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Grindelwald watched as Quinn disappeared down the stairs. He sighed. The plan to invoke sympathy had failed.

“I wonder who he really is,” he muttered. His seer blood was far from perfect— it was already a surprise that he was able to get a name. But having known the name and face, he couldn’t help but wonder more about the person named Quinn West. “Oh well, maybe I’ll get to meet him afterward,” he sighed while glancing towards the small window.

His prison started to shake. The brick shook off old dust, his feet felt tremors, and the debris rained on his old nest head. Grindelwald walked to the edge of his cell— his knees were tired from standing— and sat down on his thin, wet cot, and got to staring at the small window, the only source of natural light that ever graced his body, but also from where the cold mountain winds came which tortured his joints night after night.

The window suddenly darkened, and a black mist came pouring into his cell, spreading to the ceiling. The mist stuck to the top, bubbling and freezing simultaneously. Grindelwald watched it calmly with his blue eyes, studying with curiosity. The mist sank to the floor with a waterfall and coagulated into a humanoid figure, giving shape to a lean and tall man with slit-like red eyes, a flat nose, a bald head, ghostly white skin wearing a loose black robe on his body.

“Grindelwald,” spoke the unnatural man.

Grindelwald smiled with a bare grin, “Voldemort. I knew you’d be coming.”

Fifty-three years after his defeat, Grindelwald found himself not alone in his prison cell; the prison had been infiltrated by the newest iteration Dark Lord. He found it strange having someone this close while not being separated by bars. He wanted to get up and touch Voldemort; he couldn’t do it with Quinn knowing that if he tried, the prison of his own creation would retaliate. Grindelwald internally sighed. It wasn’t like he could peacefully touch Voldemort without getting cursed with some horrid magic that his body couldn’t bear, as it was now.

“Look at you, so frail and. . . weak,” said Voldemort with a mocking sneer. “Defeated by your enemy, jailed inside your prison created to hold your enemies. What an insult— a stain on your accomplishments.”

“And you were killed by a little babe. I will let you decide which is more of a stain on accomplishments,” smiled Grindelwald.

The sneer fell from Voldemort’s face, his red pupils darkening as if a shot of blood had been injected into them. “I will kill that little babe, but you,” he looked Grindelwald up and down, “can’t even stand against Dumbledore. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of the old fool for you— so in return, you tell me where the Elder Wand is.”

Grindelwald’s eyes threatened to widen, but he pulled on the reigns known as Occlumency to keep his expression to the carefree— “mad”— smile.

“The Elder Wand. . . ah, the Elder Wand. . . of course, the Elder Wand,” Grindelwald’s smiled as if listening to something amusing. “No wonder you came to the humble abode. You can’t defeat Albus with your own power, so you want the help of a wand that’ll push you over him. . . how frail. . . and weak.”

Voldemort’s mouth pursed into a thin white line. “Tell me where it is, Grindelwald.”

Grindelwald laughed again as if hearing a joke.

Voldemort’s bland expression twisted into a frown. He raised his wand, clutched in his bony finger, and chanted— “Crucio.” An invisible stream of magic flared out of the wand and hit the skinny body of Grindelwald.

A scream pierced the prison cell’s walls, and it continued till Grindelwald’s weak throat from not speaking much for decades screamed soar.

“Now. . . tell me where is the Elder Wand, Grindelwald,” said Voldemort, his expression confident.

Grindelwald laid prone on his cot, coughing with his body shaking. He used his skinny arms to push himself to sit up, leaning against the wall. Grindelwald stared at Voldemort, his chest going up and down. . . until when the ex-Dark Lord started to laugh again.

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed angrily. His mouth twitched. He cast the Cruciatus curse again. The pain again tortured Grindelwald’s body, cutting his laughter off and replacing it with screams.

“Answer the question,” said Voldemort, stopping the magic.

Grindelwald took a while to sit up and raised his head to again look at Voldemort with a mocking smile and spoke with a frail voice, “You know. . . I’ve been here for decades. . . but it doesn’t mean I’ve been completely cut-off from the outside world. . . . The idiots who thought they could improve upon my work ended up creating mistakes that I could exploit. . . . The guards talk downstairs, and I listen. They told me about your penchant for torture. . . but do you think torturing me would work on ME?” Grindelwald looked at Voldemort as if he was bored, “I am Gellert Grindelwald. Do you think your usual— crude— methods will work on me?”

Voldemort stared down at Grindelwald, his expression not showing what he was feeling. “Then let’s try some other methods. . . . Legilemency!”

Grindelwald and Voldemort met eyes, and a connection was established immediately. Grindelwald felt a metal probe thump against his shield and his eye sharpened in focus. It had been a lifetime since he had felt a mental attack— the last time had been after his capture with various Aurors trying to extract information out of him; they, of course, had failed.

“Is that the best you can do?” asked Grindelwald, scoffing. “If so, I care for the wizarding going downhill in their capabilities.”

Voldemort frowned.

Grindelwald felt the force of the mental attack increase, but he shook his head, “I have been alone for a long time, Voldemort. I have a lot of time on my hand, and mental practices have been common for me. . . and you should know that Occlumency is much easier to improve than Legilimency. Even without that, I have been practicing the mental arts for longer than you have been alive, boy. Don’t think I’ll just roll over and let you in.”

Grindelwald winced; the pressure on his mind just went up. While he had said what he said, his condition hadn’t been good for the past fifty years. What Quinn had been correct; his magical trifecta wasn’t operating at the level it should be— he could keep it up for a good while, but not long enough.

Voldemort raised his wand and again launched a vile curse that struck Grindelwald’s body, who felt that his body had been plunged into freezing cold water. His skin turned progressively paler, visible in real-time with chattering teeth. Grindelwald’s body shriveled up into itself and dropped onto his cot once again.

“Let’s see if you can still keep things hidden,” said Voldemort.

Grindelwald felt as if a hippogriff had crashed into his mind. He gritted his teeth and turned to Voldemort before breaking into laughter, weakened by the cold, but he kept laughing.

Voldemort fumed in anger and curses after curses fell on Grindelwald’s prone body, while Grindelwald kept on laughing at Voldemort, who failed to break into Grindelwald’s mind.

“I-I-I have be-e-en. . . never ever been defeated, except by Dumbledore’s hand,” said Grindelwald, his teeth chattering. “O-One time is enough. . . a-and if there’s going to be another, it is not going to be someone l-like you,” he laughed.

Voldemort’s fury exploded, but he was about to launch a curse when he stopped. He looked down at Grindelwald— and his frown turned into surprise, which gave way to a smile.

“Only defeated only once, you say,” he said. “Doesn’t the Elder Wand change masters on defeat. . . . If you were only defeated by Dumbledore, then that means,” his eyes widened, and anger started to bubble in them.

If Grindelwald was laughing before at Voldemort’s failure, now he was laughing at Voldemort’s realization. “Oh, you realize it now, don’t you. The one who you hate the most has the thing you want so dearly. How does it feel now? I feel it is fate.” He started to shake with laughter.

Grindelwald didn’t care if Voldemort knew or not. He had already spent his prime here and was left behind by the world. He only cared that he didn’t get beaten by a disgrace like Voldemort.

“You have killed so many wizards and witches,” said Grindelwald. “So much magical blood spilled. So many lives that could’ve birthed more magic dead. You started the war, wanting to prove that the wizarding kind was superior to muggles. . . but all you did was to make them weaker by killing so many. . . . You’re a disgrace to the wizarding kind, an enemy to magic. . . I hope you get killed by the hands of the Boy-Who-Lived,” Grindelwald raised his hand to point at his eyes, “I have seer blood in me, so let me give you a prophecy— you’re going to be killed, Voldemort,” he laughed, “you’re going to get killed.”

Voldemort raised his wand to Grindelwald, “You don’t have to worry about any of that, Gellert. If you kill me, you’re going to regret it.”

“A pathetic excuse for a pathetic man,” said Voldemort and yelled— “AVADA KEDAVRA!”

Grindelwald smirked as green filled his vision and uttered his last words, “Ready to regret.”

As the killing curse hit Grindelwald’s body, an orange streak expunged from his body and raced towards Voldemort. The Dark Lord didn’t miss a beat to defend himself, even while in surprise. While his defense worked, a portion of the spell passed through his defense and seemingly got absorbed into his body.

Voldemort’s eyes bulged. He clutched above his heart and staggered. His nose slits started to bleed as his body began quaking.

“NOOOOO!!!!!”

He waved his wand, and a yellow glow covered his body before it got absorbed. He weakly looked to the ceiling and raised his wand, and the entire cell came apart, brick-by-brick. His feet left the prison cell ground and flew away. . . not giving Grindelwald’s dead body another look.

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– (Scene Break) –

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Quinn walked into the previously securest cell of Numengard prison castle and started at the blown-off ceiling.

He sighed at the destruction.

Voldemort was strong, he thought. Grindelwald had created the prison, believing it to be perfect, but Voldemort was able to stroll in and exit without retaliation.

“Well, the prison did injure him in some way.”

He waved his hand, and all the debris rose.— he couldn’t vanish it as every single piece was imbibed with magic— so he could only put it away to the side. When the debris cleared, there laid the crushed body of Grindelwald.

Quinn stared at the lifeless body, and another sigh exited his body. While he didn’t agree with what Grindelwald stood for, he still held a level of respect for the man’s “level” of accomplishments. Grindelwald had accomplished so much. . . more than many couldn’t achieve in multiple lifetimes.

“I wonder what happened for you to smile like that,” Quinn muttered as he stared at the smile on Grindelwald’s face. “You know. . . I’d loved to learn about people, how they think and behave from you.”

He, of course, got no other response.

Quinn waved his hand, and Grindelwald gently rose from the floor.

When ICW response team would arrive later. . . they’d found a grave that’d be immediately dug out. But that grave had a tombstone with words etched into:

[ Für das Größere Wohl ]

Here Rests The Greatest Dark Lord To Ever Reign.

Gellert Grindelwald.

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Quinn West – MC – Doesn’t know that it was Grindelwald not Numengard.

Gellert Grindelwald – Dark Lord – “The disapproval of cowards is praise to the brave.”

Voldemort – Dark Lord – He was warned, but didn’t heed.

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