Nurmengard, a forgotten prison.
It was deserted, even the cracks between the stone walls emanated a chill and silence. Only occasionally would a strange whimper drift from a tiny crack—the house-elf, Lightning, preparing Grindelwald's lunch.
He had been instructed not to feed the old man much, lest he regain his strength—if that mouth had the energy to speak, no one could resist its allure for long.
Though the owner of those mouths no longer had the heart for such things, he remained wary. Grindelwald leaned against the cold iron door, his fingers gently tracing the image of the Deathly Hallows.
Only memories could sustain him. He wasn't as strong as Albus's letter had claimed—perhaps he had once been a successful pretender.
But whenever he closed his eyes, the dead Muggles screamed in his dreams.
Uncontrollably, he recalled the rows of bodies he had slain, the grieving families they had left behind, and the bodies buried.
There was a little girl in a red shawl, screaming non-stop. She had been dead for fifty years, but she still hadn't stopped screaming.
If he hadn't clung to the memory of Albus, he might have collapsed long ago.
He missed his lover terribly, but he was destined to spend the rest of his life as a lonely, penitent sinner.
"Ah!" A sharp cry suddenly rang out outside the cell.
Grindelwald frowned, opened his eyes, and then immediately closed them weakly. What was that house-elf doing? Could it possibly cause such a scene alone?
In front of Lightning, a tall old man raised his index finger.
"Shh—"
He smiled, lowering his head, and looking at the little fellow's bewildered appearance, he said,
"I'm sorry, Lightning, I didn't scare you, did I?"
Lightning hadn't expected another living person to appear here, let alone Dumbledore. He shrieked in panic,
"Lightning has been diligently carrying out the tasks assigned to him by Lord Dumbledore. Why—why is Lord Dumbledore here?"
"Calm down—calm down, Lightning. You haven't done anything wrong—in fact, I believe you've done everything perfectly."
Dumbledore, clad in a gold-embellished tuxedo, whispered soothingly to Lightning.
"Next, I have something to say to Gellert alone. Do you mind leaving us alone for a while? Well, it might take a while."
"No problem! Lightning can disappear for a whole day!"
Hearing that his work was done well and that he had been rewarded, the house-elf burst into life. He bowed to Dumbledore and said, "Lightning, I'll be leaving now!"
With that, he flashed and Apparated away.
"Oh—how capable,"
Dumbledore sighed. He spread his magic around, carefully examining the area, confirming that he and Gellert were the only two occupants. He began walking forward, towards the cell he had never visited before.
"Click!"
Grindelwald's eyes snapped open.
He heard the faint sound of footsteps, not the house-elf's.
Someone was coming.
This thought crossed his mind, and he closed his eyes again.
Whoever had come, he wasn't interested, and he wouldn't see them.
None of this concerned him—and since it didn't concern him, the footsteps would only distract him, distracting him from his memories.
He didn't want to pay attention, didn't want to be disturbed.
But Grindelwald could no longer close his eyes—the door he was leaning against was opening!
Who! Dare to open the arrangement made by Albus himself! Who could crack it?
Voldemort? Or the boy named Damon that Dumbledore had mentioned? Or perhaps... Albus!
"Oh—should I say hello to you first?"
Grindelwald's heart skipped a beat when the voice that haunted him rang out from outside the door.
"Albus? You're willing to come see me?"
"Well, would it be mean if I said I'd changed my mind?"
"No, you're a charming, kind-hearted old man. It's a dictator like me who's despicable."
"I didn't come to you to discuss the past."
"So what are you talking about? About the Boy-Who-Lived? Or that young man named Damon? It seems you've run into trouble? So you finally thought of me?"
"..."
Still silence, but the locked cell was being unsealed.
Grindelwald radiated with energy. Before the cell door opened, he hurriedly adjusted his appearance—even though he had aged to the point of being the most ordinary, ugliest old man.
The door swung open.
The man Grindelwald wanted to see stood across from him—dressed in a gorgeous suit, carrying a box of candy and a bottle of Firewhisky—a foolish act only a young man could do.
It seemed he was truly troubled.
"I've aged so much, yet you're still as energetic as ever. It's unfair."
"To me, you're still the same Gellert, nothing has changed—won't you invite me in?"
The two stared at each other in silence as Grindelwald made way.
Dumbledore conjured a low table, and the two of them sat down on the cool floor. The cell door closed automatically, leaving everything to the two of them.
"Do you remember the afternoon when we first talked about 'for the greater good'?"
Dumbledore opened the candy box and filled the goblet with whiskey.
"Remember, you said then that the world wasn't worth our bowing to."
Grindelwald sat upright, staring at him.
"But we bowed to it after all."
Dumbledore chuckled self-deprecatingly.
Grindelwald didn't respond.
He just looked at Dumbledore, picked up a candy with his hand, and put it in his mouth. It was sweet, but far inferior to the lemon sherbet he had tasted that day—the most delicious thing he had ever tasted in his life.
"What do you want to say here? I'm ready to listen."
Grindelwald knew that if something big hadn't happened that could change the world, Dumbledore wouldn't have come to see him in this place.
"Actually, I'm just curious. Forget it, it's Valentine's Day. Do we have to talk about those things that spoil the fun?"
"Valentine's Day? I thought you wouldn't care about such things. My watch has been malfunctioning badly lately. It would be great if you could fix it before you leave."
"I will."
Grindelwald smiled.
He raised his glass to Dumbledore:
"Then, let's celebrate, for this ridiculous holiday, and for seeing you again in fifty years."
Bang.
The crisp sound of clinking glasses rang out, and the two old men chatted for a whole day. They talked about many things in the past, mostly some common insights from their youth. When they talked about happy things, they laughed heartily - but as long as Dumbledore didn't open his mouth to talk about his current troubles, Grindelwald would not ask questions.
When they finally left,
Dumbledore did not raise any questions but made a promise:
"When Voldemort is completely dead, I will set you free."
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(End of this chapter)