Chapter 219: A Conversation at Nurmengard
Nurmengard's high tower stood shrouded in bitter wind.
The door to the topmost cell was slightly ajar, as though it had been left waiting for someone.
When Dumbledore pushed the door open, the cell's occupant was facing the single narrow window. Beyond it lay a leaden sky and an unbroken expanse of snow-covered mountains.
A hoarse voice broke the silence.
"In the past twelve years, you've visited so frequently that I'm almost flattered."
Grindelwald turned. He wore the same grey robes as always, his gaunt frame unchanged.
"I need your help, Gellert."
A crooked smile tugged at Grindelwald's lips.
"So you only remember this place when you want something?"
The air froze.
Only the wind howled beyond the window.
After a long silence, it was Grindelwald who broke the silence.
"Ask, then. I'm rather curious what could be troubling Albus Dumbledore this time."
He walked to the crude wooden table and pulled out a chair to sit. A stack of unused parchment lay on its surface.
Dumbledore sat across from him and drew an object from inside his robes, sliding it gently towards Grindelwald.
Grindelwald stared at the worn, battered black diary. A flicker of recognition passed through his mismatched eyes. He extended thin fingers and touched the cover.
"Horcrux."
He spoke the word quietly, without hesitation. There was no question in his voice. Only confirmation.
Dumbledore nodded.
Grindelwald's expression turned genuinely grave.
This thing, even within the Dark Arts, ranked among the most profane of all taboos.
The number of wizards who even knew of its existence and principles was vanishingly small. Those who were both willing and capable of making one were the most deranged of them all.
Grindelwald's brow furrowed.
Once, long ago, the thought of creating a Horcrux as a safeguard had crossed his own mind. But the thought had been as fleeting as a shooting star.
To achieve that "greater good", Grindelwald needed a clear head and cool judgement. Splitting the soul meant warping one's humanity and the collapse of reason. He could not accept that price. It ran contrary to everything he believed in.
Grindelwald's sharp gaze fixed on Dumbledore's still-bright blue eyes, and he spoke with flat certainty.
"It belongs to that person—Voldemort. Or rather, Tom Marvolo Riddle. It is a Horcrux."
Dumbledore confirmed the assessment.
Grindelwald's mismatched pupils narrowed slightly. His gaze returned to the seemingly harmless diary.
A long moment passed before he spoke, voice low.
"That person walked far too deep down the path of Dark magic, Albus. So far that he is, without exaggeration, and without precedent."
Grindelwald treated Dark magic as a tool. It was efficient, powerful, and in certain situations, supremely useful.
But he had never abandoned other branches of magic. His approach was Dark magic as his core, supplemented by other disciplines, which he then used to counterbalance the toll the Dark Arts took on mind and body.
Compared to Voldemort, Grindelwald was far more "normal".
Voldemort had embraced Dark magic with his entire being. His innate talent for it was already staggering, and combined with a reckless disregard for consequences in his study and practice, his mastery in that field was unmatched.
Dumbledore let out a slow, deep sigh.
"Tom's obsession with immortality was strong enough to twist everything within him. For him, creating Horcruxes was probably never about ambition or power. It was purely about 'not dying'. For that, he was willing to tear his soul apart again and again, producing creations of this kind of evil."
Grindelwald caught the crucial implication at once. Understanding flickered in his mismatched eyes.
"So he made more than one. Is that it?"
He knew Dumbledore too well.
If it were only a single Horcrux, no matter how fortified or protected, Dumbledore would eventually find a way to destroy it.
But Grindelwald could read the worry written in the lines around Dumbledore's eyes. The answer came to him at once.
Dumbledore began laying out his suspicions and concerns.
After Leonardo's earlier "reminder", Dumbledore now believed it was highly likely that Voldemort possessed multiple Horcruxes.
He had re-examined the enormous gulf between Voldemort's early personality and his later behaviour.
The gradual erosion of reason by mania, paranoia, and incomprehensible cruelty. The sheer scale of that change could not be fully explained by mere power growth or the corrosion of Dark magic alone.
"Splitting the soul, and almost certainly more than once," Dumbledore said, his voice heavy. "That is the only explanation for what he eventually became. But the problem is, we cannot be certain how many he made, let alone find them all."
"Fortunately, we now have an intact sample. Perhaps it can provide clues and point us in the right direction. For that, we have Leonardo to thank."
At the mention of that name, the conversation naturally turned to the events of the past term at Hogwarts.
When the basilisk came up, Grindelwald's eyes flickered almost imperceptibly, as though recalling an unpleasant memory.
Years ago, seeking to add a measure of "persuasion" to his arsenal, Grindelwald had attempted to breed those very creatures.
But before the basilisk eggs could hatch, a certain curly-haired young man, always wandering about with a suitcase and an excessive enthusiasm for magical creatures, had stumbled upon the operation.
After a fierce struggle, every last egg was caught in the chaos and smashed to pieces.
"If you're looking for the Horcruxes, I assume you intend to exploit the connection between soul fragments? This diary would make an excellent starting point."
Grindelwald tapped the diary lightly with one finger and looked to Dumbledore.
"Yes. It is, after all, a complete Horcrux. And moreover…"
Behind his half-moon spectacles, Dumbledore's blue eyes narrowed.
"This Horcrux appears to be special. It can manipulate people and communicate with them as if it were a living person. It carries Tom's memories from his student days and can even attempt to rebuild a physical body. Perhaps the soul fragment stored inside it is… larger than usual?"
After exchanging details of the crisis with Leonardo, Dumbledore had felt a lingering unease. There was already an unknown Voldemort lurking somewhere, coiled like a viper and gathering strength. If a second, younger Voldemort had entered the world on top of that, the thought was genuinely alarming.
He did not want to imagine what two Voldemorts could do to the world.
It was the diary's soul fragment and its extraordinary behaviour that had led Dumbledore to this suspicion: among Voldemort's Horcruxes, this diary was likely exceptional.
Grindelwald considered the theory for a long time.
"This Horcrux was made during Voldemort's student years. There is a strong chance it was his first. The prerequisite for creating a Horcrux is committing murder or a similar act of evil to fracture the soul."
"Perhaps, being the first time, a teenager, no matter how cold or twisted by nature, was still a teenager. He went too far, split away too large a portion, and the resulting fragment carried so many memories that it could even attempt to reconstruct a body and revive itself."
Dumbledore nodded.
"Very possible. But the soul fragment inside this diary has sealed the Horcrux's core. Short of destroying it outright, I currently see no way to penetrate deeper. Gellert, could you…"
"I haven't touched a wand in decades. Proper spellcasting, even less. Under these conditions, it would be difficult for me to help you study a Horcrux."
Grindelwald finished and looked at Dumbledore with an expression that was half smile, half challenge, clearly anticipating the response.
He wanted to see whether this old "acquaintance" would, in order to face a new threat to the wizarding world, risk allowing an old threat to stir again.
But Dumbledore's blue eyes remained bright and calm, like still water, meeting those striking mismatched pupils through his lenses.
Before the silence could settle, Dumbledore drew a wand.
The instant Grindelwald's gaze swept across it, his eyes went still.
Fifteen inches. Distinctly segmented. Elder wood. Thestral tail-hair core.
The Elder Wand.
Not until Dumbledore held the Elder Wand out directly before him did Grindelwald seem to stir. His gaze moved between the wand and Dumbledore, complicated and unreadable.
Grindelwald raised a hand and let his fingertips touch the Elder Wand. This wand that had once been his companion for no small stretch of years. He felt it push back, faintly resistant.
He let out a quiet, dry laugh, and instead of taking it, pushed the Elder Wand back towards Dumbledore.
"Have you forgotten this wand's nature? Give me any ordinary wand. It would serve me better than this one, which only ever follows the victor."
The Elder Wand. One of the Deathly Hallows.
Other wands held a degree of loyalty to their wizards and would not easily abandon their owners.
But the Elder Wand was the most faithless, coldest, and most ruthless of all wands. It cared only about the capability of its wielder.
The moment its master was defeated, it withdrew its allegiance.
The Elder Wand only ever followed the winner.
After Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald all those years ago, its new master had naturally become Dumbledore.
When Dumbledore produced a second, unremarkable wand from his robes, Grindelwald propped his head on one hand and asked, his tone light and teasing.
"Al, when you offered me the Elder Wand, was it a test to see whether I still have 'ambitions'? Or was it genuine trust, believing I wouldn't try anything? Or was it because…"
Dumbledore simply put the Elder Wand away and held out the ordinary wand instead.
Seeing no answer forthcoming, Grindelwald's lips twisted in the faintest pout. He took the wand and began examining the diary.
"I have always believed that love is the greatest magic in the world."
Dumbledore said this in a tone so plain it might have been an idle conversation. But in Grindelwald's ears, it landed with weight and clarity.
Love.
Of course it was the greatest magic in the world.
Dumbledore had only used it once, and it had imprisoned the two most powerful wizards alive.
Both of them.
Nurmengard's crumbling walls could not hold Grindelwald. The elaborate magical wards outside could not hold Grindelwald. The Aurors of this era could certainly not hold Grindelwald.
Only Dumbledore could hold Grindelwald.
Both men understood this perfectly. The moment Grindelwald stepped out of Nurmengard, panic would consume the wizarding world, and the person pushed to confront him would inevitably be Dumbledore.
Grindelwald continued examining the Horcrux without looking up. Under his breath, he muttered a curse.
"Crafty old bastard."
While Grindelwald studied the Horcrux, Dumbledore was already planning the steps ahead.
Collecting the Horcruxes one by one would require tracing their origins. That was unavoidable.
He would need to investigate Voldemort's entire history, identify the moments when each Horcrux was created, and follow the trail from there.
Start from Voldemort's past. From his mother's family. The Gaunts.
Then map out where Voldemort had gone after leaving Hogwarts, and what he had done.
It was an enormous undertaking, but Dumbledore had no choice.
Voldemort's Dark magic alone was enough to shake the world. With multiple Horcruxes to sustain him, there was no point in even discussing defeating him until those Horcruxes were found and destroyed.
Dumbledore intended to share the matter of the Horcruxes with Snape and discuss strategy with him.
Snape had once served as a spy within Voldemort's inner circle, deeply trusted. He would know a great deal.
"Speaking of that student at your school, Leonardo. He's the one who resolved the Hogwarts crisis again. Hmm, what's the name of the child who's supposedly the prophesied saviour?"
Grindelwald's question interrupted Dumbledore's train of thought. He answered without thinking.
"Harry. Harry Potter."
But as soon as the words left him, Dumbledore paused.
Right. The crisis had been resolved. But Dumbledore had intended to use this year to temper Harry, to nurture the boy's courage and resolve. What was he supposed to do now?
Seeing Dumbledore's expression, Grindelwald couldn't help the slight curl of his lips.
"The Seer who made the prophecy about Harry Potter, she teaches Divination at your school, doesn't she? Has she ever made a prophecy about Leonardo?"
Ever since his own attempt to divine Leonardo's future had "failed", Grindelwald had been curious about the boy.
Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles. He knew that Sybill Trelawney had, over all these years, made only one true prophecy: the one about the saviour and Voldemort, their entanglement and their end.
That prophecy had named when and where Voldemort's opponent would be born, to which family, and that neither could live while the other survived. One would cause the other's death.
Dumbledore believed that, given everything Leonardo had accomplished so far, the boy would one day reshape the wizarding world and occupy a significant place in magical history. But a prophecy…
As for the result Grindelwald had obtained when he tried to divine Leonardo, Dumbledore could not make sense of it either.
"Hogwarts offers Divination starting in the third year. Leonardo may take the class then. When that happens…"
Dumbledore spoke softly. He was curious too. Could a person who "cannot be divined" learn Divination?
Grindelwald returned both the diary and the wand to Dumbledore, then closed his eyes, faintly weary.
"A single session of research will not yield everything."
The implication was clear. Dumbledore would need to visit again. Several more times.