Drip.
Drip.
He was used to the sound by now.
It may have taken him a long fifty-two years, but he did get used to the sound. In fact, he was grateful for it. Who knows what state his mind would have been in if it weren’t for the steady drip of water. He knew exactly where it came from; the little crevice in the corner, right beneath a stone basin for preserving the rain water on the roof. There had to be a tiny hole somewhere. Funny how the sound existed at all; it was one of the stipulations he gave the architect: make sure that no sound can penetrate any cell. And then there were the Silencing Charms… Yes, the place was well-built.
He still marveled at the sheer irony of it all. Another man had inspired him, yet all the blame rested on the now frail crone sitting in the top cell. He was sure that, had it turned out as planned, all the credit would have gone to the other. That was how life seemed to work.
“But, Aunt Tilde, I wasn’t the only one casting curses left, right and center!”
“Quiet, boy! Whatever happened, you were a part of, and you must face the consequences!”
“ It’s unfair, and you know it!”
The old hag must have known. He could tell. He could also tell that she blamed him. After all, who could blame the others? One had no skill, and the other…well, no one had ever blamed the other of anything. Not even he, sitting in a cell, could blame him.
The prisoner turned over on his back, staring at the starlit square in the middle of his cell. Since his childhood, he had wanted to be a king and live in a grand castle. Well, he thought wryly, if this isn’t grand, what is?
He wondered briefly whether there’d be coffee with breakfast in the morning. Odd, wasn’t it, how a top-security prisoner received coffee with his breakfast.
**
“Just you wait, Hilda. Just you wait. You will live grandly. More so than your pathetic little Kaiserin could ever dream.”
“But, dear, it is completely unnecessary. And the Kaiserin does not live quite as grandly anymore. You keep forgetting; there isn’t a Kaiser or Kaiserin any longer.”
“Hilda, Hilda, you shall be a Queen of a grand nation! You will see.”
“Very well, dear.”
She never did know what he had meant. She never even knew his true identity, or his real name. All that Hilda Krauss knew, or cared about, was that Friedrich Kosch loved her, and had grand plans for their future together. She was the only exception in his quest for purity, she was his little secret. No one knew of his feelings for her, at least that he knew of. She, or rather her Muggle blood, was the one flaw in his plan. Well, one of two, really. He had been the other.
The prisoner clearly remembered the day he saw him last. Much like the day they met for the first time. Only the stupid Aunt Tilde had not been there, and, instead of a charming “ and deadly boring “ village, the setting was a forest clearing. The sun shone brightly, and the trees rustled, oh, so pleasantly...
“We meet again, Albus. I always hoped we may, but, I must say, I imagined a somewhat different set of circumstances.”
“Really, Gellert? You know, I think I felt this meeting was destined to be the moment I met you. Naturally, I hoped I’d be wrong.”
“Why? Here’s the chance to prove your greatness. I trust
that ambition is still alive within you?”
Grindelwald watched his oldest friend closely. It had been many years since the day they said goodbye. He was sure, even then, that it was only temporary. Yet never, not in his wildest nightmares did he envision a situation such as this. This could not be.
“I am afraid that some is still present,” Dumbledore answered pleasantly. “But I have also learned that no amount of greatness can replace humanity.”
“An interesting notion,” Gellert said, not taking his eye of off Albus. “A lot of good your humanity did to you. Does Aberforth ever talk to you?”
“No,” Albus replied, apparently unconcerned. “I haven’t properly spoken to him since the funeral.”
“I see.”
They stood watching each other for some seconds.
“So, have you arrived to liberate the world from my terrifying presence?” Grindelwald seemed merely curious.
“Not unless you force me to. I have no wish to harm you.” There was an imploring note in Albus’s voice, but he knew better than to hope. Grindelwald shook his head.
“I will not come quietly, Albus. You know me better than that.”
Gellert whipped his wand out…
All else was a dull glow of spells being fired.
Now he, Gellert Grindelwald, was imprisoned in the very castle that was to serve as the crowning symbol of his new order. Nurmengard was to be the warning to those who disagreed with his glorious plan. Now, he, once the Master of many, sat in this mournful place, his mind dull, his senses dead. He fell lower than he ever thought he could. No sound would ever enliven his solitary existence. She, whom he wished to be his eternal companion, must be long dead by now.
Suddenly, the air was torn by a dark shadow flying out of nowhere. Gellert looked up, tearing his eyes away from the crack in the stone floor he was unconsciously watching. A tall, thin, hooded figure stood before him. Gellert was allowed to read newspapers and could easily identify the one wizard who could get past the triple security measures.
The wizard stood still, examining the aged body on the floor. He pulled his hood off and stared, full of curiosity, at the weak man. Red eyes on a snake-like face watched Grindelwald’s every move, as though trying to determine what could possibly be great about this pile of filth.
He was surprised, but not shocked. He, Voldemort, knew what terrible things being deprived of one’s powers could do. He remembered the awful powerlessness, the uncertainty. He would never admit, even to himself, how frightened he had been. What would have happened if he hadn’t been able to regain control of his destiny?
What he couldn’t possibly understand was how the greatest wizard of his epoch, the man who gave Dumbledore a run for his money, could lie calmly on the floor of a cell in his own prison. How was it that the man did not fight? He had the greatest weapon of them all in his possession once! But no matter. He, Voldemort, had better things to do with his time than trying to decipher others’ foolish notions.
Gellert was just as thoughtful. So, this is Lord Voldemort, is it? Curious. He wondered briefly what the madman had done to merit such looks. He supposed being killed had an effect on him. But there were more pressing matters at hand “ why was he here in the first place? He thought he knew…
“Gellert Grindelwald,” the figure spoke in a high voice. “Do you know who I am?’
“Yes.”
“Very good. It will save us some time, and time is of the essence,” Voldemort said. He was a little surprised that such an isolated man knew who he was at once, but then, his fame could penetrate even these thick walls. “I require information, and you can give it to me. I must know…”
“I know what it is you seek.” Gellert’s voice was hoarse and weak from many years of idleness, yet the resolve was unmistakable. “You will never possess it! You have no hope of calling it your own!”
“Why?” Voldemort wondered silkily. “You think that any measures can prevent me? You think I can be stopped by a handful of Aurors? There’s nothing and no one who can defeat me.”
“There is,” Grindelwald said quietly. “Or there was, and, if I knew him at all, he will have left a plan. Albus Dumbledore is dead, but someone knows what he knew. I can vouch for that.”
“Albus Dumbledore was disposed of by my men,” Voldemort replied smoothly. “The boy he left to finish me off is an ordinary wizard with no powers beyond those of a seventeen-year old.”
“And yet he escaped from you, while still a babe!”
Gellert didn’t bother to hide his amusement. He knew what fate awaited him; he no longer cared. He was but an aged man, soon to die, anyway. What did it matter how and why he died?
Voldemort was angered. No one addressed him like that and lived. But he must wait a little longer. He must know first, and act later.
“You speak dangerous words,” he hissed. “I would beware, if I were you?”
“Not until I tell you what you need to know,” Gellert retorted, unconcerned. “Not until I tell you of the Elder Wand.”
Voldemort stood silently. The man spoke truthfully. There was no fear in his mind. Gellert Grindelwald cared as little as he let on. But no matter. He had things to do. He must know.
“Since you are so well informed, you will tell me where the wand rests,” Voldemort said in a measured voice. “I may spare your life, if you are sincere.”
“No, you won’t. Only a fool would, and you are no fool. I’ve been where you are, I’ve used the same tactics. It works most of the time, too.” Gellert was amazed by his own calm. There was a time, long ago now, when he had feared death. Not anymore. He briefly thought of his endless life and the mistakes he had made. A young, headstrong fool…
Voldemort grasped at the memories with astonishing quickness. He knew the way into men’s fears and their deepest, darkest secrets. He paid no heed to the old man’s words. Grindelwald knew nothing; if he was wise, he wouldn’t be here, weak and undefended. One memory caught his attention; a summer day, two wizards, and a wand, flying into an outstretched hand of…
He knew it. He ought to have guessed. Who else could delay him so effortlessly?
“You have been of assistance, Grindelwald. You have Lord Voldemort’s thanks.”
“Take your thanks to Hell, where they belong!” Gellert could not believe he was caught so easily. Worthless old fool, he thought, hating himself.
Voldemort only laughed. So much the better. He knew where the Wand rested now, and the place suited him very well.
“Crucio!”
As Grindelwald writhed in pain, Voldemort watched as a passerby might watch a dog perform a clever trick. He lifted the spell.
“Albus Dumbledore left you to your enemies. He left you to rot away in this miserable place. And you kept your silence. I can’t believe they call me manipulative .”
He raised his wand again.
“Forgive me, Albus,” Gellert whispered, as a thin green ray flew at his chest.