Heavy rain awaits us on the other side, lit up by pale lanterns that show us the way up to the castle.
Nurmengard is a fortress, we couldn't possibly have apparated any closer without injuries – nothing less was to be expected – but in my current state, the journey further up there exhausts me just by the sight of it.
The air is thin up in the Austrian Alps, we're closer to heaven. And yet, by no means are angels calling to me.
Bloodstreams, dripping down from the red on your hands …
"I already see quite a few Dementors up there," Dumbledore quietly muses, peeking into the distance of the night.
"They can't be waiting for me tonight," I mumble, still breathing heavily from the apparation. "Now let's get it over with …"
"Oh, so you wish to walk?" He gives me a mock-smile.
"Spells are unlikely to work here I'd gather."
"On you go then, Tom – exercise in the fresh air will do you good while the darkness calls. You're not afraid of Dementors, too – so enjoy your walk!"
"What the hell –" As if the very word stung me, I can't help but flinch. "What are you planning?" I force myself to grumble as calmly as I can.
"One could almost think you never grew up in the Muggle world. Don't you hear the voices?"
"I hear the other world screaming at me," I snap at him. "Increasingly louder, but apart from that –"
"Ah, of course, well … I only meant voices from a pub that must be very close by. I'm sure we can find a coachman who will help us. A lot of farmers live here."
"You wish to use an Unforgivable Curse?" I ask in astonishment. "You?"
"No, Tom, of course not." He sighs while shaking his head, pushing me to move along with him. "Why a curse like that when we can pay a poor man?"
"Sure, I forgot," I whisper, a piercing pain throbbing through my body. "You always had the means to compensate financial shortfalls, even back in the orphanage …"
"If you made peace with your father, you wouldn't have to worry about that either, Tom."
"I'm incredibly fine on my own, he can keep his paper money," I retort. "Under normal circumstances, it would hardly be necessary to bribe a coachman …"
"As mentioned, you have yourself to blame for that."
"I almost forgot that since you last mentioned it …"
Our stimulating conversation is over for now, even once we find ourselves in the carriage that Dumbledore proceeded to organize.
He's lost in his thoughts, but I know he cannot quite decide whether it's satisfaction or pity to see me as vexed as I am, all while I try to suppress any sign of my suffering in vain.
"Gellert used to complain about those headaches back then," he tells me at some point.
"Are you sure he only referred to it as plain 'headache'?" I force out. "The prefrontal cortex and my medulla oblongata are about to explode if we hit yet another bump in the road …"
"Well, that's because you wished to sacrifice half of your soul to the underworld, as discussed," Dumbledore starts again, just as we suddenly come to a halt.
As he opens the door for us, the coachman probably tells him in a whisper that he will not ride any further.
"Dankeschön, mein Herr," Dumbledore says in German – even I understand that much – and compliments me out of the carriage. "End of the line, no more bumps to come …"
"Thrilling," I moan, shooting a reproachful glance at him as though it was all his fault.
The rest of the way we simply walk – even though I'm reminded of all the nights after the rituals where I had to drag myself out of the Chamber of Secrets.
Until we make out a silhouette in a high window of the main building, stretching from the floor almost all the way up to the top of the tower. As if by magic, the high gate opens and the wind practically carries us into the high halls of Nurmengard.
"I knew you'd come here tonight," Gellert Grindelwald whispers. His velvet burgundy coat swings along with every calculated step of his heavy boots, he's approaching us with Artemis and Apollo in tow. "But I'd have bet the Elder Wand that you'd come alone." He glances up at Dumbledore, almost in fascinated disbelief, until he forbids the dogs from growling at us with just a wave of his hand. "You've gotten old, Al …"
"Wise too," Dumbledore claims, "since I'm not trying to stay young so much …"
A dig that briefly causes Grindelwald to smile, even if skepticism quickly flashes across his face while he circles around Dumbledore and me like a hyena.
"You didn't destroy it, did you? To come tonight, forcing us to bow to each other?"
"That's what you would have done, old friend," Dumbledore says, smiling in a mixture of wistfulness and fatalism. "But you should know me better than that …"
"That would've been brilliant," I whisper to myself, as I, too, think about the opportunity. But Dumbledore would never play dirty, and gain an advantage in such way.
What a pity …
"You haven't been able to break the pact yet, huh?" Grindelwald assumes, winking at me. "Isn't that right?"
"You should know," Dumbledore speaks again, "that I would never simplify our duel in such a crude way."
"Because I can hardly hear myself thinking tonight?" Grindelwald grins, the air is burning. "How long has it been, Albus? No, don't say it! Too long! Have you already forgotten who always won back then? Even with demons in my head, I'd have no reservations."
"So obviously it's been too long," Dumbledore calmly replies, almost in thoughts. "Since it seems you have forgotten that I usually won. But never mind – I'm not here because of you, as you can imagine."
"The poor boy is utterly pale, yes," he sneers, giving me a look in obvious mock-pity – even though he himself looks anything but healthy tonight … "You hear them, the voices," he then assumes, closer to madness than ever.
"You've been hearing them for years, haven't you?" I retort, trying to remain as composed as possible. "Every year, always peaking in this night."
He glares at me for a heartbeat long, then he simply walks ahead with his dogs, calling over his shoulder, "Follow me."
"Come on, after you," Grindelwald says. He gestures for me to go first as his magic opens the heavy iron hinges of the door to his reception hall. Artemis and Apollo gallop in, and a look after them reveals Nurmengard's splendor inside.
Lots of dark wood, paneled ceilings, cold stone floors, walls full of high bookshelves and meter-long tapestries wherever we look, but effortly impressive are the huge windows to all sides. What seems so narrow out there is much larger from the inside of the high halls we're about to enter.
Especially since it's brightly lit though old glass, by another full moon on the last day of October 1944. It's eerie shimmer competes with hundreds of candles and a huge chandelier high above us. All like a silent reminder of that fateful night in May, when I made a decision that – as I now realize – had consequences …
"What are you waiting for?" Grindelwald asks. "Move! Follow the dogs …"
"What are you afraid of?" I retort, irritated by the very idea of him telling me what to do. "I'd stab you in the back on a metaphorical level at most."
He just dismissively shakes his head. "Go on! There are three snakes waiting for you – even if, for once, none of them can take on that very form …"
"Who's here?" I ask in surprise.
"Queenie and Vivian, like every year, it's been like that for a long time. At my … let's call it a request … at my request. Along with Vinda. But she is – as you know – dead by now."
"What do you need three witches for?"
"Don't you know the legends about the Greek Moira?"
"You can't be serious …" I groan in exasperation. "Who's to balance out Vinda's missing magic?"
When he gives me a delighted smile, I know I'm about to conjure up composure – or a death curse.
"Oh, don't look at me like that, Tom." He grins, darkly intent. "I have just as little patience as you tonight, bet on that. But we have to have a bit of fun, too …"
"Who's here?" I urge.
"You know who is," he all but whispers.
He doesn't have to ask me to go on again – I haste through the high gate with suppressed rage, only to run into the sight of Queenie, Vivian and Harper. Right in front of the huge fireplace in the lower part of the hall, and I complain to Grindelwald at once.
"How dare you –"
"You'll be grateful soon!" he snaps at me, obviously struggling with his own restlessness as he forces himself to close his eyes in concentration. Then, wide awake, he says, "It takes three witches you can trust. I didn't have too many of those at hand, as you may be aware."
"As though you could still trust Vivian and Queenie!" I protest. "As though you could trust a witch that made no secret of her contempt for you since you indirectly insulted her family with almost everything you said and stand for!"
"You trust her," he whispers, giving me a joyless smile. "You also trust Queenie and Vivian. That's enough for tonight, for both of us …"
"Very interesting how various dependencies have developed," Dumbledore dryly remarks, walking past us both ever so cheerful to greet Queenie. Apparently he already knows Vivian as well, and Harper gets a rather fatherly smirk.
"Were you kidnapped, Ms. Sullivan? Despite the security of Hogwarts?"
"I secretly followed Tom," she admits, eyeing the dogs a tad anxiously from a safe distance. "And that's when I met Vivian in Hogsmeade, just before you suddenly disappeared with Tom at Mr Tadpole's."
"So Gellert sent Vivian to organize a third witch," he speculates, nodding. "What an amazing plan!"
"Better than all of yours for sure," Grindelwald claims, groaning as he sits down on a chair right in front of the high fireplace. "But children, make yourselves comfortable – hell is about to break loose, after all."
Faster than you think …
"Come on, Tom, don't be mad," Vivian sighs, shrugging as she looks at me, "you know the principle – the end justifies the means."
Queenie just nods hastily as I finally start moving again.
"Damn it, Harper," I hiss as I pause next to her. "What were you thinking?"
"Should I've calmly played chess with Myrtle?"
"We'll talk about that …"
She puts her hands on her hips and glares at me. "I'd very much welcome that, yes!"
"Vivian," I groan straight on, "how could you allow that –"
"Whatever you wish to accuse me of, wait until the witching hour – 3 am in the morning," she firmly cuts me off. "I will only accept criticism after that."
"Are you being serious?" I snap at her.
"I am dead serious."
"It will be rather unpleasant if you're already hearing voices," Queenie whispers to me, clearly worried. "I was afraid this would happen …"
"You were right indeed," Vivian quietly chuckles, rolling her eyes. "How many times do I have to admit it?"
Queenie pouts. "I would rather have been wrong."
"Where are my manners, children – are you thirsty?" Grindelwald asks in a sudden burst of hospitality as he stares into the yellow flames in front of him. "Or hungry?"
"I'd quite enjoy a midnight meal," Dumbledore claims – probably just to provoke our host.
"Absolutely not," Queenie mumbles, Vivian and I also shake our heads.
"Ms Sullivan," Dumbledore regards her with big eyes, "would you like to join me? A little soup perhaps?"
Harper so wants to refuse, but eventually, though reluctantly, she nods. "A soup sounds interesting …"
"If it's not too much trouble, Gellert," Dumbledore meekly adds.
"Only the Non-magiques have trouble with such things," Grindelwald finds, winking at Harper. "We, on the other hand, use our magic, don't we?"
"I've changed my mind," she acidly announces. "Keep the soup …"