Author Note

Welcome to Harry Potter: Rise of a Great Wizard! This story was born from a prompt on the hpfanfiction subreddit, exploring what would happen if Gellert Grindelwald became Harry's mentor. It's since evolved into a multi-year journey of forgotten magic, ancient civilizations, and Harry's quest for ultimate power.

Expect a colder, more calculating Harry, with intricate world-building that spans well beyond Hogwarts. Voldemort is just one of many challenges. All 7 years are planned, with many key scenes already drafted. For the first school year (through Chapter 18), I will post as fast as I can edit them. After that chapters will be posted at a slower cadence.

Outside Nurmengard, 2 November 1945

The air crackled with magic as spells exploded across the desolate landscape. In the distance, the crumbling remains of what had once been a fortress stood as a monument to ruin. Dumbledore moved swiftly, casting a streak of silver light toward his old friend. But Grindelwald barely flinched, deflecting the attack with a lazy flick of his wand.

Dumbledore's breathing was labored, his body worn from the effort of battle. Yet Grindelwald, standing tall, looked untouched by fatigue. His movements were graceful, deliberate, as though the duel was merely a distraction.

"Is this how you mean to stop me, Albus?" Grindelwald's voice rang out, resonating with a casual authority. "By flinging magic like a schoolboy in a tantrum? You disappoint me. I thought you understood what we set out to achieve."

Dumbledore said nothing, his jaw clenched in determination. Each spell he cast was met with effortless resistance. His attacks, once precise and full of power, began to slow. Grindelwald had always been formidable, but now, with the Elder Wand in his grasp, he was beyond anything Dumbledore could match.

Another blast of fire shot toward Grindelwald, only to fizzle into nothing with a flick of his wrist. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Enough," Grindelwald said softly, lowering his wand. "This battle was never going to be decided by brute force. You know this as well as I do."

Dumbledore hesitated, his wand still raised. He knew Grindelwald was right—there was no defeating him through magic alone. With a sigh, he lowered his wand but remained vigilant.

"And so," Dumbledore began, his voice calm but firm, "you continue down this path? You would see Europe torn apart to build your vision of the future?"

Grindelwald's expression hardened, though his tone remained almost gentle. "You misunderstand me, as you always have. Europe is already broken—shackled by its own ignorance. I do not seek to tear it apart; I seek to free it. I seek to elevate it."

"And at what cost, Gellert?" Dumbledore's voice rose, filled with urgency. "The lives lost, the chaos, the destruction—are these the hallmarks of your new world? What good is power if it leaves nothing left to rule? You believe yourself above morality, beyond good and evil, but in doing so, you've left behind humanity itself."

Grindelwald's eyes gleamed, his expression unshaken by Dumbledore's words. "Humanity? I seek to transcend it, Albus. The strong must rise above the limitations of the weak. Morality is a cage, a relic for those who lack the vision to see beyond their narrow lives. Power is not a matter of governance or rule—it is the birthright of those strong enough to seize it."

He took a step forward, his voice taking on a fervent edge. "You talk of humanity as though it were something worth preserving. But what has it achieved? Wars, division, suffering. The masses cling to their small lives, content with mediocrity, and call it virtue. But we, Albus—we are not like them. We were born to reshape this world, to forge a new order, unburdened by the chains of the past."

Dumbledore's eyes darkened, and he shook his head slowly. "Your vision is not new, Gellert. It is as old as tyranny itself. You speak of strength, of rising above morality, but power without restraint is nothing but destruction. To deny the dignity of those you call weak is to deny the very thing that makes us human."

Grindelwald smirked, a glint of amusement in his gaze. "Ah, yes, dignity. Another hollow word, conjured to comfort the powerless. You hide behind it because you fear the truth—that some of us are meant to rise higher, to shape the world as we see fit. The rest—those you pity—are nothing more than instruments of that destiny."

Dumbledore's face grew stern, his voice steady. "What you call instruments, I call lives, Gellert. Flesh and blood, with thoughts, with fears, with dreams. Your vision cannot see beyond your own will. And yet, you dare to call yourself a savior?"

Grindelwald's smile faded into something colder, more calculated. "I call myself what I must. The world is not built on sentiment, Albus. It is built on power. And it is those strong enough to wield it who define the future."

"And yet you've grown tired of wielding it, haven't you?" Dumbledore's voice was quieter now, probing. "The very followers you once inspired—they do not follow your vision anymore. They crave only the power you offer, and in doing so, they have become the very thing you sought to transcend. You are no longer leading a revolution, Gellert. You are watching the world burn."

For the first time, Grindelwald's expression shifted, a flicker of weariness crossing his face. "They followed the wand, not the vision. They lacked the courage to see what I see. Perhaps," he paused, his voice softening, "perhaps I have grown weary of leading those who will never understand."

Dumbledore pressed further. "Then end it. Lay down your wand, walk away from this madness. You cannot force the world to be what you wish it to be."

Grindelwald was silent for a long moment. His eyes flicked to the Elder Wand, then back to Dumbledore. "You want me to simply walk away? What guarantee do you have that I will not return when it suits me?"

Dumbledore's gaze never wavered. "I do not trust you, Gellert. That is why I need more than words."

Grindelwald regarded him for a long moment before a small, resigned smile appeared. "You doubt my word. I suppose you must."

Slowly, deliberately, Grindelwald focused his gaze on the Elder Wand. He turned it over in his hand, as though weighing the world itself, and then, with a single, graceful motion, he laid it on the ground at Dumbledore's feet.

"There. I said I would lay down my wand, and I have. Take it. Let the world believe you have defeated me."

Dumbledore glanced down at the wand, his heart heavy with the weight of what it represented. The most powerful wand in existence, surrendered so easily. He knelt, fingers closing around its hilt, but even as he held it, he felt no triumph.

"And what happens when they ask where you've gone?" Dumbledore's voice was low, a whisper of doubt.

Grindelwald stepped back, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Then give them something to find. Craft the illusion of my defeat. Let them believe I am locked away in Nurmengard, a broken man, beaten by the great Albus Dumbledore. The world craves heroes. Give them what they desire."

Dumbledore frowned. "An illusion? You would have me perpetuate a lie?"

"Not a lie, Albus. A symbol." Grindelwald's voice was smooth, persuasive. "A story that they need. You and I both know that the truth is irrelevant to them. They will believe what they are told, and in believing, they will find peace. You will be their hero, and I—" He paused, the smile fading into something more serious. "I will disappear."

Dumbledore's mind raced, but he knew, deep down, that Grindelwald was right. Without this, the war would never truly end. His followers would continue, seeking their leader, believing in his return. The world needed closure, even if it was an illusion.

Finally, Dumbledore nodded. "Very well. We will craft this illusion. But understand this, Gellert: even if the world believes you defeated, I will never stop watching."

Grindelwald's smile returned, enigmatic and calm. "Of course, Albus. Of course."

Together, they worked in silence, weaving the illusion around Nurmengard. The stone walls flickered and shimmered as the enchantment took hold. In the heart of the prison, Grindelwald's image appeared—a feeble man, broken and defeated, forever imprisoned in his own fortress.

Dumbledore stood back, his gaze lingering on the illusory figure. The world would believe this lie, but the weight of it settled heavy on his shoulders. He bent down and picked up the Elder Wand, feeling its cold power in his hand. And yet, there was no sense of victory.

Grindelwald turned, already walking away into the distance.

"You know this isn't the end," Dumbledore said quietly, his voice almost a whisper.

Grindelwald paused, his gaze drifting to the horizon before he turned slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Endings are mere illusions, Albus. The world turns, and what we call an end is simply the beginning of another cycle. Power, like time, never truly fades—it only changes hands."

He held Dumbledore's gaze for a moment longer, then turned away and disappeared into the deepening shadows of the night.