Perhaps due to the sheer length of time since he had last engaged in vocal conversation, Grindelwald's speech was incredibly slow.
Fortunately, his enunciation remained crisp and articulate, ensuring Maurise had no difficulty comprehending his words.
"You call it 'The Void'? Fitting." Grindelwald's gaze seemed to drift past Maurise, staring into empty space. "A few decades ago, I stumbled into that place by accident. After looking into it, I figured out it's a transitional dimension right between life and death. You get what I mean?"
Maurise offered a slow nod, feeling surprised.
This description aligned with his own classified knowledge.
Within the Book of the Magi, the functional description of the Gate Between Worlds was stated as: Permits entry into the dimensional gap separating the living and the dead.
Grindelwald settled back against the hard wooden backrest of his chair, carefully placing the bag of pear hard drops onto the stone slab beside him. "Once you reach the Void, taking one more step crosses the line into the land of the dead. What do they usually call it? Ah, right. The Underworld. Death's domain."
He paused, shifting his piercing gaze back to Maurise. "Since you actually went there and came back, you must have a piece of Death's power. Do you have one of the Hallows?"
Maurise was already familiar with the mythological tale of the Deathly Hallows.
The Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Cloak of Invisibility.
According to the legend, any wizard capable of uniting all three artifacts would ascend to become the Master of Death.
He shook his head firmly.
"No, I don't have any of the Hallows," Maurise answered candidly. "I used something else—a really advanced spatial teleportation magic. Ending up there was just an accident."
The explanation was a calculated mixture of truth and omission.
Grindelwald's eyes narrowed slightly, a thoughtful gleam flashing in the dim light. "Then your luck is something else."
"What about you?" Maurise redirected the inquiry. "Did you use a Hallow to break in?"
Grindelwald offered a faint nod.
"Yeah." He glanced down at his frail, empty hands, his tone light. "I used to be the master of the Elder Wand."
"That wand has a terrifying power. It's not just the strongest wand out there; it's the one thing most closely tied to death."
"By channeling my magic through it, I could sense the Void and find a way in."
"But, at some point, I just lost the ability to go back. A real shame."
Hearing this, Maurise couldn't help but feel a sense of respect.
'He is worthy of his historical title as the First Dark Lord.'
The title itself was strangely specific. It implied precedence, as though history had decided Grindelwald was the beginning of an entirely new category of tyrant rather than simply another exceptionally dangerous wizard.
Yet the magical world had never lacked monsters. Long before Grindelwald, there had been warlocks who butchered entire villages, necromancers who delved into forbidden magic, blood purists who built their influence through terror, and countless ambitious witches and wizards who had sought dominion through force.
None of them, however, had ever been remembered as a Dark Lord.
It was likely that the title itself simply had not existed before Grindelwald's rise. Earlier ages had used different names, whatever term was fashionable in their era.
Grindelwald's unprecedented scale of conquest and ideological crusade had forced history to coin a new designation, one reserved for those whose ambitions threatened the entire magical world rather than a single nation.
By the time Voldemort emerged decades later, the title had already entered common usage.
"What else do you know about the Void?" Maurise pressed further. "And why build a wooden cabin right in the middle of nowhere?"
This was the core mystery he desperately wanted resolved.
During his brief exploration of the Void, he had observed two physical structures: Hogwarts Castle and the isolated wooden cabin.
Setting the castle's complex temporal anomalies aside, the cabin was undeniably tethered to Grindelwald.
Grindelwald fell silent for a long moment.
"That's a closely guarded secret," he finally spoke, his raspy voice dropping to a near whisper. "But... I guess I can tell you."
Maurise sharpened his focus, listening intently.
"The moment a wizard dies, their soul gets pulled through there," Grindelwald explained slowly. "It's the border between life and death. The transit route every soul takes to reach the Underworld."
"I figured that much out already."
"Don't interrupt," Grindelwald reprimanded sharply, a flash of old authority in his eyes. "It was just a theory back then. I thought that if I built a physical anchor in the Void, my soul would have a safe house when I died. A way to stick around in that space for a lot longer."
"What's the point of sticking around?" Maurise asked. "Would it let you come back to life?"
"Impossible," Grindelwald stated with ironclad certainty. "Even if your soul anchors there, it's just a delay. It might buy you a few days, months, maybe a few years at most. Eventually, the Underworld drags you down anyway."
"Besides, I never even knew if it worked. I didn't die, after all. I'm still breathing."
Maurise comprehended the architectural origin of the mysterious cabin.
However, a glaring logical gap remained.
"If you can't resurrect, what's the point of anchoring your soul? Just to put off the inevitable for a bit?"
Grindelwald offered a response that Maurise did not anticipate: "I forgot."
Maurise's expression twisted into confusion.
'Forgot?'
'What is that supposed to mean?'
Observing the boy's bewilderment, Grindelwald elaborated, "That was some obscure research from when I was young. It's been too long. I don't even remember the theories or what I was trying to achieve anymore."
"...Alright." Maurise's tone carried a trace of disappointment. "Still, thanks for telling me."
"Don't mention it," Grindelwald replied smoothly. "Now, it's your turn. What's your name, and why exactly did you break into my cell?"
---
Maurise realized he had bypassed basic etiquette.
Upon reflection, utilizing shadow magic to breach a maximum-security cell and launch into an academic interrogation was abrupt.
The fact that the former Dark Lord had indulged his questions was surprising.
Maurise cleared his throat politely. "Sorry about that, Mr. Grindelwald. My mistake. I'm Maurise Black. As for why I'm here... I already told you the truth. I just had some obscure academic questions for you. And we're done with those now."
"You're telling me nobody sent you?" Grindelwald's tone was analytical, probing for deception. "Are you sure about that? What's your relationship with Albus Dumbledore?"
'Grindelwald appears fixated on Dumbledore,' Maurise noted mentally.
Logically, it made sense. Dumbledore was the individual responsible for his incarceration.
They were historical arch-enemies.
Maurise answered with precision. "I'm just a student at Hogwarts. Dumbledore is the Headmaster."
Grindelwald's skeletal face remained devoid of emotion. "Did he give you permission to come here?"
"Oh, definitely not," Maurise spread his hands in a casual shrug. "Why would I need his permission to come here?"
Grindelwald let out a soft, raspy chuckle. The smile carried a complex, unreadable emotion.
"Fair point," Grindelwald murmured. "You really don't."
Maurise's initial assessment of Grindelwald was positive.
The man did not exhibit the erratic behavioral patterns of a typical dark wizard. Instead, he had exhibited remarkable patience and intellectual clarity while addressing Maurise's inquiries.
Possessing a strict personal policy against owing uncompensated favors, Maurise carefully weighed his next words. "Since you helped me out, Mr. Grindelwald, is there anything you need me to do for you? Uh... besides a prison break, obviously."
"A prison break?" Grindelwald shook his head calmly. "You couldn't pull that off anyway, unless your magic somehow outclasses Dumbledore's."
"Fair enough," Maurise conceded. "I wasn't planning on trying anyway. Let's stick to something I can actually do. Like... how about a proper, hot Christmas dinner?"
Speaking of logistics, a practical question occurred to Maurise. "By the way. How do you even eat around here?"
He hadn't detected a single guard or house-elf within the fortress.
"They teleport rations straight into the cell," Grindelwald's face twisted with disdain. "Usually, it tastes like garbage."
Maurise offered a mysterious, confident smile. "Give me just a second."
The instant the final syllable left his lips, his physical form dissolved into the shadows, vanishing from the freezing cell.
Grindelwald stared at the empty space where the boy had been standing, momentarily stunned by the fluidity of the spatial magic.
He slowly lowered his gaze to the bag of pear hard drops resting on the stone slab, then looked up at the reinforced iron door. He let out a soft, amused exhale and shook his head.
'What a peculiar, fascinating young man.'