At the top of the ancient stone tower, the air felt as though it had stood still for a thousand years.
The cool glow of the crystals did little to dispel the shadows in the corners, but it cast the stone table, the old books, and the figure in a dark gray cloak into sharp relief. Wisps of steam mingled with the magical glow rising from the pages, a light that seemed to come from somewhere deep beneath the dust of time.
The cloaked figure was Gellert Grindelwald. Imprisonment and the unusually deep marks age had left on him had done little to diminish the presence of the former Dark Lord and great Seer. Like an iceberg submerged in the depths of the sea, it remained vast and contained, silently filling the room.
He wore no shackles. The tower was less a prison than a cage built specifically for him, secure beyond measure and cut off from the world. It had been constructed from promises he had once made with some degree of willingness, the fear of the International Confederation of Wizards, and the will of one particular man.
The Grindelwald of this era had long since grown accustomed to absolute solitude. He had even found a detached peace in it, a quiet in which to reflect… and observe.
He studied the carefully selected scraps of information that reached the tower through unusual channels. Through them, he watched the world outside: the world he had once tried to remake according to his own will, and which now, after his "failure," seemed to be slipping into another kind of chaos.
"This era… how I've missed it."
His fingertips absently brushed the paper wrapping, taking in a warmth and aroma that belonged to the world beyond the tower's cold walls.
Footsteps sounded outside the stone door. Whoever was approaching had tried to tread softly, but their nervousness was unmistakable. This was no silent, indifferent guard making the usual delivery of basic supplies. These steps carried hesitation and awe.
A moment later, a knock echoed through the tower's upper room.
"Mr. Grindelwald."
The voice belonged to a middle-aged wizard. He tried to keep it steady, though a faint tremor slipped through.
"Headmaster Albus Dumbledore… has arrived."
Beneath his hood, Grindelwald's lips seemed to lift in the slightest smile. He had expected this, perhaps had been waiting for it for a long time. Without turning, he replied in a calm voice, roughened by age but still clear.
"Let him in."
Silence lingered beyond the door. The matter-of-fact command, delivered as though Grindelwald were still master of the place, appeared to unsettle the man.
Then came a respectful reply.
"Yes, sir."
The footsteps retreated carefully, then faded into the distance, as though the wizard were escaping an unbearable pressure.
A guard?
For many Ministry of Magic staff assigned to this tower, especially those who had lived through Grindelwald's era or whose families had been deeply affected by it, the word hardly fit. They were more like attendants or observers, serving with deeply mixed feelings.
Fear remained firmly rooted, but time had allowed a strange reverence to grow alongside it. In certain secret circles, there were even lingering loyalties that no one dared put into words. All of this blurred the distinction between guarding the tower's prisoner and serving him.
Grindelwald understood it perfectly. He had long since lost either the desire or the ability to make use of it.
At least, that was how it appeared.
After a brief silence, another set of footsteps sounded on the stone stairs outside. These were steady and measured, neither hurried nor hesitant, quite unlike those of the nervous Ministry official. Each step seemed perfectly timed, carrying the calm and unshakable strength of someone who had weathered a great deal.
The stone door opened with a quiet click. There was no harsh scrape; either it was exceptionally well maintained or magic kept it moving smoothly.
A tall, straight-backed figure stood in the doorway. His deep purple robes were embroidered with stars and moons, and his long silver-white hair and beard fell over them. Behind half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes were keen and wise.
Now, though, his gaze seemed to reach across decades, settling directly on the figure seated with his back to him, wrapped in a dark gray cloak.
"Good evening."
Albus Dumbledore remained in the doorway for a moment. His eyes passed over the room's almost ascetic furnishings before returning to Grindelwald.
There was concern in that gaze, scrutiny, a trace of weariness, and something more, something this era's Dumbledore might not fully have recognized in himself, but which the tower's prisoner caught at once.
It was a profound longing, tempered by age and worn smooth by countless responsibilities. It was not quite directed at the old man imprisoned before him. Rather, it belonged to a golden memory, long since lost among summer breezes in a valley and the wild dreams of youth.
"Good evening, Albus."
As though he could feel the weight of that gaze, Grindelwald slowly turned his high-backed chair with the ease of an old aristocrat. His hood shifted, revealing the lower half of his face. His jaw remained well defined, but deep wrinkles lined his skin like cracks in a dried riverbed. His lips were thin and pale.
Then his eyes met Dumbledore's. Sharp as a hawk's even beneath the hood, those mismatched eyes seemed to burn with a cold fire. They brought his aged face to life, lending it a piercing intensity that age had failed to weaken.
Dumbledore's reflection lingered in them, but the feelings behind Grindelwald's gaze were more tangled than the longing in Dumbledore's, more open, too, and far more suggestive.
They looked at one another in silence. The crystals cast their pale light across the room, while the pie on the table slowly lost the last of its warmth.
Dumbledore spoke first. His voice was gentle, but carried the professional distance he might have used with a difficult visitor in his office at Hogwarts.
"Gellert. The guards told me you wished to see me. What is it?"
He stepped inside and gently closed the stone door behind him, shutting out the world beyond. The movement came so naturally that he might have been the host.
Grindelwald's smile grew a little more noticeable. Instead of answering, he gestured toward the plain stone stool across the table. It was usually empty.
After all, what visitors could a Dark Lord expect?
"Sit down, Albus. Tea?"
He sounded as though they were old friends catching up, rather than a prisoner meeting the man who kept him confined.
Dumbledore accepted the invitation and sat on the stool, his back straight. He watched Grindelwald raise a hand and tap a wrinkled but steady finger against an empty spot on the stone table.
A simple, spotless white porcelain tea set appeared out of thin air. The pot tilted on its own, pouring clear amber tea into the cups. Steam rose from the surface as one cup floated smoothly across to Dumbledore.
"Ceylon tea. I remember you liked it."
Grindelwald slowly lifted his own cup.
"Your magic seems as practiced as ever."
Dumbledore looked at the tea before him, then at Grindelwald. He made no move to touch the cup.
He was testing him.
"I do have to make life a little easier for myself."
Grindelwald answered without hesitation.
"Thank you."
Dumbledore nodded, his voice calm, though his gaze remained searching. Silence settled between them again as steam curled above the tea.
It was not entirely awkward, but it held decades of distance, old wounds left unresolved, and the unknown purpose behind this meeting. Grindelwald seemed to enjoy it. He sipped his tea, his gaze drifting from Dumbledore's face to the open book and occasionally to the pie beside it, which had stopped steaming.
At last, Dumbledore ran out of patience, or decided he had no wish to continue this silent contest. He set his cup down with a clear clink against the stone table.
"Gellert."
His voice was lower now.
"My time is limited. There is much to attend to at Hogwarts, and you know the state of the wizarding world. Tell me plainly. What exactly do you want?"
Voldemort was very active at the moment, and Dumbledore was exhausted.
Grindelwald set down his own cup and folded his hands in his lap. Despite his imprisonment, he looked like a monarch preparing to negotiate. He raised his eyes to meet Dumbledore's, his mismatched irises looking especially deep in the dim light.
"I would like to go outside for a while."
He said it as casually as he might have asked for another cup of tea.
"Pardon?"
Dumbledore's brow furrowed at once. The warmth in his blue eyes gave way to a sharp, watchful look.
"Outside?" His voice remained level, but his resolve was absolute. "Gellert, you understand your position. Nurmengard, or, more precisely, this tower, is the place you chose to spend the rest of your life. The International Confederation of Wizards and I are responsible for ensuring that you remain here."
He left no room for argument.
"Until your death. That decision will not change."
"Until my death…" Grindelwald repeated, turning the words over with a faintly mocking smile. "Such a long time, and yet such a short one, Albus. But you misunderstand. I am not asking to leave this rather charming little tower in person."
He spread his hands, indicating the room around them.
"I merely wish to use a small, harmless duplication spell to get a little air. I can assure you that the duplicate would possess no magical power whatsoever. It would be nothing more than an apparition, an extension of my senses, so I could see the sky and the streets as they are today."
He paused.
"And breathe a little fresh air, instead of the stale air in here."
He looked quite sincere.
Dumbledore studied him closely, searching that wrinkled yet still strangely compelling face for any hint of a lie or a scheme.
"A duplication spell? With no magical power?"
He slowly shook his head, his voice heavy with distrust.
"After all these years, Gellert, have you still not… given up? What are you planning now? Do you really think an explanation like that will fool me?"
Clearly, Dumbledore had little trust left for his old friend.
Grindelwald did not seem angered by the accusation. Even the mocking edge to his smile softened, replaced by an odd, almost tranquil gaze. He watched Dumbledore for several seconds before answering with a rare frankness.
"Albus, I really do just… want to see the world as it is now. Take a walk. Watch the clouds and the people passing by. Smell fresh bread from a bakery. Listen to the noise in the streets… It has been so long since I experienced any of that."
He paused, his gaze growing distant.
"So long that I am beginning to forget how rain feels on my face, or the sound of autumn leaves beneath my feet."
It sounded less like an explanation than a weary reflection.
Dumbledore said nothing. His gaze remained sharp, but something seemed to stir behind it. He knew Grindelwald's gift for words and his skill at manipulating people. Yet the longing in his voice for these ordinary pleasures did not sound entirely feigned, especially coming from that aged face, after so many years of confinement.
Seeing his silence, Grindelwald changed tack. A carefully measured note of loneliness entered his voice, quite unlike his usual manner.
"Besides… Albus, we are both old. I have spent years shut away here, scarcely seeing daylight, with my magic lying dormant. I know the state of my own body."
He gave a quiet cough, conspicuously clear in the stillness.
"I fear I truly do not have much time left. Perhaps this is my last chance to see anything beyond this tower."
The appeal for pity brought the slightest flicker to Dumbledore's stern gaze. He knew Grindelwald was usually far too proud to show weakness. Still, the claim that his life was nearing its end was not impossible. He was extraordinarily old, and prolonged imprisonment might well have taken a toll on his health.
More than that, Dumbledore had never been able to sever his feelings for the man before him completely. They were rooted in his youth, in the thrill of meeting a mind equal to his own, and in the terrible pain and regret that had followed. Those feelings made it impossible to remain wholly unmoved by such a request.
Dumbledore looked away. His gaze settled on the half-cooled tea, and when he spoke, his voice was much quieter, with a trace of weariness.
"You need not have informed me at all, Gellert. The people guarding this place…"
He left the thought unfinished, but his meaning was clear.
He had known for years that some of the tower's guards had their own hidden motives. Some still harbored a warped loyalty to Grindelwald, or a reverence they kept to themselves.
How could Dumbledore not know?
Too many of Grindelwald's followers remained, along with others influenced by his ideas. If Grindelwald truly wanted to send a duplicate outside through some secret means, he could probably do so without anyone noticing.
No, he could certainly manage it.
Looking at the man before him, then thinking of the Dark Lord he was fighting now, Dumbledore could not help noticing the enormous difference.
One ruled through violence. The other won people over through sheer personal charisma.
They were worlds apart.
"What?"
Grindelwald pretended not to understand the implication. He shook his head slightly, his tone growing more earnest.
"No, Albus. I am showing you respect. Respect for our… agreement, and for your position as one of the foremost defenders of order in the wizarding world."
His gaze was sincere.
"I do not want something so trivial to put another crack in the little trust we still have left."
Perhaps a slash fan would have called that look loving, too.
(End Of This Chapter)
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