"Just so you know," Grindelwald said dryly through their mental link, "if you break through the outer wards, within ten minutes you'll have a hundred Aurors swarming this mountain."
Tom snorted. "Please. I'm not that bored , why would I pick a fight with a hundred Aurors for fun? I'm not insane."
"Insane? No," came Andros's amused voice from the learning space, "but overconfident? Certainly. You could take them if you wanted to. Might even be good practice."
Tom hesitated for a moment, a spark of temptation flickering in his eyes.
A one-versus-one-hundred duel against Aurors?
It sounded… deliciously fun.
But after a few seconds of indulgent imagining, he sighed and brushed the thought away.
"No," he muttered. "If I make that kind of noise, the Ministry will crawl all over this place. The Saints' secret network would be exposed before I even blink. Another time, maybe."
"Ah," Grindelwald chuckled in his mind, "a wise serpent always knows when to strike , and when to wait."
With a faint pop, Tom Apparated to the base of the mountain where the black tower of Nurmengard loomed above him.
From there, following Grindelwald's calm, precise instructions, he began threading through the intricate maze of magical defenses , casting confusion charms, severing leyline connections, and suppressing his own magical presence to bypass detection.
Halfway up the treacherous slope, he asked, "You seem awfully familiar with these wards for someone who's been locked inside for decades."
Grindelwald's tone was faintly amused. "Of course I am. Every one of these enchantments was built upon my own designs. The Ministry simply modified what I created , clumsily, I might add. The foundation still obeys me."
Tom nearly tripped. "You mean… they used your own security system to imprison you?"
"Indeed."
Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. "Lazy idiots. They deserve whatever happens next."
Two hours later, his boots crunched over the frost-covered stones leading to the iron gates of Nurmengard.
The elderly Squib guard, half-asleep in his booth, rubbed his eyes in disbelief when he saw the lone teenager standing outside. A boy? Here?
"Evening, sir," Tom said pleasantly , and with a flick of his wand, the man slumped over, eyes rolling back as he slipped into enchanted sleep.
Tom stepped past him, his gaze falling on the towering gate engraved with the faded words:
"For the Greater Good."
Once, it had gleamed with silver. Now, it was choked with age, tarnished red with rust , or perhaps old blood.
He raised his wand, muttering, "Ironic slogan."
The rest of the ascent was straightforward, though steep , hundreds of stairs spiraling upward through shadow and silence.
"Old man," Tom muttered as he climbed, his breath misting in the frigid air, "why didn't you ever install a bloody lift?"
Grindelwald's laugh echoed faintly. "When I lived here, I didn't walk. I simply Apparated directly to my chamber. Elevators are for Muggles , and the weak."
"Merlin's beard, you people have no idea how to enjoy life," Tom groaned.
Finally, he reached the highest floor , a solitary iron door bound with heavy, rune-carved chains.
"End of the line," he murmured, lifting his wand. Sparks burst like lightning as the ancient wards resisted him for a heartbeat , then shattered with a deafening crack. The chains fell away.
For the first time in forty-eight years, the gates of Nurmengard's upper cell swung open.
The air inside was cold, still, and heavy with time.
A narrow slit of a window cast a weak beam of light across the stone floor. The room was barely large enough for a narrow bed, a rickety table, and a tattered blanket.
And there, sitting on the bed in a threadbare prisoner's uniform, was Gellert Grindelwald , or what remained of him.
His hair, once pale gold, was now silver-white. His face was gaunt and lined, skin stretched thin over sharp bones. But his eyes , mismatched and burning with intelligence , were as vivid as ever.
They met Tom's gaze, and for a long moment, neither spoke.
It wasn't only Tom who fell silent , even Andros and Ariana within the learning space said nothing.
For all his grandeur and charm in the mental world, in reality, Grindelwald was just a prisoner.
And seeing the once-mighty Dark Lord sitting in that narrow, dim cell stirred something raw in Tom's chest , anger, pity, perhaps even sorrow.
He glanced toward Andros's ethereal form in the shared vision. The old duelist's jaw was tight, his expression dark.
Even he, who had seen empires rise and fall, felt the sting of humiliation on their behalf.
The man who once ruled half of Europe, reduced to this.
The King of the Century , caged, forgotten, and dust-covered.
Grindelwald stood slowly, his joints creaking faintly. "Strange, isn't it?" he said softly. "To stand here and feel two worlds at once. It's as though I have two bodies , one in your realm, one here."
Tom blinked, his emotions quickly buried beneath a layer of sarcasm. "Yes, well, enjoy your dual citizenship while it lasts."
He flicked his wrist , and with a thought, forcibly disconnected Grindelwald's consciousness from the learning space.
"Better?" he asked dryly.
A handful of galleons tumbled from his pocket and clinked onto the floor, merging and reshaping into two elegant chairs.
"Sit," Tom said simply.
Grindelwald lowered himself into one, running a hand over the transfigured gold. "Hmm. I prefer your realm's luxury," he said with a wistful smile. "This body, this place , it's all so… hollow. Look at me. I've become little more than a relic."
Tom's gaze hardened. "You're still Gellert Grindelwald. If you wanted a new body, there are at least five ways to get one."
The old wizard chuckled. "Ah, the arrogance of youth. You think flesh is the problem. But tell me, Tom , what good is a new vessel if the soul inside it is already rotting?"
Tom tilted his head. "Ever consider making a Horcrux?"
The question hung in the air.
Grindelwald's smile vanished. He shook his head immediately. "No. Horcruxes grant longevity, yes , but they shatter what makes you human. Split the soul, and you split the mind. I'd rather die whole than live broken."
Tom's eyes narrowed. Different philosophies. But both roads lead to power.
"Enough philosophy," Grindelwald said, waving a hand dismissively. "Even crippled as I am, none but Dumbledore can truly touch me. Now , where's the food? I haven't had a decent meal in decades."
Tom smirked , but instead of opening the enchanted pouch, he pulled out several wands.
"Gifts," he said, tossing them lightly. "If you want out, you can handle it yourself."
Grindelwald stared at the wands for a long time before slowly picking them up.
For a fleeting moment, the old fire returned to his eyes.
Then, with a soft sigh, he tucked them away. "Thank you, Tom," he said quietly. "But for now, I think I'll stay."
The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken , a mixture of resignation and anticipation.
Because both of them knew:
The King might be imprisoned.
But the Crown was already stirring again.