`The summer sun blazed over the European continent.
But a fortress perched on a desolate mountain peak seemed to reject its light.
It stood like a tombstone, casting a silent, chilling stillness over the winds around it.
Suddenly, a tall, elderly man appeared without a sound, his silver hair and beard tousled by the sea breeze.
Albus Dumbledore gazed at the ancient fortress—Nurmengard.
One of the wizarding world's most infamous prisons. Unlike the overcrowded Azkaban, this place held just one prisoner.
Gellert Grindelwald.
The dark wizard who once stirred chaos across Europe…
No, not a dark wizard, according to Grindelwald himself. If you asked him, he was merely an idealist fighting for the rights of his kind.
And his followers—his Saints—still believed they were walking a noble path under his leadership.
Ignoring the magical barriers around him, Dumbledore passed through the transparent wards as if they weren't there.
He approached the fortress step by step, his bright blue eyes hidden behind half-moon spectacles.
At the weathered gates, he looked up at the inscription carved above. Decades of wind and rain had blurred the once-sharp words, but Dumbledore didn't need to read them to know what they said:
"For the Greater Good."
He sighed softly and stepped inside.
The elderly Squib guarding the entrance didn't notice him, continuing his monotonous watch.
Unlike Azkaban, with its horde of terrifying Dementors, Nurmengard relied on just a few aging Squibs as guards.
Why not wizards?
Well, when Grindelwald was briefly held in America, he'd managed to sway an Auror guard to his cause with nothing but words. And that was with frequent guard rotations. In just a few days, one Auror had willingly given his life for Grindelwald.
In truth, though, it didn't matter if the guards were Squibs or wizards.
If this prisoner wanted to leave Nurmengard, no number of elite Aurors could stop him.
But Grindelwald knew that even if he escaped, he'd eventually face Dumbledore again.
It wasn't laws or magical wards keeping him here…
Dumbledore climbed the spiral staircase, the air heavy with the scent of decaying stone and a faint trace of long-faded dreams.
At the top, the sole cell's door stood open.
An old man faced away from Dumbledore, standing by a narrow window. His thin frame was like a broken sword—still upright, but its edge dulled.
His once-brilliant golden hair was now brittle and white, his once-commanding voice hoarse:
"No letters since Christmas. I thought you were running low on parchment."
Dumbledore stopped in the center of the cell, keeping his distance.
"Been a busy time," he said. "But summer break's here, so I've got a bit more freedom."
Grindelwald didn't turn around, his voice calm and even. "Busy with that Boy Who Lived, I presume."
"Yes. He needs to grow, to face Voldemort…"
Dumbledore spoke softly, almost as if he didn't care whether Grindelwald was listening to his ramblings.
But Grindelwald didn't interrupt. He just listened.
"I've told you about a Ravenclaw first-year," Dumbledore continued. "His talent is remarkable—too remarkable. Perhaps the most gifted student Hogwarts has ever seen…"
"He has a magical creature as a pet. A kirin."
Grindelwald finally turned. His face was etched with deep lines, shadowed, but his mismatched eyes still burned with intensity. One was vivid blue, the other dimmer.
Those unique eyes could glimpse fragments of the future—not the full picture, but enough to mark Grindelwald as a natural Seer.
"A kirin?"
Grindelwald knew magical creatures all too well. He'd once tried to use a kirin to seize leadership of the wizarding world.
A Hufflepuff's kindness had stopped him.
Seeing Grindelwald's interest, Dumbledore moved to the rickety wooden table and sat down. He picked up a damp Cockroach Cluster from the table and popped it into his mouth, crunching away without a care.
"You haven't changed," Grindelwald said, sitting across from him. "Still hooked on those cheap sweets."
Dumbledore chuckled. "They remind us there's still simple sweetness in life."
With a wave of his hand, a teapot and a tray of fresh sweets from Honeydukes appeared on the table. "Brought these from Hogsmeade. Try one."
Grindelwald, already lifting his teacup, reached for a Lemon Drop and slowly peeled back the wrapper.
The two fell into a sudden, comfortable silence, sipping tea and nibbling sweets like it was the most ordinary afternoon.
"The master of a kirin," Grindelwald said, breaking the quiet with a low chuckle. "Is the wizarding world about to see a new leader? A true one?"
Dumbledore shook his head, then gave a slight nod.
Grindelwald, who knew him better than most, was genuinely surprised. Even Dumbledore wasn't sure?
This Lucien Grafton must be something else.
Grindelwald's curiosity stirred.
"Lucien's kirin… it's different from what we know," Dumbledore said, describing Luminos' extraordinary traits without mentioning the astonishing vitality in its saliva or blood.
"Some magical creature experts say it's a mutation. A rare, powerful one."
Grindelwald's lips twitched behind his teacup. Magical creature expert? Who else could Dumbledore mean but that one?
"That boy's only a first-year, and he's already an Animagus," Dumbledore went on. "His Transfiguration skills defy logic. He's even managed to transform into magical creatures. I didn't see the full process, but my senses don't lie—it was a complete transformation, replicating the magical circuits of a fire dragon. Not just a facade, but a true dragon."
Grindelwald's hand froze, teacup halfway to his mouth. He trusted Dumbledore's judgment, his power, his insight. If Dumbledore said it, it was true.
"An Animagus is impressive enough," Grindelwald said slowly, "but transforming into a magical creature…"
He knew what genius looked like. He was one himself, and so was the man across from him.
But this Lucien? Could the word "genius" even describe him?
Grindelwald stared into his rippling tea, a glint flashing in his mismatched eyes.