fooled once again!

Albus felt the ceiling weighing heavily on his head, but he could not sit down; the walls were too close. The coldness burned against his scalp, sharp pain bolting through his body.

For the Greater Good. The letters were everywhere, no space between them. His time had run out.

The pressure increased, thoughts drowned in the overwhelming pain –

All over.

There were no more shrinking walls, no more biting cold. The aggressive red had made room for warm torchlight.

Albus blinked. Gellert stood in front of him, pointing the Elder Wand at the very place the cell had been.

“I hope you did not doubt me?”

He rubbed his skull, checking for possible dents. “For one or two seconds, if at all.”

“I had the chance to flee. Be free.”

“I know.” Albus had been aware of the risks. Died in a cell crafted by his opponent – surely, that would have been enough for the Elder Wand to change its loyalties. Gellert would have been able to begin his reign of terror anew, and he had known that as well.

But he hadn’t.

Gellert gripped the wand like a drowning man desperately clinging to his saving plank. “I want to get out of here.”

“And yet, you are still there.”

With an abrupt motion, he threw the Elder Wand away, against the black stones. As if by chance, it landed in front of Albus feet.

“This is worth every single Daily Prophet.”

The tower droned again, seemingly shaken by an earthquake. Albus went for the wand before it could roll away. The wall on the other side began to sway, the upper layer of stones turned outward.

“Perhaps we should settle that some other time.”

Giant stone cubes plunged into the depths of Nurmengard; others melted, reshaped. Within fractions of seconds, they began to form a jagged, square dragon’s mouth, bigger than an elephant. It almost covered half of the distance between them and the wall.

Its quadrangular eyes glowed with bilious green, the color of the killing curse.

They stood on an open platform, now the cell had disappeared. There was no way out. Albus closed his eyes, concentrated only on the fissured face in front of him, felt the power running through the walls.

The dragon opened up his jaw and spit, but from its throat came no fire. An otherworldly green beam, as wide as Grindelwald’s whole cell, rose from its maw, shot towards the platform, and Albus knew, he only had one chance, he could only hope his instincts hadn’t fooled him.

He waved the Elder Wand, and above them, a raven emerged from the first row of stone cubes, spread its wings, and rushed between them and the dragon.

An ear-shattering crack resonated through the building, chunks of debris, as big as the wagons of the Hogwarts Express, plummeted through the tower. The raven lurched, trundled downwards; its wings were shattered. Smoldering, it crashed into the next wall; filling the air with the smell of melted metal. It tried to cling to the stones, but they were too slick to give it support; with an ugly squeaking, it slid downwards.

Albus made a flick with his wand, fully focused on the animal he’d just created.

Below him, stone crackled, morphed between split seconds, and yet it felt tantalizingly slow. The dragon opened his mouth wide; set the fortress alight with green glow. Gellert stood next to him, helpless, at the mercy of his next spell’s success, just like himself. He had put all of his eggs in one basket.

A spear made from black stone hit its jaw from below, as if thrown by a giant. The jagged head broke lengthways; the force of the impact had been too heavy. Even as the stony remains fell downwards, the ball of green energy in its throat exploded.

The shock wave flung them against the wall as if they were sheets of paper – but the wall easily yielded and allowed them to slide back to the floor without harm. In the last second, Albus had managed to cushion it.

“I do not know whether that is – ,“ Gellert began, but whatever he wanted to say was drowned in a metallic clank.

On the wall behind them, another stony dragonhead had erupted, but this one was almost cute, barely bigger than Albus’ fist. Then it clanged again, a second head. Another one. Ever faster, dragonheads formed from the walls, in front of them, below them, like nesting rats whose peace had been disturbed.

An ugly yellow curse emerged from Albus’ wand, but the little head it was meant for gobbled it up like a treat.

The small mouths opened all at the same time, their eyes’ glimmer illuminating the tower in an ugly yellow light, just like his explosion jinx had.

Excellent. He had turned a disaster into a disaster.

That very moment, the floor below him started to smolder; the heat burned the bottoms of his feet.

“We have to get out of here!” shouted Gellert. “It will only get worse.”

Albus didn’t even know where to look first. His eyes darted from the floor to the greedy mouths around him, and back.

A first crack formed, just three feet away; red, hot lava splattered out of it like blood from an open wound; missing Gellert by a hair’s breadth.

The dragonheads spit at the same time; a wall from explosion jinxes hurtled towards him. He threw himself sideways, covering Gellert with his body. There was nothing in his surroundings he could use, he had only himself and the Elder Wand. Around them, a bluish shield emerged.

The curses crashed against it and the shield began to shimmer; glistening flashes of lightning streaked out of it. Albus’ hand trembled, but he grit his teeth, put the other hand on the burning hot floor, tried to use a part of himself to cool it down so that no more lava erupted. Below him, Gellert did the same. But their efforts were in vain, the heat hitting him in the face like a tsunami, robbing him of air. His cloak smelled of burnt silk.

The dragons spit a second time and he expanded the shield even though sweat dripped from his forehead, even though he was barely able to hold his wand. The fortress’ attacks were far too powerful.

Then, a short moment of silence, the pause before the final strike. The protective bell’s color had morphed from blue to green, and Albus detached it from the ground, giving up his protection while melted stone splashed up around him.

The air in front of his shield began to glimmer while it rose. Its light became glaring, pungent, painted the black stones in poisonous green. The small dragon that had already devoured his first jinx snatched at the ball of pure magic.

Albus let go.

The tiny head dissolved into black, doughy mush. The walls of the tower trembled. Their hard, sleek contours became blurred, dull like modeling clay. Above them, the ceiling swayed, wanted to tip to the left.

“Now!” roared Gellert.

They grabbed each other by the hand, gathered up at the same time –

And jumped into the depth, not a second too early.

Behind them, lava shot through the air, destroying the last isle of solid stone they had been surrounded by.

Green light tore through the twilight, outshone the flickering orange of the torches, but whatever devilry had come into existence up there, they were too far gone, it couldn’t reach them.

“Arresto Momentum!”

“NO!”

Their descent slowed down in the same moment Albus saw something inky, slightly reminiscent of oil, breaking away from the stone cubes around them, threatening to drop on them like black rain.

“That’s my own receipt, you can’t do anything! Resolve the spell!”

He thought back to what the liquid had done to the doxies – he could do without that.

They fell again, the acidic rain just above them, easily keeping with them.

The rings of torches at the walls raced past them, blurred to a diffuse layer of orange. Cells shot through their field of vision, too fast to see whether someone was in there.

Albus gripped his wand tightly while the air hit his face like a hurricane, whirled through his beard. He squinted, glancing downwards. Now he could see the ground, suspiciously empty like it had been when he arrived.

He had to pull it off. They had escaped from the cell, they had escaped from the dragon – they would not fail, not that shortly before it was over.

He pointed towards one of the countless stone cubes that formed the wall, cut through the air with his wand and hurtled past it.

There was no time to see whether his plan had succeeded, the ground was far too close and they were mind-numbingly fast.

“Arresto Momentum!”

Loud hissing echoed above him while the spell’s break force compressed him. He looked up, towards the ceiling that should have been impossibly high, too far away to see.

Instead, it was only a few dozen feet above them, a giant stone that congested the path towards the top of the tower. His spell had worked, he had cut off every opportunity to get down here, and the black liquid had been a split second too late.

Only now he noticed the rapid beating of his heart, and the tension in his every muscle. He threw a glance at Gellert, and he did not seem to fare any better. Floating comfortably, they bypassed the last bit of distance to the ground.

For a whole minute, none of them said anything, but to Albus, it seemed like the blink of an eye until he began to talk: “I have to admit, this prison is a highly impressive bit of magic.”

“Not quite impressive enough to stop you, obviously.” He actually sounded a bit huffed.

“Both of us would be dead if it was.”

“Yes, of course. Nevertheless – I would really like to beat you at least once.”

“Maybe some other time.” chuckled Albus, but even though his relief wanted to make him let his guard down - he knew that he couldn’t allow that. “I take it you see what I am seeing.”

“Yes. That is a problem.”

If the counters were still unoccupied, if no one was to be seen around here, then it meant that – however that might be possible – someone had indeed played around with the protections from the outside.

So it had to be someone whose power far surpassed Gellert’s. And, with that, his.

“Could I please have your wand for a second time?”

He held it out to Gellert who was looking at him with raised eyebrows.

“You are far too trusting.”

“Either that, or you do not trust yourself enough.”

For the second time that day, the Elder Wand changed hands, and Gellert pointed it towards the wall to his left. It opened, revealing a long-fingered hand whose paper-thin skin allowed for every single bone to shine through.

It was leaning against the wall calmly, its fingers spread.

Gellert flicked the wand, and it rolled over against the stone, finger by finger. The crackling of its bones sounded through the room. Albus’ breath paused. Its palm was littered with black stains.

“Necromancy. Someone has to have found the rest of the body – and was then able to play around with my prison as he pleased,” explained Gellert. “That happens if you forget that every single body part stays connected to its owner, even if it has been severed decades ago. They did not even protect the hand against outside influence when they decided to continue using it! Sometimes, it might benefit everyone give over responsibility to the capable wizards.”

So it had not been a genius, no magician more powerful than the both of them combined. It had been someone resourceful and unscrupulous enough to try and defeat them using Gellert’s own enchantments. But who?

“But interestingly, most necromancers forget that this connection works in both directions.”

The hand began to fidget like a five-legged spider, bent back its fingers much further than it should have been able to. Gellert made a flick with the wand, and it froze mid-movement.

“Let’s see who is at the other end.”

A thin, yellowish thread came from the Elder Wand and connected with the twitching, white skin. Albus looked over his shoulder – that was an area of magic he had always avoided.

The hand bulged, its fingers trembling heavily. Suddenly, there was a scream, and a person tumbled into the room. Even before it could hit the ground, ropes had been tied around the shape.

A plain, brown wand rolled over the floor.

Albus eyed the man, his half-bald head and his chaotic white coil of hair that looked like a curtain around his head. This definitely wasn’t Tom Riddle, but he had seen that man before.

“Oh, I should have known,” Gellert said.

He nodded towards the man who was sitting on his knees and looking up to them. He wore a coarse cloak whose shoulder pads had a symbol embroidered on them. A triangle, inside of which was a circle split by a streak.

The Deathly Hallows.

“Mr. Morius Lovegood,” Albus said when the penny finally dropped. “I have to admit I tremendously admired your articles back then. You never told me that you knew him personally?”

“He was the one that first told me about the Hallows!”

And the one that brought them together, thanks to his many columns about the tale of the three brothers.

“Where are the guards?” Albus asked.

Lovegood’s blank eyes showed nothing but shock. He didn’t look like he was about to form a coherent sentence in the foreseeable future. A legilimens did not need coherent sentences, though.

He cut through the mind of his like a knife through butter, no lengthy probing needed.

Albus inhaled sharply.

“Dead?” asked Gellert, who had been watching him.

“Just like the doxies, indeed.”

“What a shame. These poor, lovely fellows.”

“People nonetheless.”

Gellert just snorted. Secretly, Albus was unsure whether he really disagreed. He only needed to think about what they had done to his friend’s fingernails.

“Well,” Lovegood began, his voice shaky, “So, the whole thing was really nothing personal.”

“Oh, I know,” Gellert retorted and nimbly, menacingly stepped forward, as if he hadn’t spent a single second in a cell. “You wanted the wand. And you wanted to kill me.”

“No – no, I had to! The wand does not change its loyalties until its previous owner is killed!”

“That, I am afraid, was always one of your most popular fallacies. The wand changes its master as soon as the previous one is defeated – which does not necessarily mean murder.”

“What Albus wants to say: You would not have needed to kill me, too.”

“I didn’t try to!” Lovegood protested. “I wanted to free you! But for some reason, you rather wanted to stay in your cell!”

“So the invisibility cloak was no attempt to lure me out of Nurmengard so you could get rid of me without anyone noticing?”

His mouth opened and snapped shut again. Gellert nodded. Then, red light poured out of the Elder Wand and Morius’ head dropped backwards like that of a marionette whose strings had been cut off. The German pugnators would take care of him.

“Really, I need to thank him,” Gellert said. “Without him, I would still possess only this one Daily Prophet.”

He looked past Albus, towards the gate that led outside. His fingers clutched the Elder Wand, heavier this time.

Albus waited, the thumping of his heart humming in his ears. Gellert’s gaze fell on him, green eyes met blue ones.

Gellert stepped towards him, his jaw clenched. He breathed in deeply, then he handed him the wand. Albus took it as if it was made of wafer-thin porcelain. Gellert had decided, one last time – he had not treaded the easy path.

The man who had been responsible for so much death and suffering was no longer to be seen.

Albus pointed his wand towards the other end of the room, and the massive gate swung open; thick fog wafted in.

“I think I will spontaneously go blind for the next few seconds. And, who knows, I might miss the flight of the greatest dark wizard of our time.”

Tears stood in Gellert’s eyes. He did not try to say anything, but came closer instead. Albus expected another hug, but he had different plans.

Their lips met, and they drove away the mighty walls, their grey hairs and the motionless body of Morius Lovegood, drove away the evils of the past. There were only two boys, equally brilliant, who did not know what was happening to them.

They parted, looking into each other’s eyes, and Albus saw a smile Gellert’s lips, the same one he wore as well.

“We will meet again, I hope?”

“As soon as possible.”

The tingling in the air had nothing to do with the magical protections, it was its very own form of magic.

 

How to Review Things - A Guide
https://forums.darklordpotter.net/threads/moreplz-reviewing-in-wba.38135/

 

Easily the best story of the competition.

And it's weird, because this has so many problematic aspects to it on a technical level that I almost always give people shit about on WBA.

Spelling errors, weird punctuation, incorrect grammar, weird phrasing, failure to properly use tags vs beats, weak opening - but is also does a lot of good things. It's not afraid of using said, it never gives us walls of text.

At it's heart, I believe the key element to this all is that your Dumbledore is interesting. His change from the beginning of the story, how he plays off Grindelwald and the dynamic between them, the decision to give Grindelwald his wand, all of it if captivating. The mystery is good (even if the payoff was a bit weak, one wonders if any character could have been really used that would have been fulfilling?). The use of Lovegood was foreshadowed - being surprising, yet inevitable. His method of using Grindelwald's own defenses like that were clever. His defeat was anticlimatic, but it was never really about Lovegood, was it?

It was about Dumbledore and Grindelwald. And in that sense, the climax of the story was whether Dumbledore should trust Grindelwald, and turn over the Elder Wand.

The descriptions and prose were adequate, although a bit bland as the story progressed. You never really used strong words, and it makes for rather muted reading. Thankfully, you never overdescribe either (there are few things worse than an author that spends five hundred words describing something and failing to be evocative), so I didn't mind this too much.

Is this really a romance? I'm of two minds about this. It reads a lot more like a redemption story, about a story of brotherhood and what could have beens than a straight up romance. If you squint, I suppose it could count?

 

As everyone else has said, this is the better story I've read so far, simply because there is clear progression. I find that, at this point, no story has been actual romance. I think in this, you glanced at Romance, but instead went a different route. One in which all romantic inclinations were hinted at, but not outright said, which in the spirit of things is very anti-climatic. I get it, you probably didn't want to write full on slash, but at the same time, with the cast being who they were, I would have expected something.

I think you were true to the time period in the sense that homosexuality has progressed as times have changes and the way in which two men (or two women) would show their affections to one another is in tune with the times. I think because of this, it also detracts from the primary point of the prompt which is to write about romance.

Halt called this a redemption story, and as loathe as I am to mirror any review, I think he hit largely on what was good and what was bad about this. The bad being very very little. The good was that it was decent human interaction without it feeling robotic. So, kudos for that.

There are some fragments in this, but I think it boils down to the fact that the author is ESL. Which, comparatively, they've written better than most English writers on this site. There is a certain finesse that it takes to translate a story from the mother/father language and get that same feel in English, which might be a reason that some things felt anti-climatic here. Overall, best story I've read yet, out of the submissions.

 

Quick note, @ScottPress remove the author guess section. The whole point of these reviews are for unbiased reviews. If the author wants to name themselves then fine. But don't take it upon yourself to influence the vote in anyway. Putting it in spoiler isn't enough. Just reach out to them in PM if you really want to know but don't spoil on the forums.

 

Spoiler or not, this competition is anonymous unless the author chooses to reveal themselves. I'd prefer we not start tossing names into the hat. As Zombie said, it's against the spirit of the competition.

 

Ah ha, the Albus/Gellert story! I expected one of these. Looking forward to seeing what you do with it.

The writing is engaging from the start! Well done. In particular I liked this line:
"...disapparated head over heels."

I don't know if it was intentional or not, but it made me think of the phrase about falling head over heels for someone when you're in love... only in this case, it's applied to how Albus leaves to go see where his old lover escaped prison.

...and I learned a new word! I have never heard "glibbery" before but now I love it. Meant exactly what I expected it to mean.

Love the description of Albus going up to the prison. The weight of the magic and the protections being so strong, etc. And the little detail about how neither of them used a deadly curse in their famous duel... I like that. Makes me think this might actually be about a romance - I've seen more and more authors leaning towards the "Gellert never loved Albus only wanted to use him" take on their relationship.

BOOM! Great line here:
“Careful, please! I do not think I am going to get another one anytime soon.”

Brilliant - he didn't escape. He made it look like he did. That's just perfect.

“That is, I believe, one of the most unnecessarily obvious statements I have ever heard from you.”
Heheheh.

Lots of good lines in here... that one where a spark of warmth ran through Albus? Yeah. Definitely still a spark there alright... but of course he knows logically there shouldn't be. Their conversation is great. There's a serious undertone but on the surface it's a great mix of awkward and friendly.

Damn. That 'freedom' room. Reminds me vaguely of ASoIaF - in a good way.

In one or two places it does feel slightly wordy - I'm fascinated by the story and the writing and the characters, but once or twice I still felt it flagged a hair. Nothing another pass can't tighten up. But I'm also not sure that I am 100% on board with someone being able to adjust the wards here when Albus can't, and Albus has no idea who, and just WTF is going on atm with Grindelwald's mysterious sort-of benefactor or maybe not? Someone gave him the cloak but the same someone might kill him?

Honestly maybe I just lost my train of thought. If no one else mentioned that then ignore me. I will be re-reading this at some point regardless, as I'm a fan of the characters.

Tom Riddle, and Albus hasn't seen him in years? For some reason I missed the timeline we were looking at here. Harry isn't born yet then? If you didn't add in a hint of the year with regards to canon I would. I do recall a mention of "15 years ago" or something similar in here, and yes I could calculate from that and work backwards to realize where we're at in the timeline, but... a lot of authors can't seem to agree on their ages and whatnot, or when the duel was, so perhaps another mention might be better. Maybe mention Albus still having a streak of red in his hair or something?

I like how Gellert doesn't know who it is either. Yeah, this is a great mix of mystery and romance. I like the reveal that, in essence, Gellert was bait to get Albus into Nuremgard, where he could be killed too because of the protections in the prison. Fucking brilliant plot twist there.

Huh, didn't expect that villain either... but you did foreshadow the possibility.

So, this was phenomenal. Great story all around - I'd say it's a good mix on the romance and mystery with some action thrown in. More romance and it'd have bored me, but less and it'd be hard to say it was truly romance.

My only real criticism is that for reasons I cannot pinpoint I did want to skip ahead in a few places. Despite my interest and the great characters. I'd suggest a beta pass to take advantage of Stephen Kings advice: Second Draft = First Draft 10% (but don't remove content or scenes, only words, imo).

Cheers