Nurmengard.
The dark halls of the prison were quiet, it was natural, after all, when the only reason the place was still standing was to hold one person. The former Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald. The very stones of the fortress felt as though they had been imbued with a centuries-old despair, a heavy, magical oppression that suffocated the air.
It was a mausoleum for a living ghost. The silence was not peaceful, but a suffocating weight, broken only by the echo of one's own breathing. Dumbledore felt it, the way the air seemed to cling to his skin, cold and depressing.
It was a place where magic came to die, and yet, paradoxically, it hummed with the dormant, dangerous power of the man it held. There were few guards these days, it seemed like people had forgotten just how terrifying the man was, if they weren't even up to three dozen people guarding him.
It was a foolish, arrogant complacency, Dumbledore thought. He shook his head as he moved forward through the halls, eyeing the place. Even weakened and in old age, he wouldn't underestimate his old lover.
The man was crafty, cunning, and was a danger to all as long as he lived. He sighed. He wasn't kidding. The man was truly that dangerous, but he couldn't bring himself to kill him. Instead, he had trapped him here, bound him with magic, and essentially wove his soul into the very stones of the castle, keeping the man from ever leaving.
He shook his head and made his way past the last guards that seemed to be half asleep as he entered the room. He found his ex-lover sitting at the corner of the room, bars blocking the way, runes glowing on the walls at the back. Gellert was there, but it seemed that the man was surprised to see him, which was reasonable since he only came to visit twice a year, and this was not the time.
"Albus, old friend, what brings you here?" he said, a little laugh escaping him at the end. "I know it's not visiting hours."
Dumbledore sighed as he moved to the single chair that was in front of the bars. The chair was as cold as the stone floor, a small comfort in a world of lies. "Gellert, you look well."
Grindelwald scowled at the man's words before his expression soothed over, a practiced mask of indifference. "So what brings you here? You only visit me twice a year, and you already have. You have no reason to be here unless it's to ask for something."
Grindelwald knew Albus well. They had grown up together, they had trained and learned together, they had fought together, and most importantly, they had been together. So it would be a lie to say there was anyone in the entire world who knew the man better than him. He used to admire Dumbledore. But now, looking at him always made him want to rip that look off his face. He could fool the world, but he wouldn't fall for his beautiful lies anymore. The lies he would speak when they were younger about creating a beautiful world, only to betray him and then villainize him, and then be celebrated as a hero when he, too, had been there at the start of the whole thing. When he had planned with him to take over the world and put the Muggles in their place.
He looked at the man, and he could see that something was different from his other visits.
He saw the subtle lines of strain around Dumbledore's eyes, the faint tremor in his hands, the way he held himself with a forced rigidity. The man was fraying at the edges, and Grindelwald, trapped in his cage, found it utterly fascinating.
Was he not well?
"I have come to ask for your help," Dumbledore spoke, the words low and heavy.
That seemed to make Gellert freeze. What? Did he hear right? High and mighty Albus was asking for his help? Suddenly, his face turned hard, his eyes narrowed as he turned to face the man, attention fully on him. He saw a flicker of desperation in Dumbledore's eyes, a rare crack in the serene facade.
"Help?" Grindelwald's voice was a low, dangerous purr. "The great Albus Dumbledore, seeking help from a man he imprisoned for the 'greater good'? Oh, how the years have changed things. Remember when we believed we could change the world together? Our glorious revolution, our grand design. You used to be so passionate. Now you just look... tired." He gestured around the cold, desolate cell with a flourish. "What could possibly be so dire that you would stoop to needing my help?"
Dumbledore's hands tightened on the arms of the chair. He did not rise to the bait, but the flicker of a past pain crossed his features. "The world faces a darkness that you yourself once wielded, Gellert. It is a darkness born of a cruel, petty mind, not a misguided ambition."
Grindelwald laughed, a dry, rasping sound. "And you believe my knowledge can stop it? Do you take me for a fool, Albus? Do you think you would just come here and speak rubbish and that you'll get what you were looking for?"
The man seemed to ignore him and just continued.
"I have been checking any available records containing the mention of the Peverell family concerning the magic that they used, and it seemed like most of them hardly had much to go on," Dumbledore said, his voice smooth as he told Grindelwald. He deliberately avoided Grindelwald's last statement, not wanting to open up old wounds.
Grindelwald stared at the man as he studied his face. "Yes, that is a shame. You know how little is known about the Peverells. Even I don't know that much about them, you know that," he said nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders. He was an expert at reading Dumbledore, and he knew the man was lying about his true purpose for being here, but not about what he was looking for. Why would the great Albus Dumbledore, a man who had everything, seek out such obscure, fragmented knowledge? The answer could only be one thing.
That seemed to get a reaction from the Headmaster; he was scowling so hard that Gellert was about to burst out laughing, but he maintained his composure.
He had to think about this. If Albus was looking for information about the Peverells, then it could only mean that it was related to the Hallows. The man had the Elder Wand, which he knew of from when he took it from him after his defeat. He had the cloak, Dumbledore had bragged about it a few years ago, mid-conversation. So either he was looking for the Stone or... he paused his thoughts as he looked at Dumbledore... He already has it. The realization was a sharp, thrilling shock.
"Hmmm, my oh my," he whispered, he couldn't help but think as a smile formed on his face. He stared at Dumbledore, who seemed lost in his mind. Then he frowned. 'But if he has it, why was he here?' The whole "Master of Death" thing, he was sure, would have had Dumbledore bragging, but nothing had changed.
He could tell just from looking at the man. So maybe he didn't have all the Hallows, or maybe he couldn't figure out how to use them, how to become the Master of Death.
After all, from what he had read over the years, there was nothing stating that just having the Hallows gives you power over death just like that. So that must mean he was trying to find a way to use or get that power.
For all his 'death is just the next great adventure', his old friend did fear it. He wanted to cheat death, not face it. Oh, this changes things completely. He had thought of dying here, but now.
The most powerful wizard in the world had all the tools but lacked the knowledge to use them. Grindelwald's laughter filled the hall, a cold, echoing sound that followed Dumbledore as he stood up and left, the frustration on his back a clear testament to his failure.
Malfoy Manor
Narcissa Malfoy sat on her chair, twirling a glass of red wine. She was alone in the manor, excluding the house elves. Her thoughts were in chaos, but that didn't mean she was in shambles.
After the death of her husband, she had immediately taken charge of the dark faction. It was not a grief-stricken reaction, but a swift, cold, and calculated move. It helped that most of the men of the other dark faction houses were gone.
To be honest, she was a little happy, well, she didn't mean about her husband's death, she did love him, little as that may have been, but she was happy that now she was in charge.
She was a Black, it was never in their blood to just stay on the sidelines. She had been the reason for the Malfoy family's rapid growth in recent years, and it had always annoyed her when her husband just brushed her aside. And now, she had all the power and the power of other houses with her.
Those wilting flowers that just followed their husbands were lost when their deaths were announced. She had quickly called them over and had gotten them under her thumb with promises of protection and a restored sense of order. She offered them a place in her new power structure, a position they were too weak to earn themselves, and they clung to her for dear life.
She sipped the wine, then let out a sad sigh. Draco. Her little boy was really a headache sometimes. He was a perfect Malfoy in every way, arrogant, proud, and completely unprepared for the real world.
She knew he idolized his father, but she didn't think he would be affected this much. He seemed to shut her out and always complained and fought her whenever she tried to reach out.
He had even stopped writing her letters from school after their disagreement on the matter of the Dark Lord. He couldn't see the reality of the situation, he was still a boy playing at being a man. She shook her head. She didn't want to get into that right now. Her maternal instincts warred with her strategic mind.
Now she was having a slight problem. She had gone to the bank to discuss the matter of the Black accounts only to be told that Lord Black had shut her out. LORD BLACK. Who the hell was Lord Black? Wasn't her boy supposed to be the next Lord Black? It took her a moment before she remembered her cousin, Sirius.
He was still out there.
He had blocked her claim to the accounts, and she was livid. The sheer audacity of the man, a common fugitive who had been living on the run, a blood traitor who had shamed the family name, to claim the title of Lord Black was an insult of the highest order.
It was unthinkable. Her legacy was tied to that family, to its wealth and its ancient power. She would not lose it.
She would have to try to reach out and talk to him. Sirius was brash, and usually, while she didn't mind annoying him and fighting him, he was now Lord Black, and she didn't want to be kicked out of the family line.
She was a proud Black, and even if she married into another family, she was not going to get herself disowned. She had to talk to Sirius to come to an agreement. She would have to swallow her pride, the years of loathing, and the humiliation he had brought upon the family, and she would have to smile.
She would exploit his sentimental, Gryffindor weakness. He had always been too soft for his own good. And she, a true Black, would use that very softness against him.
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