DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns everything.
Blood red.
The thestrals rustled their mane, shrieking in the sunset.
The sinking sun shone chestnut, crimson and copper, eclipsing the silhouette of runes upon runes of blood magic, deep necromancy and voodoo magic. Not enough.
Some dreams were built by power, some were constructed by schemes, and still others were born by revolutions and historic hallmarks, out of the scrapes of time and space.
The end has come, swiftly and silently, with the stench of death lurking nearby. Not unlike the shadow inferius army that once obeyed his each and every command.
Death.
Intangible, invisible, indiscernible, like the cloak.
Incomprehensible, indecipherable, indivisible, like the stone.
Indestructible, invincible, like the wand.
The wand is invincible, not the owner. He reminded himself.
The great game had been lost, and along with it, the dreams of unite. Not only the world, but the hallows also.
In his wand holster, he felt the call of his original wand. Sycamore and dual dragon heartstring. Perhaps the world is indeed more than simply having the Elder wand in his own hands.
He closed his eyes, waiting for the darkness to claim him. The encompassi patroni will not work now, now that he had given up.
Where will he go?
Somehow, he knew. Just like the time he knew he will best ten aurors at once during the siege of Stalingrad, just like the time he knew what his last spell will be while fighting the guardian sphinxes during the Egyptian blitz.
His former friend fumated right in front of him, holding two wands in his right hand as the two greatest wizards of their time locked gazes once again.
Nurmengard.
One could never tell the passing of time in Nurmengard. The overlapping and clashing sovereignty magic of the three countries that the prison was nestled between creates a magical whirlpool that even the most advanced tracking charms are rendered useless.
Not unless, of course, you were Gellert Grindelwald.
Five decades.
The guards outside his cell did not know it, and nor did the officers that occationally pass several floors below, but legilimency was not a skill that fades with time. Not even the Nurmengard wards could contain his legilimency probes completely, not after 53 years of constant perfecting wandless magic. Of course, to reach the level of perfection required no ordinary amount of talent. He had seen throughout the years, via the guards' minds the unmistakable signs of magical exhaustion of other cellmates.
One does not trifle with the wards of Nurmengard.
Not unless, of course, you were Gellert Grindelwald.
Or Albus Dumbledore.
His heart sank slightly. He had read about the death mere months ago. Deep down, he always assumed that the Englishman would outlive him. Alas, that was not the case.
It was Albus Dumbledore, who insisted on not giving him the Dementor's kiss by pointing out the lack of magical contracts that linked him to the majority of his crimes ; it was Albus Dumbledore too, who used the tiny deviation of the earth's axis to employ a one-sided redirecting ward, ensuring that the ambient magic of Nurmengard would no longer heed the wishes of its creator.
How did he meet his end? Gellert found himself thinking for the umpteenth time. The article had not provided any details Gellert had cared for.
BOOM.
Gellert turned his head slowly in the direction of the noise, his scant eyebrows lifting. Nothing like this has happened before…
The lava-based foundation of Nurmengard wards send magical currents up the cold gray walls of Grindelwald's confinement, before extinguishing. Beyond the room, his sensory magic told him the guards were already unconscious.
Powerful, he thought, as the air thrummed with ozone.
Wondering with morbid curiosity whether the intruder has been fragmented by the layer of Exedus enchantment yet, Gellert lay back on his bed again.
But he didn't have a long rest.
Mere minutes have passed when there was another streak of magical current running up the wall, this time not entirely Nurmengard's own. The guard must be on a shift change. He thought, which explained the lack of backup guards securing the most important prisoners. Barely had the thought formed did smoke started seeping in through the opaque hole that was meant to be the magic ventilator.
Then the fume coalesenented into a tall figure.
A face, whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils stared back at him. His whole body seemed to have suffered a rather bad burn, but was healing at such a pace that Gellert could only assume one thing: Unicorn-blood based rituals.
The old warlord let out a minute sigh before glancing up at the intruder's face again. He had wondered, for some time, when he will be meeting the upstart.
So this is Voldemort.
"So, you have come. I thought you would . . . one day. But your journey was pointless. I never had it."
"You lie!"
Legilimency probes of abnormal power made actual sizzling sounds against his own defense. The probes came from all directions, obscured yet enhanced by the oppressive aura of this new dark lord.
Definitely puissant.
And still, the silent battle went on. Waves upon waves of legilimency crashed into his mindscape, but the probes were not complimenting each other as Gellert veered this way and that with caution. After a few strenuous moments, he took a bolder and riskier route, and began assessing Voldemort's style.
For all his formidable power, this upstart seemed remarkably ignorant of the finer arts of body language. Voldemort's eyes dilated ever so slightly when launching a new attack, and the second to adjust was more than enough for the warlord. But Gellert's own strength was already fading, so unless-
He launched his own probe into Voldemort's mind.
There was a brief nothingness and then all magic in the connection dispersed.
Voldemort was smiling, although it became more like an ugly sneer a moment later.
" Tell me right now you old has-been, and I shall make it quick and painless."
Gellert laughed. The magic oppressing wards will make the cruciatus feel like a prickle. Voldemort seemed to have worked out the situation only a split second later, for his body radiated magic that was guided by anger and his mouth thinned.
" Old has-been ,am I? What you seek resides on the side of the angels. You and I are most certainly not one of them."
Voldemort's anger continued to build. Gellert briefly wondered how much about the hallows this new dark lord had known. The reinforcing guards should arrive in two minutes at most, and he should be able to hold the intruder off with relative ease.
Dying, they say, is easier than falling asleep.
But then, Voldemort's wand came up and contorted the oppressing wards into a wave of magical backlash. Gellert was slammed against the far side of the wall.
" What do you take me for? A fool?" the red eyes were smoldering with hatred.
" Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, you broken relic. The Elder wand. Where is it?"
The old man cackled, thoroughly enjoying the stupidity of the upstart.
"An idiot like you would never find it. So for the sake of my patience, ask me no questions, and you would hear no lies."
The yew wand was now pointing directly between his eyes. Gellert saw a glimmer of green.
"Kill me, then!" the old warlord chuckled. How obvious can you be? "You will not win, you cannot win! That wand will never, ever be yours."
"Avada-
"STOP AND LOWER YOUR WAND!" someone shouted in German.
Gellert whipped around. Here at last were the reinforcements. Seven swiss aurors had their wand pointing at the intruder while the magical siren was set off.
Seven might not be enough. The warlord thought dryly.
The aurors, who had been carrying magical guns that nullify the effects of the Nurmengard wards, were not prepared for Voldemort's wide-area lockdown ward. The even footing threw the aurors off balance as the upstart contorted the wards again and again to send backlashes at the aurors with simple flicks with his wand, while the reinforcements were forced on the defensive.
" Killing curses, you fools" spat Grindelwald, exasperated that such a simple solution had not occurred to the aurors. Haven't the young ones these days been taught that only the killing curse can overcome the most advanced limiting wards?
With two men down, the aurors hastened to obey. Blinded by green light, Grindelwald hid under his wooden bed, shaking his head all the while. A huge chunk of stone landed right on Gellert's right foot, he swore slightly while channeling magic through his limbs, healing it.
Then there was a bang like a cannon blast, and the floor trembled. A cloud of dust filled the air, creeping under the bed, obscuring Grindelwald's vision.
This could mean only one thing: Voldemort had brought more than his wand to Nurmengard.
I need a wand.
Scrambling to his feet, the old warlord sought for the wand of the fallen. Must head for the cell gate , he thought. And sure enough, a wand lay beside the gate and a guard who had half his head missing.
He picked up the wand and turned to face the upstart, gathering up his long lost reflexes as he did so.
Voldemort was still striking and smiting with the magical backlash of the overpowered wards, and the five remaining aurors were being steadily pushed back.
Then came a shape that slithered along the semi-shadows of the fighting men.
A snake, more than twelve feet in length was wrapping itself around two of the aurors' torso. The strangled man let out grunts of pain as they continued to cast green lights, albeit at a slower pace.
So this is how Voldemort managed to draw against five aurors despite the oppressing wards.
Grindelwald moved forward and placed his wand tip on the massive snake. There was a burst of green sparks, and the snake dropped onto the ground, dead.
For a moment, time itself seemed to have frozen. Neither Voldemort, nor the aurors twitched a muscle.
Then the world exploded in a shower of color. Not from wands that were slackly held by aurors, but from the snake and the maddened dark lord's wand.
All of the occupants in the room were knocked backwards. The aurors still standing were flung unceremoniously from the cell down the steep staircase beyond.
Voldemort had escaped, along with his dead pet snake, if the hole in the other side of the room is of any indication. Cold air swirled about in the dilapidated room, rapidly erasing the smells of burnt wood and fresh blood.
Gellert Grindelwald, however, was still standing. With his eyes dark and his expression contemplative, the former Dark lord twirled the stolen wand in his fingers . Half a century's worth of incarceration, half a century's worth of solitude meant that the wild dreams he had harbored in his youth had to be tempered and rectified, so as to fit the framework of an old man's game. It would not be easy, yet the old warlord was sure that he still has some gas left in his tank.
He gave his bed for the last fifty years a final searching look before looking past the roughly 6' hole into the starry night beyond.
It was time to take charge, for one last time.