So at last we come to Grindelwald.
Foreword: years and years ago when I envisioned this entire chapter, I had an entirely different idea of who Grindelwald was and what he wanted, and thus his encounter with Harry (and Dumbledore) was completely different too. Needless to say, that unwritten version has unfortunately been lost to time; only the most basic idea remains. In its place, I've combined that idea with a long-running unwritten idea from the present day.
I hope you'll accept a blended version of who DH canon presumes Gellert to be with who I presume him to be.
~Multi-Faceted~
XIV: Trapped
The detonation would be every bit as strong as any Muggle bomb, which Harry knew meant it was strong enough to kill. That alone urged him forward toward the epicenter, faster and faster, until he had reached it and shoved Professor Dumbledore out of the blast radius.
Everything after that was a blur. Resigned as he was to his end, but determined to hold to it, Harry heard the headmaster's cry of fear and anguish as though from underwater—but rather than the blast of cold magic he was expecting once he put up his shield, he was quickly enveloped in fire and heat that washed away his loved ones' faces.
He didn't move for several minutes—convinced that he couldn't, sure beyond sure that he was dead. But as he became aware of no tingling or pain (or even unearthly lack of pain), he opened one eye in a hesitant squint. Murky green and black darkness surrounded him, dust and decay and—stones? He sucked in a shocked breath, which was so dusty and dry it immediately led to a violent coughing fit that nearly dislodged his glasses. But he couldn't help his confusion; his surroundings made no sense.
He had been in the middle of a pitched battle in a wide field—how could he now be inside some old stone structure?
...Great. The afterlife is an unused Hogwarts corridor. Or broom cupboard.
That hypothesis was dispelled just as quickly as it formed when unearthly music echoed from just above his head. A final affectionate warble, and the source flew down to hover just before his face.
"Fawkes?"
It was Fawkes, sure enough, bright and bold as ever. The phoenix flew closer and settled on his shoulder before nuzzling the top of his head like he was a cat. Taking several deep breaths, Harry stood still and deduced that the fire he'd seen before must have been Fawkes coming to his rescue. He must have spirited Harry away seconds before that Dark witch's spell would have turned him to ash.
"Thank you," he said softly, and felt warmed at the quick burst of song he received in return. "But," he couldn't help but hesitantly add, "where in Merlin's name did you take us...?"
Other than nipping painfully at one of his hairs, Fawkes provided no answer at all. That was not comforting.
"Fawkes, if we're still alive, you've got to help me find my way out of—whatever this place is. Wherever it is. We've got to go back. Dumbledore will be worried—"
There was a noise that wasn't from boy or bird then—a hoarse, raspy thing. Like a question, or a gasp, or a chuckle. Harry felt a tight chill wind its way through his skin, into his bones; even ongoing phoenix song could not reach that far in. His grip on his wand—present, warm, reassuring—tightened to near-breaking point.
Who's there?
"What is this?" the sound (the voice!) said, husky but playful. "Words from beyond the wall? And here I thought madness was a long while off."
Harry kept silent—just quivered, and listened, and breathed.
"Hmmm. No, that can't be it. Words too self-centered to be a delusion of my mind, yet too relevant to be the random mutterings of my equally-isolated guards. And phoenix song too! Ja, someone new is there."
Oh no.
The stone wall to Harry's right suddenly shivered, as someone on the other side went tap, tap, tap. "Where are you? Don't be shy, freund. I am only a curious old thing. I mean you no harm."
There was no open malice in the voice, that much was true. But something in Harry's gut still squirmed when he considered giving himself away. Perhaps it was the kernel of instinct that had got him through so many dangerous scrapes in the past...?
Tap, tap, tap.
"I am unarmed, little mystery. None would entrust a wand to me now. Thus there is nothing I could do to you even if I wanted to... and I do not want to! I seek only a conversation partner."
Fawkes' claws dug into Harry's shoulder, a warning he didn't need. Quiet as they were, every word inspired more terror in him, not less.
Tap, tap, tap.
"Five decades I have languished here, without another tongue to spar with. Don't you feel sorry for me? Come now, have a heart." A pause, and then the stranger dropped his bombshell: "Albus Dumbledore surely wouldn't have a care for someone who wasn't as compassionate as he was...?"
The name, and the tone of it, stirred Fawkes as nothing else had—abruptly the phoenix hissed at the shivering stone, drawing himself up so that he resembled threatening flames of purest wrath.
Harry went white as milk—he tried to shush his companion, reaching wildly up for the spread wings, hissing too: "What are you doing? Quit, Fawkes, please—"
But it was too late; their neighbor had heard it all.
"Aha! My sanity remains. My mind, too, remains sharp as ever. A phoenix and a boy reside just beyond my wall. Though why they are there is beyond me."
There was no use, now, hiding his panting breaths or his attempts to find another way out of this stone prison—still, though, Harry could not put words together to address the hoarse man beyond the nearest wall, the one who sounded more and more like a wizard criminal with every word. The most dangerous kind of wizard criminal, too—someone that could make Voldemort himself do a double-take.
"You do not trust me, perhaps? That is understandable. Let me offer you a bit of knowledge, something you must not know since you are back there. You are presently trapped in a caved-in section of my fortress."
That broke Harry's silence.
"What?"
"There he is! Yes, young man, I speak true. It is a long and thrilling tale, but I've no idea how much air is available to you over there, so I will give you the short form: three decades past, there was an attempt to bring down this grand prison we are both presently trapped within. Partly the attempt was made to free me, incidentally, but the responsible parties were... ineffective when it came to magical power."
"You mean they were too weak to free you."
"A crude way of putting it—but yes. In their eagerness to release me, they had not done adequate research on exactly how to do so without bringing this entire structure down around their own ears. Several duels, explosions and unnecessary casualties later, only myself and my original captor were left standing—you might know him better as one Albus Dumbledore."
Fawkes twitched on Harry's shoulder. The music he emitted now was low, discordant with clear displeasure. But the next words to come from the other side of the wall settled him right down.
"Well, Albus was no less brilliant three decades ago than he undoubtedly is now. He at once deduced what my misguided followers had wished for, and what they had caused instead. The place you are standing now was once another section of the prison, which held some of my closest and strongest companions—lost that day to the foolish wand-waving of inferior wizards! A shame, a shame.
"But I digress. The ones outside were unable to open a path to freedom in all that wreckage. But the damage was so extensive that keeping anyone else captive over there would have been quite impossible. Thus Albus went in himself, risking his own aging lungs, and sealed the damaged part shut from all sides. I think I can safely assume he used the same phoenix whistling threateningly at me at present?"
"...Safe assumption, yeah," Harry muttered, as Fawkes fanned his wings out protectively around both the teenager's shoulders.
Another sound like the very first came from beyond the wall—a confirmation that the stranger really had been chuckling hoarsely when first he realized he had company.
"What a curious stranger you are!" he said at last, when his laughter had subsided. His voice and its singsong cadence had become stronger the longer he spoke. "Whisked into a place you clearly don't recognize, with a companion that is clearly not yours—but one that cares for you anyway. Yes, he must, because you sound as though you are in the most structurally-secure part of that thirty-year-old mess—and he didn't leave you there to rot."
But why did Fawkes bring me here, of all bloody places? Harry thought desperately; but he knew this was hardly the time to ask.
"Well. It would be a shame if you were to suffocate over there, ja? So why don't you extend me a little more trust?"
"...What do you mean?"
"It is one type of trust to let a stranger tell you a story," the not-so-hoarse man explained. "It is another to follow his instructions. But unless your feathered friend gets moving, you will need to obey me if you do not wish to die. Choose a stone from this wall we share—any stone near the middle will do—and pluck it away. Do this again and again until you have made yourself a hole you may pass through into the safer part of my prison."
The chill from before came back with a vengeance. A significant section of Harry's mind screamed, are you mad!? Trusting a stranger who's been imprisoned for at least fifty years would be a new low even for you, Potter! How do you know he isn't just trying to use you to escape? How do you know this space isn't secure enough for a one-man breakout?!
"I know what you are thinking, freund. 'How do I know this isn't a trick? Surely there is a spell which prevents him from having removed this wall himself long ago, and he is using my misfortune in being trapped on the other side to escape.' Nein. Dying in an attempt to escape is undignified. I would not sully my own good name in such a ridiculous and futile endeavor. If ever I win my freedom, it will be with the point of a wand at my greatest foes. It will be glorious and redeeming. It will not involve asking a scared little boy to please, oh, please, let me out."
Harry bristled despite himself. "I'm not a little boy."
"No? Little boys can follow instructions and understand simple proclamations. If you remain over there for too long, talking freely as you are, you will lose consciousness and eventually perish. And if Albus Dumbledore truly knows you, he will mourn your senseless loss. Pick a stone, stranger, and pry it free. I will even assist you."
This time the tap, tap, tap on the wall was firmer, and one of the stones the stranger made contact with jiggled noticeably in the dark green wall. Harry would have protested—wanted to protest—but his 'conversation partner' was dead right. There was less air over here. With all the talking and hissing he'd already done, even with how stiffly he was standing and clutching his wand, he already felt more light-headed than he should have felt in any well-ventilated space.
Shite.
He had no choice. Fawkes could teleport anywhere he wished to at will, but one good look at the bird after a hastily-cast Lumos told Harry why he hadn't just flashed them somewhere else safer after whatever urge brought him here. The phoenix was exhausted; the brilliant scarlet and gold of his wings and feathers was dull at the ends of his body, and he too was quivering slightly as he rested on Harry's body. For the first time Harry considered the possibility that Fawkes had only just gotten him away from the lethal magical blast in time—and not without personal consequence. No, he must be injured. He would need time to recover.
Time Harry did not have.
Shite, shite, shite.
He didn't care as much about his own fate—not after willingly stepping into the blast radius of that spell to save his mentor—but he wouldn't let Fawkes die. Just because he could come back didn't mean the act of dying wasn't traumatic. And he'd be a baby again, small and flightless; helpless unless Dumbledore knew where to start looking for him.
He'd also have to camp out next to your dead body.
Gritting his teeth, Harry knelt next to the shuddering stones and grabbed at it. After a few fruitless tugs, some muffled swearing, chipped fingernails, and a bit of magic, he was able to carefully loosen the stone from the wall and pull it free. Dust scattered as it hit the dirt on his side, causing him to cough painfully again; Fawkes crooned sympathetically at his ear.
"Clever boy!" said the man behind the wall, punctuating his words with weak applause. "But don't rest on your laurels just yet. There is still more—much more—for us to do before we save your life."
The work took hours. Or perhaps it didn't, but there was no way for Harry to really be sure. His world quickly diminished to greenish-gray stones, dust clouds and dim light from his wand (which Fawkes held very cautiously in his beak when necessary). Over and over he watched his mysterious companion poke and prod at loose stones in the wall between them, questing until he found one that looked weak enough to dislodge without bringing the whole thing down on them; once he had, then it was Harry's job to coax the damn thing free with his fingers, and with the safest spells that came to mind, and sometimes with threats.
By the time he'd removed a straight line of stones from the wall and set them on his side, he looked a sight. His fingertips were bruised to near-bleeding; his typically-messy hair was tangled worse than usual, and dyed grey by the dirt besides; and his breaths came quick and sharp, despite his best efforts. His mouth was dry and he'd begun to fantasize about draining a goblet of water in five seconds flat.
He never stopped feeling wary of his companion, the mysterious Dark wizard he was working so hard to join on the other side of the wall—especially since something about his words and voice felt so familiar—but he had no other choice but to keep working, since Fawkes was beginning to resemble himself when close to a Burning Day. It helped that the man had not said anything else disturbing. Rather, his conversation mostly consisted of guiding Harry in their task, restricting wand use one moment and demanding it the next, calling for Harry to be careful but not so slow as to be going backwards. Recently, as Harry tired more and more often, that conversation had shifted toward something resembling encouragement.
"Slow and steady, Schatzi. I can hear your breathing from here and it sounds worse than mine!"
"Thanks."
A chortle. "Save your breath for when you see Albus Dumbledore again. He will fuss at me if this place makes you mute."
"I never said I knew Dumbledore that well."
"Certainly you did—just now, and earlier when you confirmed the presence of his phoenix."
Damn. Harry was too tired to protest, though, or feign ignorance. The only thought and feeling he could spare for Dumbledore was a buried warmth, a prolonged yearning for the man to come and rescue him from this mess he'd gotten himself into. Who would've thought trying to die for someone he cared for and failing would lead to so much work?
They worked in tandem a little longer, removing another line of rock, before Harry's throat was claimed once again by a coughing fit.
"Take a rest," his companion ordered. "Tell the bird to sing you an aria."
Fawkes hissed at the stones again; borrowing his indignance, Harry said hoarsely, "I won't order him about. He's not my pet."
"Ah, but he loves you. He surely doesn't wish for you to die. Isn't that so, Fawkes? Surely you have a bit of strength to spare for the boy."
"Don't—" Harry began, not really sure which of them he was addressing; but it was too late. Apparently his well-being was the one thing Fawkes and this man could agree on, for after another moment the former started singing a song he might have picked up at a nursery. It must have been effective, because one moment Harry was leaning against the wall struggling to catch his breath, and the next he was jerking back to awareness as Fawkes' talons squeezed his forearm tightly, while his companion's raspy voice had gone from teasing to troubled.
"Child. Boy. Boy. Wake up. Wake up!"
"I'm up..." Harry rubbed at his eyes. Even with his glasses on, he was starting to see double. "Don't call me that... I'm up."
"Then stay up. What did I tell you about losing consciousness?"
"That I'd die shortly after. But I don't see why you're... so mad... 'twas your idea to have Fawkes sing."
"To sing you a song of strength! Something invigorating, you silly bird, not something to put the lot of us under your spell and spoil our work."
Fawkes didn't even hiss this time. When Harry glanced his way, he noted that some of the sheen had returned to the phoenix's feathers, but he was still looking careworn—and now, a little guilty. He met Harry's eyes and chirped apologetically.
"It's all right," he said, though it was definitely starting to feel like it wasn't—like it wouldn't be, in the end. "It's all right."
"Is it? Are you ready to move more stone then?"
No. "Yeah."
He went back to work at once, ignoring how easily his remaining fingernails broke off and how quickly he started trembling. Along with being the mortal enemy of any set of working lungs, this caved-in bit of the prison wasn't too warm.
A question floated suddenly through the hole in the wall: "What must I call you?"
"Huh?"
The man snorted. "Your name," he clarified, sounding much less angry now. "You told me not to call you 'boy'. Seemed very touchy about it, even. But I have nothing to call you instead."
Giving him a fake name didn't even cross Harry's mind; he was that exhausted. And it probably wouldn't work out anyway. "Harry. Just call me Harry."
"'Harry'. Brief... generic... but fitting. And all the best names are two syllables or fewer—it will do."
Is he critiquing my name? "Do you hear yourself right now?"
"Why yes, I am well-acquainted with the sound of my own voice. In case you had forgotten, only one of us has been trapped in this place overlong."
Right. That reminded him that he still knew next to nothing about the person he was trusting with his life.
"...what did you do to be put in here?"
Yet another laugh hit his ears. For the first time, when next the other spoke, he was able to pinpoint his partner's accent and primary tongue as German. "Ah, child—Harry. I am sure you will find that out when you make it over here and finally cast your eyes upon my face."
"Going to keep me in suspense, huh."
"Yes. Now, enough talk—more work. We are nearly done. You will not falter now."
Bossy, Harry thought mulishly, but didn't dare say.
The moment the last stone fell free of the wall's middle another agonizing hour later, forming a hole just wide enough to climb through, a burst of cold air sailed through and filled Harry's lungs just in time to stave off his fifth or sixth round of coughing. Fawkes trilled triumphantly in his ear as he pocketed his wand and then sagged in place.
"Well done," said the man on the other side, his voice coming through much clearer than it ever had. "Very well done."
Harry didn't answer. Even though there was a little more air available now, he still felt light-headed and worn down, ready to pass out at the slightest provocation. The ache for clean water for his desert-dry throat had also not subsided one bit.
"...you must cross over now," the other prompted after a moment of silence. "Enough has been removed for you to crawl through. Unless we need to move more...?"
"No... this'll work... I'll fit."
"Then come."
"Fawkes first," Harry insisted; and he didn't wait for the stranger's assent. With a few strokes and encouraging words to Fawkes (who was bristling at him now, resisting leaving him behind), he gently maneuvered him through the gap, holding his arms there until the phoenix finally took flight and landed out of view.
"Stupid boy..."
"He risked his life to bring me here. I would've died otherwise."
"Be that as it may, the bird is immortal."
"Yeah?" Harry fired back, heated despite the ongoing danger in wasting his air. "Doesn't mean he can't be hurt, or that dying doesn't hurt him somehow. I've seen Fawkes take a Killing Curse before and it wasn't pretty; I'd rather not see him die again on my watch."
"Oh, very well, if you feel you must be a hero. Just hurry now."
He felt a flicker of renewed suspicion at the harried undertone of those words—but he was so desperate to get out of this cramped space and away from the limited air and lingering magic that he did hurry forward. He took a second to examine the hole they'd made with his eyes and hands, figuring out how best to wedge himself through, before committing himself to the task.
It's a good thing I've always been so skinny.
'Legs first' felt most logical, but that meant Harry might pass out mid-crossing and bash his head on all the stones piled up on this side. Dumbledore probably would go ballistic then, finding him like that. So... 'head-first' it is.
Fawkes chirped impatiently right when Harry got started, and he had to bite back a swear as his head bumped the intact upper part of the wall, knocking his glasses off. His thoughts swam meaninglessly for ten seconds, and he wavered dangerously, but he held tight to the side of the wall and squeezed his eyes shut until the nausea passed.
"...This was meant to be the simple part," the German huffed, shockingly close to his ear—and the next thing Harry knew, two hands had closed around his torso.
"What—"
"Just hold still, Harry," the man ordered. With nothing but a low grunt, he tugged Harry's middle through the gap. The air around him now still tasted a little stale, but the copious amount of it was such a relief that he leaned thoughtlessly into his rescuer.
"I've... got it from here," he breathed.
"Have you? And can you see without those glasses you just lost?"
Blind as a bat, Harry thought but didn't share. Even with his eyes open now, everything near him was just colored or colorless blobs. He could tell by feel that the person holding him was an old man, and glancing up showed him a hint of blue and a spark of silver that was probably hair—but he'd guessed the stranger was old early on.
"...I will take that as a 'no'," he said now as a red blur suddenly flew up uncomfortably close to Harry's face. Something gold and cool and odd-feeling pushed a bit of metal over his nose—my glasses! he thought. The red blur became Fawkes, withdrawing his golden beak cautiously and flapping away from Harry's companion at the earliest opportunity.
"Thank you," Harry rasped to both of them.
"Can you get the rest of your legs through?"
"Yeah." He did so now, and by unspoken agreement the man let him go as soon as he could find his footing. This time when he coughed he didn't feel panic creeping around the edges of the sound.
"Have you lost your wand?" was the next question asked.
It took effort not to look down at his pockets, or twitch a hand toward them. "No, why?"
"Because I can see through to the other side now, and nothing else is there. No cups, no bowls... I know you were using your wand before. I am simply wondering why on earth you did not Conjure water if you were so thirsty."
...Oh.
Shite.
And that was a spell he could cast wandlessly, too.
"...Aguamenti," Harry gasped, feeling like the stupidest wizard in the entire world.
The spell failed.
"What...?"
The earth seemed to wobble under his feet.
He tried again, more firmly—Aguamenti!—but nothing changed. His voice broke faster than the spell did, but only just.
Despair wrapped around him like an old cloak, right on top of disbelief. What was going on? Why wasn't it working? So close, he was so close to a bit of relief in this hellish situation, only for something like this to happen...!
The man started laughing—laughing—as if Harry had just told the funniest joke he'd heard in decades.
"Now why would I still be in here if I could cast magic as easy as that?" he cackled—and Harry felt anger, true anger, spark in his gut as he clenched his fist around his wand.
"You bastard—"
He pulled it out and brought his head up sharply, determined to find a way past whatever charms were keeping him from casting if only so he could hex this arsehole's lips off his face—but the second he got a clear view, horror made him stagger back.
He recognized this man.
The man's hair was indeed silver, but it was shorn short in a way that implied that once there had been quite a lot of it, and that his jailers had taken pleasure in robbing him of that vanity. He had more wrinkles on his hands and arms than his face, and those that were up top seemed to speak to a lifetime of laughing and frowning in turns. On the side of his neck, barely visible, a flower-shaped scar bloomed; no doubt the result of a nasty spell. He was dressed in what could only be called robes if one was a frugal lunatic—though there weren't any holes or tears in the gray fabric, it was plain and thin and didn't seem to provide much protection. Most intimidating, though, were the cold blue eyes Harry had only seen a hint of before—they were piercing, they knew things, and he felt very small and insignificant even as they stared at him with concealed mirth and not ill intent.
They'd never met before, but Harry in recent years had started reading more than he had when he was young and his priorities lay elsewhere. He recognized some of the man's facial features from younger wizarding photographs of him, Most Wanted posters and interviews. And it also helped that he was extremely emotionally close to the one man most responsible for putting him in this prison.
"Gellert Grindelwald."
"Correct!" the former most notorious Dark wizard of all time praised him. "What a brave boy you are, Harry Potter. Even languishing away in prison has not removed most people's fear of me. No one has called me a bastard in at least fifty years. Perhaps fifty-five now? Mmm, it is certainly closer to sixty than it was."
Holy fucking shite.
"You know who I am?"
"Now that I can see you, certainly I do. I could practically taste the traces of Dark magic in your scar through the wall, but I knew not its origin until this moment. But even without that ugly thing—you are often in our papers, nein? And even here my guards whispered about you when you toppled the self-styled Lord Voldemort."
Harry took another step back. "You're—I'm—I'm in Nurmengard right now," he stammered.
"Oho, aren't you clever! No wonder Dumbledore is so fond. He doesn't suffer fools, you know, gladly or otherwise."
Harry's mind swam past the sarcasm. His wand hand was shaking. Of all the places for Fawkes to transport him to when he was on the brink of death—why in the world had he chosen the prison Dumbledore's greatest enemy had fashioned for all his enemies? If Fawkes had been here with Dumbledore before to seal that section of the prison, then surely he knew there was a possibility Harry and Grindelwald might cross paths if he brought Harry here? Surely he knew that the prison's most important occupant would be a danger to Harry whether he was armed or not...
"...but not nearly as clever as you ought to be at your age," Grindelwald went on, with a gusty sigh. "Schatz, I implore you to think back. When you were on that ravaged side of the wall, your magic answered you freely. On this side, it does not. Have you any idea why that might be?"
Oh, Harry thought again, this time with another flash of anger as he realized that Grindelwald had made him look thicker than Dudley twice in the last two minutes. But of course this side would be warded against magic! Harmless water-summoning spells were one thing, but if Grindelwald could have bored his way through the walls with a few digging and blasting spells years ago then they wouldn't be having this conversation.
On the other hand, any charms or wards that had been up to imprison Grindelwald's followers before the failed breakout would have had to be dismantled by expert curse-breakers afterward, before Dumbledore could go in and cast more magic to seal the whole thing up.
Even so—
"...I'm not going back over to the death-trap side to do magic," he growled.
Grindelwald scoffed, waving one dry hand. "Unnecessary. Sticking your wand hand through and bringing it back once the spell is finished should suffice."
That made too much sense not to obey—which, Harry realized as he did just that and felt the full goblet drop smoothly into his other hand, is probably exactly how his followers felt when he explained things. Like he was on another level. No bloody wonder he had so many if he was always making them feel that stupid.
And then his hands were back through the gap, and he had no more inclination to pay attention to his new 'cellmate'. With a little gasp Harry downed the water in only a few gulps; he took several more turns sticking his hands back through to Conjure more water, and more, and more. He wondered if he'd ever take the tasteless little miracle for granted ever again.
"Slow and steady," Grindelwald warned again, but Harry ignored him until some of the water went down the wrong way—and even then he waved off the old man's attempt to close the distance between them.
"You would rather choke?"
"You saved my life," Harry panted, once he was done awkwardly beating on his own back, "but that doesn't mean I trust you. I know all you need to be dangerous is a wand."
One silver eyebrow went up, but Grindelwald didn't really seem bothered. His gaze darted from Harry to Harry's wand, and from there to an empty tin sitting on the sorriest piece of furniture anyone had ever called a 'table'. "It's a shame you didn't arrive until well after lunch. They tend to leave dinner late, here—after fifty-some years it is still an amusing endeavor for them to try and starve me."
"Gotta say, they're doing a pretty good job."
"Hmmph."
For the first time since crossing over, Harry noticed that Grindelwald's "cell" didn't look much like a cell at all. Other than the table, the other furnishings looked halfway comfortable—the bed in the leftmost corner had decent pillows and sheets, there was a worn chair under a single window to his right, and a tiny black shelf nearby held a good number of old books. Unlike most prisons, there weren't any bars between them and a small, nondescript wooden door at the other end of the room. When he walked closer, trying to figure out why his rescuer didn't just pop open the door and make a run for it, he smacked solidly into an intangible wall that glowed blue where he'd made contact. Right. The illusion of freedom, when none really exists.
Fawkes was resting on the floor nearby, furthest away from where Grindelwald stood. He trilled when Harry came close, urging the young man to pick him up—Harry had no idea how he knew that, except that when he knelt and obeyed he got another hair-nuzzle for his service.
"Hey," he murmured to him. "I'm sorry I worried you. But I couldn't let you die over there."
"The undying bird appreciates your sentiment, I'm sure."
Fawkes turned, bristled, and hissed anew, but Harry only sighed as he stood and brought his attention back to his rescuer—his mentor's old enemy. His own potential enemy.
"So what'll it be?" he asked.
Grindelwald's eyebrows drew together. The expression in his blue eyes flickered from 'amused' to 'bewildered'. "Hmm?"
"You saved me, even without knowing who I was. And I've put you in danger destroying some of your wall like that—even with how careful we were, it could still collapse and really hurt you before someone came to help. You've risked your safety. So what do you want in return?"
He didn't say, I'm kind of at your mercy since you could wait until I fall asleep and steal my wand, or All you'd have to do is piss off your guards, drive them off and I might not be found here for days or weeks, or I think I also kind of owe you a wizarding debt now. All of that was true too, but he refused to admit it—or show fear in front of this man.
"Trust does not come easily to you, does it, Harry?" Grindelwald asked in a whisper thick with meaning.
It was Harry's turn to scoff. "If I trusted every person who'd ever done something decent for me, I wouldn't be here."
"Mmm, perhaps not. But I can assure you that at present, I am one wizard you need not fear. Though you nearly died doing so, you did bring me conversation and some amusement. I always repay kindness."
A thrill danced down Harry's spine. "But with what?"
Grindelwald laughed again. Up close, Harry could see how his yellow teeth flashed with the act, how even decades of exposure to the horrendous dust and grime in this prison hadn't quite dulled the sound of his merriment.
"...ah, how you delight me," the old man said eventually, wiping at one eye once his chuckles had ceased. "Such verve. If you must know, Harry, I will ask of you only one price—one I am sure you are already willing to pay."
My wand, Harry thought, clenching his fingers around it, he's going to say he wants to have my wand—
"I want you to call the guards, and tell them to bring Albus Dumbledore here. Tell them an accident brought you to this place, and here you will stay as my cellmate forever unless he breaks his silence and comes to speak with me."
A Harry who was less tired, dirty, hungry and fearful might have laughed at how high-pitched the guards' yelps were when they finally decided to heed his shouting and check on their sole prisoner, only to find him sharing space with a phoenix and (according to Witch Weekly) one of Britain's Most Fanciable Famous Wizards Under Twenty. As it was, though, the real Harry only had the strength to sigh, summarize his predicament and beg them to Floo Dumbledore as soon as possible.
Grindelwald, on the other hand, sat on his bed and gifted his audience with wheezing little laughs the entire time.
"So glad you're enjoying this," Harry said hoarsely. He was perched awkwardly in front of the hole he'd made in the wall so the guards wouldn't see it and ask him any stupid questions. The only person he intended to explain himself fully to was his mentor.
"Enjoying? Why, the word does not suit. I haven't had this much fun in decades."
Shaking his head, Harry hugged Fawkes closer, taking advantage of the passive warmth he gave off even at rest. There was no point trying to understand his 'roommate's' mind: he switched between 'amused spectator' and 'demanding dictator' in the blink of an eye, with few warning cues.
"Why do you want to speak with Dumbledore?" he asked, despite his instincts warning him to keep his nose out of it. There were probably a million things that potential conversation could be about, and probably none of them to do with him.
"For the same reason any man might wish to speak to another man he holds in high regard," Grindelwald replied mysteriously. "Barring the break-in, it has been fifty years. We have much to discuss."
"How many times do you need to 'discuss' having your arse kicked in a wizard's duel five decades ago?"
"Such flippancy does not suit you, Harry. And it will not earn you any further answers from me."
Harry frowned, but didn't push the matter. The guards had come back (with no news) and were goggling at the pair of them bantering in the cell; he felt like a new exhibit in a zoo. With gritted teeth and great effort, he redirected his focus toward getting them back on track getting him out of this bloody place. And just like before, Europe's Dark Lord smirked and chortled the whole time.
"...Did you truly not know who I was before seeing me?" Grindelwald asked after the end of his latest round of merriment. He sounded surprised and a little offended at the same time.
"I knew of you, but it's not like I've ever met you before or heard your voice. You've kind of been locked up in another country my whole life."
The Dark Lord scoffed. "Yet Albus must have mentioned me to you, if you are as close as I suspect."
"He's mentioned you, yeah." It had taken many years, but Harry remembered the short-but-intimate conversation about enemies, family, intoxication and misplaced trust. "Briefly."
He could tell Grindelwald wanted to scowl—but clearly the man had perfect control over his facial features, since they just went blank instead. Eventually he changed the subject.
"Tell me what transpired before you arrived here. Where were you intending to go?"
Harry felt his ears redden. "Er, 'on'?"
"Bitte?"
He stammered for a bit, then went on when the old man provided a translation for his exclamation. "There was a delegation of headmasters and alumni meeting to discuss inter-school cooperation—from Uagadou, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, Ilvermorny, among others. I was asked to attend an an alumni representative for Hogwarts... we were attacked by terrorists barely two hours into the meeting."
Grindelwald hissed, "Non-magicals?" and his tone sounded uglier than any previous one while he said it.
"No, wizards. A coven of Dark witches, actually. One of them had created a spell that could condense and detonate pure magic—kind of like a Muggle bomb, just smaller."
"An assassination attempt, then. Likely funded by those who don't like the power and reach our bastions of education have in wizarding society. ...But the magical schools are secretive about their movements. They couldn't have known you would be there."
"They weren't aiming for me," Harry said grimly. "She sent the spell toward Professor Dumbledore—I just pushed him out of the way."
It was quiet for a moment, after a single mournful note from Fawkes.
"Foolish boy," Grindelwald breathed, his eyes glittering. "You would have died if not for his phoenix."
"I know that. Why do you think I tried so hard to get Fawkes over here where there's air?"
"You have spectacularly missed my point. For the young to sacrifice themselves is inefficient and foolhardy. Saving Albus' life at the cost of your own—do you not think he would grieve? Would not raze the continent to try and avenge your loss? And what of your friends?"
"They know me. They would understand," Harry insisted, though he knew they only half-would at best. "Dumbledore didn't see her spell. He wouldn't have stood a chance—I had to save him. I don't care if you hate him for putting you in here—losing him wasn't an option."
Grindelwald stood suddenly; his face was flushed and he looked angry. It took effort for Harry not to flinch.
"My feelings on Albus Dumbledore are irrelevant—though if you must know, I am pleased the cowards who aimed for his back were unsuccessful. What I am telling you is not to be so ridiculous. Albus is a powerful man, an asset our society did not earn—but he is old, and he values children above all else. —Don't tell me again that you aren't a child, how old are you—seventeen? eighteen?—ah, you see? Barely out of the cradle of childhood yourself. I am nearly two years Albus' junior and we are six times your age; our time has come, and nearly gone. You were his student. He would not put his life over yours."
"I don't care if he wouldn't!" Harry stood too, now just as confused as he was angry. If Grindelwald wasn't overjoyed at the idea of Dumbledore dying, why then was he so worked up over Harry doing all in his power to prevent that from happening? His feelings darted from his lips before he could stop them: "You—you just don't understand. Losing Dumbledore wasn't an option for me. I won't let him be killed if I can help it, I—"
"...Enough."
Harry did actually flinch this time. Grindelwald's voice was no longer rising, no longer furious, but he still had cut Harry off with a murmur. In another moment he rose from his tiny bed and crossed the cell, backing Harry into the structurally-insecure wall. Fawkes rose from the dirt, shrieking a protective battle-cry, but the old man batted him away dismissively—yet so firmly that he was sent end-over-end in the air for a few feet. Harry tightened his already-painful grip on his wand, but Grindelwald's icy gaze didn't even seem to be seeking it. No—he seemed more concerned with staring deeply into Harry's own eyes, cutting his confidence away without words.
"So," he said softly, "it is not only a one-way bond."
"What are you—back up—"
"No," Grindelwald declined. He reached out with one thin-fingered hand and lifted Harry's chin up, examining him like a Healer or a Muggle scientist. "You are a curious thing. A boy hero propped up by professionals and incompetents alike. A child who earned his childhood praise only recently, yet still has the ear of my old friend—and my greatest foe."
"I said back up—"
"Hush. I knew Albus must care for you when I heard his phoenix beyond my wall... but I did not know you cared just as strongly for him. That you would risk your very life to protect one who needs no protection. This is interesting." His index finger left Harry's chin, traveling down his jaw and neck to settle at his pulse point. "Very interesting."
Harry was frozen against the stone. He had no idea what Grindelwald wanted—what he would do with this information he had poked and prodded at Harry constantly to receive and confirm. He's stuck here, he thought desperately, what does it matter if he knows Dumbledore's important to me? Or I'm important to him? Naturally his thoughts skewed darker as he reared back and the wall dug into his skin. Will he use that to hurt us? How can he?
"You'd better let me go. I won't help you hurt Dumbledore—and I won't tell you anything else about him."
Grindelwald purred: "On the contrary, you have told me more than enough."
Shite.
"I'm so pleased Albus' bird brought you here. Whether it was by accident or by design... you have been the most wonderful bait."
"You don't scare me," Harry blurted, when Grindelwald's finger didn't lift even an inch off his pulse. He forced his face and voice to be indignant, bold, confident. "You're trying to, but it's not working. And it won't."
"Oh, Harry." Low-pitched laughter made a sour puff of air drift over his face, quick and mocking. "Schatzi. There's no need for you to lie to me."
"Release him, Gellert."
A burst of phoenix song from behind Grindelwald matched the explosion of hope that had just gone off in Harry's nerves. His head jerked wildly to the right, and recognition made his heart leap.
Albus Dumbledore was standing tall and proud just beyond the invisible blue wall, with his wand out and his eyes fixed on the two prisoners. He was still dressed in the same fine midnight-blue robes he'd been wearing at the conference, but they looked rumpled—and so too did his long silver hair and beard. Even Harry's middling eyesight spotted new exhausted lines around the headmaster's eyes, and a hint of redness around the blue irises—and knowing he was most likely the cause of both made guilt squirm in his belly.
"Professor," he breathed, putting all his relief and apology into the title.
Meanwhile Grindelwald surprised him yet again—he didn't frown, or snarl, or otherwise act like his plans or intentions had been unfairly derailed. In fact he swiveled so easily away from Harry that the young man knew he had been almost entirely forgotten.
"Albus! Finally, finally. Truly it is a pleasure to see you again after all this time. How long has it been, thirty years since the last sighting—?"
"I will indulge your request for small talk when you have held up your end of the bargain," Dumbledore interrupted, his voice cool. "Release Harry into my custody at once."
"You have grown no less demanding in your old age," Grindelwald sighed. His eyes sparkled as he turned one last time to face his temporary cellmate. "Well met, Harry Potter: Boy Who Lived, defeater of Voldemort, bright little spark. For brightening up an old man's dreary life sentence, I allow you now to join your mentor." Then he stepped aside, leaving the space clear for Harry to pass him.
Harry hesitated—he wasn't sure this wasn't a trick, wasn't sure how Dumbledore would get him out, wasn't sure of much at all—but when Grindelwald tilted his head he darted forward, quick as a Snitch, stopping only to gather and comfort Fawkes on his way to the magical barrier.
"Wait there, please," Dumbledore murmured as Harry got close enough for the magic in the wall to lift the hairs on the back of his neck. His deep voice had warmed considerably with the shift from one subject to another; Harry felt his whole body relax, comforted now in a way even Fawkes' songs had been unable to manage.
"Professor, I'm so sorry—I didn't mean for this to happen—I never thought Fawkes would—"
"It's all right. I am not angry with either of you—simply glad that you are alive. Hush now; I must free you. This will take precise spellwork."
Swallowing, Harry stood still and waited. He kept an eye on Grindelwald, but the man did not move any closer to him—his attention was fixed on Dumbledore, who was tracing invisible patterns in the blue wall with his fingers. Fawkes chirped encouragement as his partner worked.
"Aha!" Dumbledore said at length. He tapped the space in front of Harry's nose with his wand; the wall became temporarily solid and visible, then rippled like water disturbed by a stone. "The key moves, you see," he said brightly to Harry, who did not see at all. "Step through now, just here. Be careful not to pass through anywhere else or you will be trapped until the walls eventually shatter with Gellert's death."
"Charming imagery," Grindelwald said dryly.
Harry shivered, hesitating once more at the edge of freedom. The moving wall was chipping away at what was left of his confidence, already stretched thin after such a trying afternoon.
Behind him he heard, "For the love of Magic, please do not insist again on sending the immortal bird through first."
Well. That annoyed him so much that he steeled his nerves and (with one last backward glare) marched straight through the indicated gap in the barrier, determined to finally get as far away from Gellert Grindelwald as was humanly possible. The space around him immediately became a compressing tube colder than his Aunt Petunia's old freezer; he gasped and brought in air so frigid he almost missed the dusty prison he'd left behind.
Almost, but not quite.
Undaunted, he kept walking forward, heading unerringly toward the dim warmth he felt on the other end of this mysterious passage. And he didn't let go of Fawkes until they had passed safely through to the other side—back into the real world of green stone, grey dust and bantering old men.
"—rhaps he got lost in there. Even I didn't let children wander through my Dimensional Keys, Albus—"
"—will be fine—he is of age, and he has an uncanny sense of direction. —Ah, here he is now!"
Harry staggered for the briefest of moments—but for once he didn't protest when Dumbledore moved forward to steady him, pressing Harry against his side. Nausea would have bowled him over otherwise. "Please don't ever make me do that again," he moaned.
"Hopefully there should be no need." Dumbledore reached out and smoothed down Harry's hair once, twice, thrice. His voice stayed warm and soft. "Are you all right? Have you any serious injuries?"
"No—I'm fine, Fawkes protected me from the worst of the blast. But he needs help, sir, badly."
"A bit of this and a good night's sleep should put him right as rain," the headmaster declared, pulling a small gold vial out of his robes. Fawkes perked up immediately in Harry's arms, leaning forward as the vial was unstoppered and opening his long golden beak. Three scarlet drops fell into his mouth. The transformation was immediate; Harry felt a burst of warmth travel through his skin wherever he and Fawkes were touching, and before his eyes the phoenix's feathers seemed to regain some of their shine.
"Whoa."
"Now he should be able to take you home," Dumbledore said; then paused, and made Fawkes a little bow. "If you don't mind, of course."
The phoenix trilled agreeably. Harry did not.
"Home? Whoa, wait—"
"You need healing," Dumbledore interjected. His eyes had taken in Harry's injuries in two blinks, and now he was taking charge in the way he so often had when Harry was a boy. "I suspected you would downplay your injuries, but fortunately you remain a poor liar... I am sending you to my home with Fawkes at once, Harry. You need rest."
"I'm fine! A little banged up, sure, but that's only because I had to dig through a wall with bloody Grindelwald so I wouldn't die of oxygen deprivation—and how are you going to get that story if you send me—"
"Harry. I will happily debrief you when you have recovered to my satisfaction. In the meantime, I am sure Gellert will be more than willing to give me his version of events."
"Happily!" Grindelwald confirmed in sing-song tones.
Still Harry protested, feeling unease stir under his skin. He didn't want Dumbledore to be alone with Grindelwald, even if they were separated by a newly reformed magical dimensional-tunnel-wall. "Sir—"
"Ah, ah, ah. Listen to Albus, little Liebling. Or are you more focused on losing a chance to eavesdrop on two old friends? Surely you didn't think our words were for your delicate ears."
Dumbledore sighed the sigh of a long-suffering man. "Gellert..."
"What? Your boy might be endearing, but he is not subtle. Though he is rather soft for an adult."
"Gellert, please. Don't needle Harry."
"I wasn't—I'm not delicate or soft—!"
"Harry." The volume of Dumbledore's voice didn't rise, but the intensity did; it brought his protests to a quick halt.
He looked desperately at his mentor though—a man that he'd twice today thought he'd never see again. That he'd never again have tea with, or wacky adventures that ended up splashed across page one of the Daily Prophet. Someone so important that Harry couldn't even bear to lose him to a man who didn't seem at all interested in taking him away.
"I wish to know that you are safe," Dumbledore said softly, carding his hand through Harry's dusty, messy hair once more. "Safe and unreachable by any of the forces that nearly ended your life today. You know that I do not doubt your skill or resilience, yes?"
"...Yes."
"Then please, allow me this peace of mind. Let Fawkes take you home. Your friends are waiting there for you. When Gellert and I have finished speaking, I will join you."
Harry dropped his gaze, not looking at either of them. He took a deep breath (thinking for the first time of Ron and Hermione and the rest, and what they must be going through) and nodded without speaking. The way Dumbledore squeezed his shoulder almost made his acquiescence worth it.
"Off you go then," Dumbledore murmured, though to which of them Harry couldn't be sure. He let go of Harry's shoulder, and in almost that same moment Fawkes fluttered to where his master's hand had been and spread his scarlet wings wide.
Fire erupted in a circle around Harry's feet and grew upward, blazing hot but somehow harmless. It was the same blanket that had covered him hours ago, right before the magical bomb could turn him to ash—he knew he only had seconds before he would be at Dumbledore's home, a secluded little cottage in the mountains that now must be full of his anxious friends. Harry looked up and met Dumbledore's gaze—his mentor smiled reassuringly through the flames, mouthing Go. He steeled his resolve—we will see each other again, this isn't a mistake, I should go—and relaxed fully at last into the sensation of phoenix travel.
The last he glimpsed of Nurmengard Prison for some time was the sight of Dumbledore swiveling, turning to approach the newly-transparent blue wall, and Grindelwald striding confidently forward to meet him on the other side. Before fire roared in his ears and drowned out all other sounds, he thought he caught the very start of what must have been a strange conversation indeed:
"You know, Albus, I could have sworn we agreed we would adopt a child together one day. Don't you think it was rather rude of you to pick one without me?"
Thanks for reading!
Translations:
Ja — yes
Freund — friend (male)
Nein — no
Schatz/Schatzi — literally "(little) treasure", sometimes used as a term of endearment similar to the US "honey"
Bitte? — pardon? sorry?
Liebling — sweetheart, darling, and several other equivalents