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Nurngard.
This forbidding fortress, looming within a desolate valley, seed like a forgotten corner of the wizarding world. Shrouded in an eternal mist and flanked by dense, twisted forests, it remained hidden from curious eyes.
The castle's blackened stone walls bore the wear of countless years; ivy clung to cracks, and every weathered brick whispered stories of bygone might and lingering decay.
Within its cramped and dimly lit chambers, the infamous Gellert Grindelwald was imprisoned. Even Voldemort's most ruthless followers would find themselves unsettled at the thought of standing before the dark wizard who once terrorized Europe.
"My master sends his regards," Said the bearded man in a tattered cloak, pushing a wand through the iron bars with trembling hands. His voice wavered, betraying his apprehension. "He shares your ideals and believes the ti is right. He hopes you will once again reveal your strength to the world."
"Dumbledore has deluded the wizarding world for far too long. Soone must hold him accountable. My master believes that no one is more suited to judge him than you." The bearded man instinctively stepped back as Grindelwald stirred, his shadowed figure rising with unsettling grace.
Truth be told, the man would never have dared utter such words had he not been compelled to convey his master's ssage. Fear clutched at his throat. What if Grindelwald were to sneer and ask, "Are you instructing ?" There would be no answer to that.
To most British wizards, Grindelwald was little more than a dark legend, a cautionary tale. But the Death Eaters, particularly those who had spent years dissecting Dumbledore's every move, understood far more than most.
The Ministry's polished records could never capture the tangled truths of that era— truths Voldemort had long sought to uncover.
Still, suggesting that Grindelwald should stand in judgnt of Dumbledore revealed a certain ignorance. Despite all their research, the Death Eaters knew but fragnts of the past. Too much had been lost— or deliberately concealed by the man they despised.
"A wand?"
Grindelwald's eyes glead with a spark of sothing unreadable as he drew closer. The aged wizard's voice, though soft, seethed with bitter satisfaction.
"Dumbledore, on trial? At last. A traitorous little man. I was deceived by him. It is because of him that I am caged here— forced to live on stale bread and watery broth." His words dripped with contempt, each syllable twisting with long-harbored resentnt.
The bearded man stiffened, uncertain. Grindelwald's fury was not quite what he had expected, but it was anger nonetheless. That was enough.
"Precisely. My master is prepared to act from the shadows. When the ti cos, should you and your followers seek allies, we stand ready."
"As you wish, you need only reach out. Our goals align—we share the sa hatred of Dumbledore." The man's voice trembled with poorly veiled eagerness, his own resentnt gnawing at him. The Death Eaters had long been humiliated by the headmaster's victories. This was their chance to see him fall.
"You?"
Grindelwald's brow furrowed, his pale fingers curling around the wand. He turned it slowly, as if reacquainting himself with the simple, deadly weight of it. Sensing the mont, the bearded man hastily grasped a worn silver goblet— a Portkey. The air thrumd as it activated.
"I await your decision."
Without another word, the man vanished, leaving only the echo of his parting words. But even as the air stilled once more, the thought lingered— a dark wizard as powerful as Grindelwald would never be underestimated. Not by friend or foe.
The bearded man knew all too well what a wizard in that cell could do and what he had done in the past. He had no desire to beco the target of the pent-up rage of a wizard imprisoned for decades.
"Whoosh~"
The cloaked figure disappeared from view, vanishing in a blur of distorted air. In his haste, he had tampered with the protective wards, causing the magical shielding to flicker and fade.
Clearly, he feared being caught by Ministry officials—though that concern was perhaps misplaced. From a distance, a group of Ministry guards, noticing the disruption, rely glanced up from their ga of wizard chess. After a brief exchange of looks, they shrugged and resud their match.
Report it?
Why bother? The guards playing chess weren't fools. They understood all too well that the true powers pulling the strings weren't seated in their dingy post. Ever since the resurgence of the Acolytes eleven years ago, things have shifted.
And in Austria, well, who could say how many wizards secretly supported Grindelwald's followers by now? Even the guards themselves might have family ties to dark traditions. Accusations were dangerous in these tis. It was far too easy to cry foul and find the wand turned on you.
The officials in charge had been replaced over a decade ago, and not all by coincidence. The guards understood the risks. If they raised the alarm, the one who walked through that door might not be the cloaked figure at all.
Cautious wizards survived. And in the Ministry's civil service exams, this very scenario was practically a textbook case.
"What happened?"
"An illusion, most likely."
"Yes, probably just a trick of the wards."
"If you all think it was an illusion, then I suppose I must have imagined it too."
...
The guards shared a knowing glance. Without another word, they returned to their drinks and wizard chess, determined not to draw any unnecessary attention. Their pay wouldn't change whether they were prison guards or security officers. So even secretly hoped for a bit of chaos—nothing stirred a dull routine quite like it.
---
anwhile, within the dank confines of Nurngard.
Things were far from calm.
"Where did he go? How could he just run off like that? I wasn't finished talking!" Gellert Grindelwald— or rather, Gilderoy Lockhart— had maintained a façade of ominous gravitas. But the mont the cloaked figure escaped using a Portkey, Lockhart's composure crumbled. Panic set in.
"You didn't even tell who you were! The Order of the Phoenix? Dumbledore's Resistance? The Anti-Ministry League?" Lockhart clutched the rusted iron bars and yelled into the emptiness.
Silence.
"Blast it! Can't you just let out? Open the door, you coward!"
He kicked the bars in frustration, his shouts echoing down the dark stone corridor. Only the gloom answered back.
Realizing the futility of his outburst, Lockhart sagged against the bars, muttering curses under his breath. Then, as the weight of the situation dawned on him, he slapped his forehead in frustration.
"Why didn't I just ask him to open the door first?"
Lockhart paced the narrow confines of the cell, his nerves fraying further with every passing mont.
"Think, Gilderoy, think! You're the most celebrated dark wizard of all ti. Surely you can find a way out of a silly little cell. You've faced far greater challenges before."
Tightening his grip on the wand left behind by the Death Eater, he gave it a cautious swish. Imdiately, a bright ball of fla burst forth, singeing the hem of his robes and nearly setting his shoes alight.
"rlin's beard!"
The wand's response was clearly not what Lockhart had hoped for. Wands were notoriously temperantal when wielded by soone they did not recognize. This violent reaction only confird the incompatibility. After all, wands chose the wizard, not the other way around— a fact Ollivander never failed to remind his custors.
Still, stubbornness ran deep in Lockhart. Despite the evident rejection, he refused to surrender to the reality of his imprisonnt. The dull als of stale bread and watery broth had long since worn down his patience. He wanted out. More than that, he wanted justice.
And when he was free, he vowed to take legal action— against Dumbledore, against Grindelwald, against anyone who had wronged him. In Lockhart's mind, it all made perfect sense. Dumbledore and Grindelwald had obviously orchestrated an elaborate ruse, turning the old man into a hero at his expense.
Yes. That was the truth of it.
And Gilderoy Lockhart was determined to make sure the world knew it.
(To Be Continued…)
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