In the morning mist, a Boeing 747 taxied slowly onto the runway. Its four massive, powerful engines roared to life, propelling the nearly 400-ton behemoth down the tarmac. With a deft tilt of the nose by the pilot, the plane surged upward, breaking free from the ground. Within seconds, the airport was a distant speck behind them.
In the business class cabin, Dumbledore gazed out the window at the rapidly shrinking ground below. "I remember," he mused, "when I was a boy, Britain didn't even have automobiles. And now, people soar through the skies. Technology is quite a remarkable thing, isn't it?"
Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes at Dumbledore's sentiment. "Professor, it has been over a hundred years. Even if humanity crawled along, there'd be some progress. And we're in the middle of the third industrial revolution! With the pace of technology now, I can't even imagine what the world will look like thirty years from now, let alone a century."
"Indeed, human progress is astonishingly swift…" Dumbledore's eyes lingered on the clouds drawing ever closer outside the window. "In a world that moves this fast, one moment of inattention, and you're left far behind…"
Harry wasn't sure what thoughts swirled in Dumbledore's mind, but his own were abruptly derailed by the sight of the lavish breakfast tray before him—scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, roasted potatoes, and cherry tomatoes. Is there a full kitchen on this plane?
"Mmm… these sausages are rather well done," Hermione remarked from beside him, clearly pleased with the meal.
Yes, Hermione had come along too.
Despite Harry's repeated warnings about the potential dangers of this trip, Hermione had silenced him with a single retort: "If I'm not safe with you and Professor Dumbledore, then where in the world would I be safe?" That shut down any further objections.
As for how much extra it cost Dumbledore to bring another person along in Galleons? Sorry, that wasn't Harry's concern. If Dumbledore insisted on dragging Harry Potter along, then Harry would happily enjoy the perks of business class—and encourage a slightly nervous Hermione to do the same.
"It's not like we're paying for it," Harry whispered to her with a grin. "Relax."
Two hours later, the plane touched down at an international airport in Austria. Harry, Hermione, and Dumbledore joined the crowd exiting the terminal and hailed a taxi.
As Harry and Hermione struggled to communicate with the German-speaking driver in a game of broken English and wild gestures, Dumbledore, who had been silently observing, suddenly spoke up in fluent German: "Können Sie uns zum Bahnhof bringen?" (Can you take us to the train station?)
"Kein Problem," the bearded middle-aged driver replied, waving them into the cab.
"Professor, you speak German?" Harry asked, astonished, as he settled in beside Hermione and Dumbledore.
"When you've lived as long as I have, you pick up a thing or two," Dumbledore said with a faint smile.
"Then why did you let Hermione and me flail about trying to talk to him?" Harry said, mildly exasperated.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "It was rather entertaining, watching you two gesticulate so enthusiastically, don't you think?"
An hour and a half later, the trio boarded a train operated by the Austrian Federal Railways—ÖBB, for short. As the train pulled out of the station, the urban sprawl of high-rise buildings gave way to rolling green fields, which in turn transitioned into undulating mountain ranges.
As they entered the mountains, the tracks wound upward, and the train's pace slowed noticeably. Eventually, they disembarked at a small, nondescript station nestled at the edge of an unfamiliar town.
The town's architecture was quintessentially Austrian, with red-tiled roofs and white walls lining the streets. Most of the passersby were elderly, ambling along at a leisurely pace. Yet, as they walked through the seemingly ordinary town, Hermione felt an inexplicable chill.
"Harry," she whispered, clutching his arm, "something about this place feels… off. The people—especially the older ones—are giving me the creeps."
"You're not wrong," Harry murmured, casting a wary glance at a group of elderly townsfolk trailing behind them, carrying paper bags of groceries. "If I'm not mistaken, almost everyone here is a wizard. And they don't seem particularly thrilled about our arrival."
"You're mistaken on that count, Harry," Dumbledore said with a gentle smile, approaching an elderly woman in pajamas who was eyeing them warily. "Their hostility is directed solely at me. Isn't that right, Queenie?"
The woman looked up at Dumbledore, her eyes sharp with caution. Though her age was evident, Harry could still discern traces of the striking beauty she must have possessed in her youth. She was, no doubt, a formidable witch in her prime.
"You're the last person I expected to see here, Dumbledore," she said, her voice laced with suspicion.
Ignoring her guarded tone, Dumbledore sat beside her as if greeting an old friend. "How's little Kowalski doing?" he asked warmly.
"He's taken over his father's bakery," Queenie replied, her expression softening at the mention of it. "He's nearing retirement now. The shop's run by little Jenny these days. She's as curious as I was at her age. Met her husband at church—a Muggle, but far luckier than I ever was…"
Harry and Hermione exchanged curious glances, unsure whether this woman was friend or foe. After a brief moment lost in reminiscence, Queenie's eyes snapped back to Dumbledore, her suspicion returning. "Why are you here, Dumbledore?"
"I need his help," Dumbledore said simply, meeting her gaze.
Queenie let out a sharp, mocking laugh, but it faltered when she saw the seriousness in Dumbledore's expression. "You're… serious?" she asked, incredulous. "You're coming to him for help?"
Dumbledore nodded.
"Follow me," Queenie said, rising with the aid of her cane. She led them through the town to its outskirts, where she pointed her cane at a flat stone path. "He's at the end of this road. I won't take you further—he doesn't like us getting too close."
After parting ways with Queenie, Dumbledore led Harry and Hermione up the stone path toward the mountain's peak. Hermione, who had been brimming with questions since they stepped off the train, finally spoke up. "Professor, who exactly are we here to see?"
Dumbledore remained silent, but Harry had a suspicion. "The way those elders treated you… their age… this country… It's Gellert Grindelwald, isn't it, Professor?"
Dumbledore sighed heavily, as if Harry's words had struck a deep chord. "Harry, sometimes I wish you weren't quite so perceptive. Give an old man a moment to brace himself, at least…"
"Gellert Grindelwald?" Hermione gasped, staring at Dumbledore's back as he walked ahead. "But the books say he was a Dark Wizard who nearly took over all of Europe! Why would you seek help from someone like him?"
Harry shook his head. "I don't know."
The trio continued their trek up the rugged mountain path, the altitude climbing with each step. By the time Harry, still in his long-sleeved shirt, felt a chill, they paused at a steep staircase leading upward.
"We're here," Dumbledore said, gazing at the towering, ominous black structure before them—Nurmengard. His eyes lingered on a massive stone at the entrance, where the words "For the Greater Good" were deeply carved.
After a long moment, Dumbledore turned to Harry and Hermione, pulling an unmarked envelope from his robes and handing it to Harry. "Harry, would you mind delivering this letter to him for me?" he asked with a weary smile. "Forgive an old man's lack of stamina—I don't have the energy to climb this castle."
Harry narrowed his eyes at Dumbledore but took the letter and started up the stone steps. Hermione, who had been studying the carved words, hurried to catch up.
The staircase was long, and it took them nearly fifteen minutes to reach the castle—or rather, prison—gates. A cold wind blew from the open, dark doorway, carrying only the scent of stone and none of the warmth of human habitation.
The castle was vast, and without any indication from Dumbledore about where Grindelwald was held, Harry and Hermione searched floor by floor. Finally, at the top, in a small, frigid room, they found a frail, emaciated old man staring blankly out a tiny window. This, presumably, was Gellert Grindelwald.
The room was barren, furnished only with a stone bed and a tattered blanket. Hermione felt a fleeting pang of pity for the weak figure before them, but it vanished the moment she recalled who he was.
"Gellert Grindelwald?" Harry asked, stepping closer but keeping a cautious distance. With a wave of his wand, he conjured two comfortable armchairs—straight out of the Gryffindor common room—and sat in one, gesturing for Hermione to join him.
The old man didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the small hole in the black stone wall, as if unaware of their presence.
"I have a letter for you, from Albus Dumbledore," Harry said, pulling the envelope from his pocket. When he looked up, he found the old man's head had turned, his faded blue eyes—eerily similar to Dumbledore's, but dimmer—locked onto the letter.
"Give it… to me…" the old man rasped, his toothless gums and parched throat making the words barely intelligible, as if he hadn't spoken in decades.
Harry handed him the envelope. Hermione, seated beside him, studied the man skeptically. This was the Dark Wizard who had once terrified Europe? This frail, toothless old man?
Trembling, Grindelwald tore open the envelope with painstaking care, revealing a piece of parchment and a bracelet-like object. He read the letter in silence, then stared at the bracelet for several minutes before breaking the quiet.
"You're… Hogwarts students?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Harry nodded. "Starting fifth year soon."
"Where's your headmaster? Why isn't he here?"
"Professor Dumbledore's outside. He didn't come in."
After a few more cryptic questions, the frail old man rose slowly from the bed. Despite his tattered robes, Harry glimpsed a flicker of the commanding presence Grindelwald must have once possessed—a proud soul stirring from decades of dormancy.
Grindelwald's gaze shifted between Harry and Hermione, finally settling on Harry. A faint, knowing smile curled his lips. "So, you're Albus Dumbledore's favorite student, are you?"
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