Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!

* * *

Dusk fell, and the gloom enveloped him, as Albus Dumbledore walked up to the gate of Nurmengard. The vast towering black fortress was protected by a high wall of stone, flat and smooth, impossible to scale, it glistened in the dim moonlight. Only a single great gate of iron set into the wall permitted entrance into the prison. Above the gate, carved into the high arch, Dumbledore read the words that drove a cold dagger into his heart: “FOR THE GREATER GOOD.”

He raised his wand and with a blast of fire the gate was rent asunder and crashed to the ground. The sound tore into the stillness of the evening, breaking the silence as if a gong had been struck, or a cannon fired. There was no turning back now. Calmly he walked forward, stepping over the twisted, ruined metal. The magical enchantments protecting the fortress were broken, no force of magic could stop him from entering. Yet nonetheless he hesitated on the threshold, foreboding what he knew was to come.

The hesitation was only for the briefest of moments, and none who saw it would have marked it. Even if they had, they would have placed its cause at mere trepidation, for the name of Nurmengard was evil and no one who entered ever came out again. The face of Dumbledore betrayed no emotion as he stepped forward once more. Only he knew exactly what that step meant.

Within the wall was a wide courtyard, an open flat space before one reached the doors of the tower itself. It was largely empty of buildings; there was the odd guard tower, a few tents, nothing more. It was not, however, empty of people. Thirty or forty emaciated souls huddled in the shadows of the courtyard wall, in terrible fear, seeking any form of shelter. They wore little in the way of clothing, and their skin hung in loose flaps from their skeletal frames. Men, women and children were there. At the entrance of Dumbledore many looked up, but they had not the strength to acknowledge their liberator.

These, Dumbledore knew, were the lucky ones. At least they still lived, and had found their way out under the sky, where they could still see light. Who knew how many countless others still languished in the cells and dungeons of the tower itself, blind in the darkness, where no ray of hope could reach them? Who knew for how many it was already too late, who died in despair before the world could reach them? Before he himself had finally chosen to act?

The truth was he was too late. He had waited, in his guilt and fear, hoping to assuage his blackened conscience. But his wait had only served to heap more deaths, more suffering, onto that conscience, until it could bear the weight no longer. At last, he had come. But for so many, he had come too late. Far, far too late.

He stood in the centre of the courtyard, his head bowed, while all about the emaciated prisoners waited to see what would happen. Suddenly the great black doors of the tower flew open and down the steps strode the man Dumbledore had not seen in forty-six years. They were both now, by wizarding standards, middle-aged and the man had the first flecks of grey in his blond hair. The lines on his face betrayed his age, but he still walked with the same confident swagger, still beamed that wide, cocksure smile. Still handsome. Dumbledore had hoped fervently that it was not so.

“Welcome at last to my abode, Albus,” said the man, stopping twenty paces from Dumbledore and throwing wide his arms in mock greeting. “I was beginning to think you would never come.” His voice had grown deeper, but he still spoke perfect English with that same melodic European lilt. He looked Dumbledore up and down. “You have changed much in nearly fifty years.”

“You haven’t, Gellert,” replied Dumbledore flatly.

Grindelwald smiled once more. “Oh, but I have, Albus. I have grown. I have made myself more than I ever was when you knew me.” He took a couple of steps closer to Dumbledore and his voice sunk to a gentle, quiet tone. “Do you remember, Albus? All those ideas, those plans we forged between us. Back then, they were nothing more than a boy’s idle dream. I have made them reality. From here, I have built the foundations of a new wizarding empire, the bright future of which we both dreamed. Whilst you were pining away in Britain, here the Greater Good has been served.”

Dumbledore looked around at the pitiful figures on either side of them. “I have seen your Greater Good, Gellert, and I have seen your empire. They are not mine.”

“But once they were, Albus, I know. They could be again. What do you say? Think, Albus. We were both born to be teachers, educators, ennoblers of the lesser men around us. Would you rather stay closeted in your little school, or will you take up the greater challenge that lies here?”

Dumbledore raised his head at last and looked into the bright blue eyes of Grindelwald. They still sparkled and danced with the same light that he remembered, the light spoke of a fire behind them. Not until now did he realise what that fire truly was. He had been blinded by it, thinking that it spoke of enthusiasm, of ardour, of love. He had refused to see the darkness in the fire, the cruelty and violence within.

“You have deluded yourself, Gellert,” he said at last. “It is over. Your empire is in ruins, and your enchantments broken. Your supporters have been captured or killed. Your allies have surrendered. Even your prison guards have fled. There is no one left but you. Give yourself up, and I can promise you a fair trial.”

Grindelwald laughed scornfully. “Ha! So that is what they expect me to do. Come quietly and grovel at the feet of some Mudblood judge so that I might receive a less painful execution. I think not. Yes I have suffered a setback, thanks to you. But I still stand undefeated, and I will not yield while I can still draw breath.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Then you leave me no other choice, Gellert.” He raised his wand, held it point upwards in front of his face, and then bowed.

Grindelwald’s laugh turned to a snarl. “You would duel me, Albus? Is that why you have come? This is foolishness. We both know you cannot defeat me. And I know you will not kill me.”

“Do not be so sure of that, Gellert,” answered Dumbledore, and raised his wand to strike.

* * *

Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.

* * *

The night sky exploded into light and colour above Nurmengard. The spells fired back and forth between the two combatants, erupting in flame as they met. Grindelwald cast spears of ice in the air and sent them hurling at Dumbledore, who set up a wall of flame to block them. The desperate prisoners cowered behind whatever cover they could find. The image of a flaming dragon descended on Grindelwald, who dismissed the illusion, sending up jets of water to dispel the fire. They passed through the dragon, which dissipated, and transformed into shards of glass which rained down on Dumbledore. He tore the roof off a guard tower with his wand to protect himself. The glass shards thudded into the wood as beneath it Dumbledore fired off jinxes to distract his opponent.

There was a momentary lull. The two of them circled each other across the courtyard, each waiting for the other to make the next move. “You cannot win, Albus,” taunted Grindelwald. “You do know what this is?” He held up his wand for Dumbledore to see.

“I know,” Dumbledore replied simply.

“Then you must know I cannot be defeated. It is senseless for you to continue to fight. Eventually you will tire and I will be forced to kill you. Either join me, or run while you still have the chance.”

“You are quite mistaken, Gellert, about the Elder Wand and about a great many things. The wand cannot be beaten, but its holder can be, and has been a great many times through the centuries. Else how could you have acquired it? There are greater powers in this world than the Elder Wand, Gellert Grindelwald.”

Grindelwald’s laugh returned, more scornful than ever. “Now who is deluded and mistaken, Albus Dumbledore?” he laughed. “What greater powers? Don’t tell me that you still have any belief in the power of love? Or are you still that same foolish boy of half a century ago?”

“I do still believe in love, Gellert, though it may surprise you to hear it. I have loved, and I have lost, and I have learned to love again. I have learned a great deal more about love than you, I suspect will ever know. I understand how dangerous it can be, how it can blind a man from the truth, twist him into something different. And now I understand the strength it can give and how hollow a man’s life is without it.

“I know that you did not love me. You love only yourself, and power, and might. I know you consider love as only another emotion to be used, twisted, or counterfeited to suit your own ends. You are wrong. It is love and compassion that generated the resistance against you, that overthrew your followers and that has led me here. Look around you, Gellert, at these suffering people. You have drained all love from this place, to satisfy your own lust for power. The true Greater Good is out there, in the hearts of those now trying to rebuild our world. It is not here.”

Grindelwald snarled. “You haven’t changed after all. You still spout the same sentimental rubbish you did as a lovesick teenager. That was always your problem, Albus. You were weak. It was I who had the courage make things happen, to take a stand in this world. You are still as pathetic as when I left you, begging for the lives of your worthless siblings.” He began to approach Dumbledore, the Elder Wand outstretched in front of him. “The girl had no life, Albus, and you know it. She could not have lived long. I merely spared her further suffering. It was a mercy, in a way.”

Dumbledore did not move or back away as Grindelwald advanced, and the expression on his face was as an image hewn out of stone. “No life is worthless, Gellert,” he stated calmly. “That is your greatest misunderstanding.” Grindelwald roared, and aimed a curse at Dumbledore, who dodged aside just in time. He fired off a spell of his own, but Grindelwald was too quick with him and responded with a second quick curse of his own. The jets met in mid-flight and there was another burst of flame. For a moment the streams fought against each other, but the Elder Wand was too strong and Dumbledore was hurled backwards, smashing into the hard stone outer wall where the prisoners were cowering.

Dazed, Dumbledore desperately tried to regain his footing as Grindelwald advanced further on him, raising the Elder Wand for a final strike. Suddenly, he saw one of the prisoners stand up and rush forward, charging down on Grindelwald, blocking his way to Dumbledore. It was a young woman, barely more than twenty. She was half-naked and barefoot and looked on the brink of starvation; she loped towards Grindelwald groggily, barely able to stand. With a slash of his wand, Grindelwald cut the woman down, blood poring from a deep gash in her side.

Grindelwald pointed the Elder Wand square at the woman’s chest, ready to kill, but the distraction had given Dumbledore time to recover. Hastily he threw up a Shield Charm between the two and directed his wand, pulling the woman away from Grindelwald to his side. Grindelwald laughed again, this time a manic, wild laugh of a man on the edge of control. “Oh yes, pious Dumbledore must spare the innocents, must he?” he cackled, his voice heavy with sarcasm, as Dumbledore cast a quick temporary seal on the woman’s wound. “You cannot protect them all, Albus.”

He turned his gaze on a small group huddling behind one of the guard towers. They fled wildly as they saw him approach but he raised his arm and cried “Petrificus Totalus!” The last man stopped, held fast in place by the curse. Grindelwald walked up to the man and seized him, placing his body between himself and Dumbledore as a shield, and holding the Elder Wand to the unmoving man’s throat. “Let’s see what sort of man you really are, Albus,” he goaded. “Try it. I’ll give you one shot. One spell and I won’t attempt to block it. Are you prepared to let this man die to kill me?” The fire in his eyes was now clear for all to see, burning with wild ferocity.

Dumbledore stepped forward. Eyes unblinking, he stared at Grindelwald. Silently and calmly he raised his wand. “Reducto!” he cried. The jet burst from his wand and Grindelwald blinked. Then he realised Dumbledore had missed. The jet had not struck him or the man. But before he could respond, Dumbledore cried “Accio!” The prisoner was pulled from his grasp and across the courtyard towards Dumbledore.

It was at that moment that Grindelwald understood that Dumbledore had not missed. His Reductor Curse had struck the base of the wooden guard tower next to him. He looked up just in time to see the structure collapse down on top of him, burying him under a pile of wood. He was crushed to the ground and the Elder Wand was knocked from his grasp and sent skidding across the courtyard.

Dumbledore walked over and calmly picked up the wand. He approached Grindelwald, still pinned to the ground and fighting to free himself. Grindelwald looked up as Dumbledore stood over him and stopped struggling. “So, you have won, Albus,” he groaned weakly. “The wand is yours. Now you can take the revenge you have wanted. I am ready to die.”

Dumbledore looked down at his adversary and gently shook his head. “You do not understand, Gellert. I already killed you, a long time ago. I buried you along with Ariana, and with a piece of myself as well. I grieved for you, and I slowly rebuilt my life. I found a new focus for my love, in the poor, the disadvantaged and the marginalised in our society.

“We have both lost all that we once held dear, Gellert, and it has been our own actions, our own choices that have brought that fate down upon us. When the others arrive, you will be tried, undoubtedly convicted, and incarcerated here in this monstrous home you built for yourself. You have created your own punishment, Gellert, just as surely as I created mine. You will remain here, and in time I hope that even you will come to understand. As for me, I have killed you once. I do not choose to kill you again.”

With that, Albus Dumbledore took one last look at the handsome face of his former love, and turned and walked silently out of Nurmengard to begin the second half of his life, leaving the vanquished tyrant Gellert Grindelwald to his fate.

* * *

Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die.