As Gellert Grindelwald's voice faded, as if in response to his words, the rusted iron door of the cell emitted a piercing creak and swung inward with a jolt.
A fierce mountain wind, carrying shards of ice and snow, surged into the cramped cell, causing the temperature to plummet.
Severus Snape shivered from the sudden chill, his purple starry robe flapping noisily. He gripped the Elder Wand tightly, aiming it at Grindelwald.
But what he saw was not the anticipated attack stance. Instead, Grindelwald's wrinkled face bore a faint, enigmatic smile.
That expression hit Snape like a bucket of cold water, snapping him back to clarity. He swiftly switched the Elder Wand to his left hand while his right reached inside his robe, pulling out a small wallet.
He opened it and extracted two photographs.
The first showed the idyllic scenery of Ottery St. Catchpole, where summer sunlight bathed a tidy garden. Lily's fiery red hair danced in the breeze as she chatted animatedly with Snape beside her, both bathed in the warm glow.
The second captured the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts. Pandora's pale silver hair was loosely tied up, a few strands falling across her focused face as she delicately adjusted a complex alchemical device emitting colorful wisps of smoke. Snape stood nearby, carefully observing the apparatus, a heavy, open notebook in his hands.
"Mr. Grindelwald, take a look at these," Snape said, holding the photos up. "These are the girls I care about." He paused, then added, "They're both at the exiled 'Hogwarts' now, facing danger at every moment."
Grindelwald's gaze lingered on the photos briefly, his expression barely shifting, though that faint smile deepened slightly.
"An interesting taste, Severus," he said, raising his pale gray eyes to meet Snape's. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he asked, "Haven't you ever taken a photo with your favorite teacher? A promising student like you should have some memento with a mentor who valued you."
"Why would I take a photo with a man?" Snape's brow furrowed, a touch of confusion in his voice. But he paused, as if recalling something. "Though, I did see a photo in Professor Dumbledore's office once—of him when he was younger."
"Oh?" Grindelwald's eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly.
"It was a picture of him with a blond boy, both about my age," Snape continued, watching Grindelwald's reaction closely. "They were standing in bright sunlight, arms around each other's shoulders. Professor Dumbledore had hair down to his elbows back then, with a faint, wispy beard just starting to grow. The boy beside him, laughing freely with golden curls falling to his shoulders, had an almost wild joy about him."
Grindelwald's face betrayed no emotion, but a complex glint flickered deep in his eyes. Snape's description seemed to stir a long-buried memory—one Grindelwald thought had been forgotten in the depths of time.
His low voice broke the silence. "No matter how you saw that photo… don't lie to me, child."
Though he said this, Snape detected a subtle shift in Grindelwald's demeanor, perhaps even a faint trace of pleasure.
"Alright, tell me—what's the world outside turned into?" Grindelwald waved a hand dismissively. "Who's forced the infallible Dumbledore to come begging for my help?"
Snape took a deep breath and began recounting the rise of the Dark Lord and his self-proclaimed "Death Eaters," Dumbledore's actions, and the fall of Hogwarts.
Out of habit, he referred to the Dark Lord as "You-Know-Who."
"You-Know-Who?" Grindelwald let out a scornful snort, cutting him off. "That's what you call him? Too afraid to even say his name?" His eyes gleamed with disdain for such cowardice.
"My apologies, it's a habit," Snape admitted frankly, meeting Grindelwald's gaze. "His real name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. But now, he calls himself Lord Voldemort."
"Voldemort?" Grindelwald savored the word, his face twisting with unmasked contempt. "What a strange, pretentious name. Flee from death? Hmph. Such vulgar ambition. This is why I despise French."
Snape thought to himself, And you despise Paris, too.
After his silent quip, he continued, "Right now, we're drifting in the skies with Muggle-born students and some staff, seeking any possible turning point. Professor Dumbledore… before he lost consciousness, he told me that in this era, Gellert Grindelwald is the only one whose power could comprehend, perhaps even counter, Voldemort. He believes in you. So, I've come to ask you to leave Nurmengard and come to Britain to help us—help Hogwarts, help Professor Dumbledore."
"Why should I help you?" Grindelwald asked, his voice low amidst the ceaseless howling of the mountain wind.
"What would you need from us to be willing to help?" Snape countered.
Grindelwald's gaze slowly dropped to the wand clutched in Snape's hand.
Without hesitation, Snape extended the Elder Wand through the icy bars. "Here. If you need it, take it."
Grindelwald gave a slow, barely perceptible shake of his head. "No, not that."
Snape ventured cautiously, "Then… do you wish to revive your old cause or ideals?"
Grindelwald shook his head again, this time with clear impatience. "Enough with your guesses and probing, boy. My past ideals don't need explaining to you, nor do they need restarting."
Snape pondered for a moment before saying, "Sir, if you help us, Professor Dumbledore will be immensely grateful when he wakes. You know how much Hogwarts and its students mean to him—it's what he's devoted his life to."
The words seemed to touch a sensitive nerve.
A flicker of displeasure flashed in Grindelwald's eyes. He knew exactly what Albus cared about, and hearing it framed as "gratitude" from this young man felt oddly jarring. But he didn't show much, his tone growing colder. "Gratitude? Hmph. I'm not interested in cheap thanks from a certain old headmaster. But since you keep comparing this Riddle to me, why don't you tell me exactly what grand 'ideals' this Riddle, who's got even Dumbledore in a panic, is preaching?"
Snape began describing Voldemort's pure-blood supremacy, his persecution of Muggle-borns and Muggles, and his methods of instilling terror.
Grindelwald listened, the faint amusement and mockery on his face gradually fading.
His expression shifted to disbelief, then to an almost insulted fury. "Pure-blood supremacy? Persecuting Muggle-borns?" His voice rose slightly, brimming with unmasked scorn and anger. "Short-sighted, narrow-minded, utterly classless prejudice! How dare he be compared to me? Your generation of wizards—each year more pathetic than the last! This barbaric, artless, strategically blind violence dares to call itself an 'ideal'? Tell me, besides wielding some dark magic to scare people and toying with cowards too afraid to say his name, has this Riddle achieved anything truly noteworthy, anything requiring real intelligence or power?"
"Well…" Snape hesitated, then said, "He's successfully created multiple Horcruxes."
"Horcruxes?" Grindelwald shot up from the hard bed, not because of the Elder Wand but out of sheer shock and disgust. "Is he mad? Tearing his soul to pieces for so-called immortality? Turning himself into some half-human, half-ghost monstrosity? And you lot are being driven to ruin by this foolish, deranged thing, letting Hogwarts become a drifting ship?"
"I refuse!" he declared, shaking his head as if repulsed by something filthy, his voice dripping with contempt. "I refuse to let my name be associated with a soul-torn, tasteless lunatic who peddles cheap fear! He's not worthy!"
Grindelwald stood tall, and though still gaunt, a long-dormant aura of authority began to emanate from him.
"I'll help," he said after a tense pause, reining in his presence. He stretched his stiff joints, his tone dismissive. "To 'contain' or even confront this so-called Dark Lord. But my help isn't free charity, nor is it out of pity for Albus Dumbledore. I simply can't stand by while this generation's supposed 'dark wizard leader' is such an embarrassment. My name being overshadowed by this fool? That's an insult to my life's work. I'm helping to correct this historical travesty."
"Absolutely, you're right," Snape agreed eagerly, his tone utterly sincere. "How could a mere Tom Riddle compare to you? Gellert Grindelwald, the only wizard truly worthy of standing shoulder to shoulder with Albus Dumbledore, then and now."
Grindelwald seemed pleased with Snape's deference. He gave a soft hum and commanded, "Take me to your sky-wandering ark and show me what Albus Dumbledore looks like now. And," he extended a hand, "give me a wand."
Snape instinctively offered the Elder Wand again.
"Not that one!" Grindelwald snapped, a hint of irritation in his voice.
"Oh, right." Snape realized his mistake and quickly pulled out a plain cloth bag, the sound of wood clinking inside.
He opened it to reveal eleven wands of varying lengths and materials, clearly secondhand, some bearing faint scratches—wands he'd purchased from Borgin and Burkes.
"Where did you get all these old wands?" Grindelwald asked, eyeing them with distaste. "Does Dumbledore know about this little hobby of yours, Severus?"
"No misunderstanding, Mr. Grindelwald," Snape replied calmly, unfazed. "These were acquired through legitimate business channels, not through murder or theft. At least… not by my hand."
Grindelwald didn't press further, seemingly uninterested in the explanation.
His long fingers brushed over the wands, pausing without hesitation on a simple, dark brown one with a natural curve and faint, irregular grain.
"This one," he said curtly.
Snape didn't ask why, swiftly stowing the remaining wands.
Grindelwald weighed the old wand in his hand, testing its balance. Suddenly, he looked up at Snape, his eyes glinting with scrutiny and a touch of mischief. "Aren't you worried… now that I have a wand?"
"What's there to worry about, Mr. Grindelwald?" Snape met his gaze, his tone matter-of-fact. "It's 1977."
Grindelwald stared at him for a moment, then let out a low chuckle. Without another word, he raised his newly acquired wand and gave it a graceful flick.
A soft yet powerful wave of magic swept through the dank cell, banishing dust, grime, and the stale air of years of decay.
Grindelwald's withered frame seemed to gain a spark of vitality. Though still lean, his posture straightened, his silver hair grew smoother, and the wrinkles on his face softened, faintly revealing traces of his former self.
A tailored, vintage-style dark gray high-collared wizard's robe replaced his prison garb, paired with a fine white silk shirt and a black cloak embroidered with silver runes along the edges.
His attire oddly complemented Snape's own robe.
Then, Grindelwald pointed his wand at Snape with another light flick.
A gentle force washed over him, and the ornate purple robe Snape had worn to impersonate Dumbledore vanished, replaced by a plain, unadorned black wizard's robe.
Grindelwald gave Snape's new attire a cursory glance, nodding with apparent satisfaction.
"Follow me."
With that, he strode toward the dark, dusty corridor beyond the cell.
His steps were slow, even faltering from years of confinement, but they carried the confidence of someone reclaiming their domain.
Snape followed closely. Watching the figure ahead in the dim light, he couldn't help but ask, "Mr. Grindelwald, are we just walking out like this? Won't the local Ministry of Magic notice?"
Grindelwald didn't turn, his voice tinged with faint mockery. "Notice? Let them. Severus Snape, if you dared to come to Nurmengard alone, aren't you prepared to face whatever consequences follow?"
Snape fell silent, trailing Grindelwald down the spiraling stone stairs and through the desolate entrance hall. The Ministries of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards wouldn't aid their fight against Voldemort—so why care about their reactions now?
As they neared the open castle gate, Snape spoke again. "Mr. Grindelwald, perhaps… you could alter your appearance before we leave? It might avoid unnecessary trouble, especially in these times, and spare Professor Dumbledore extra complications."
The suggestion caused a subtle pause in Grindelwald's stride.
He didn't turn or respond.
But as they stepped toward Nurmengard's threshold, Snape noticed Grindelwald's silhouette shift noticeably: his shoulders broadened slightly, his height adjusted. His striking silver-white hair shortened and darkened to a common deep brown under the influence of magic.
Though only a back view, Snape knew Grindelwald had used Transfiguration to alter his appearance.
They stepped out of Nurmengard Castle. The biting Alpine wind and swirling snow enveloped them instantly.
Grindelwald didn't pause, striding forward into the snow-shrouded mountains.
Snape followed a few steps behind. Just before leaving the castle grounds, he stopped and turned, taking one last look at Nurmengard, perched atop its perilous peak like a black tombstone.
In the blizzard, the massive motto above the entrance loomed faint and distant, like a faded summer.
The snow crunched underfoot as Snape watched Grindelwald's figure move through the storm. He called out, "Mr. Grindelwald, have you corresponded with Professor Dumbledore over the years?"
"Correspond?" The figure ahead kept walking, a self-mocking laugh carried back by the wind. "Do I look like I've had the means to send letters from here?"
Snape quickened his pace to catch up, saying softly, "Oh, I see. Well, that's perfect. When we arrive, you can tell him everything you want to say, everything you want to discuss, in person…"
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