Grindelwald's Last Stand
Gellert was deep in preparation for a ritual within his fortified lair. Guards patrolled outside, and demons, eager for a meal, hovered nearby, with food laid out for them. He awaited his enemy, confident that the stationary protection would keep Dumbledore at bay. However, he failed to notice that the protective wards simply did not recognize Albus, even when he aimed his charms directly at him. What had Flamel done to him? At the onset of the war, France had boasted three thousand magical golems. Of course, now he had more, but nearly all were engaged in combat. Albus had brought four thousand magical golems with him, including fifty adamantium ones. Unthinkable! Teachers now commanded armies larger than those of entire nations!
As Gellert's lackeys—wizards, golems, undead, and demons—fought against Albus and his doll-like golems of all shapes and sizes, the position became precarious. An international landing of wizards had arrived at the scene of the battle. No matter; he would eliminate them all once he dealt with Albus. But first, he needed to dispatch the golems... It would be swift.
Albus burst into the ritual chamber, effortlessly banishing demons as if he had been doing so all his life. The phoenix sang, and its melody was worse than the Cruciatus—an unbearable sound! Gellert cornered Albus several times, aiming to kill him, but the phoenix always intervened. What a vile traitor! They sang together! Ultimately, Gellert managed to trap the phoenix, adorned with artifacts, in a spatial pocket—he would finish it off later.
Mockingly, Albus refrained from using Dark Magic, despite sustaining open wounds and spilling blood to perform spells. He considered himself the only wizard nearing the secret of the Obscurus. Yet Albus had experience; he managed to transform Gellert back into a human.
Gellert still possessed the Gift of the Prophet—he couldn't lose. But Albus... Albus had ensnared him with that same Gift. Gellert had thought Albus was conjuring blood, while he was merely pretending—he was destroying his own blood. Gellert unleashed a spell intended to kill Albus, breaking through his defenses, but it faltered. Albus's protection was not reliant on blood!
In that crucial moment, Gellert missed his strike. Albus was shielded by a barrier of transfigured objects. Then, in a shocking turn, Albus summoned forth ten masterpieces of adamantium golems.
Gellert looked into the future... One golem slapped itself, another danced, and a third fired at him from a combat artifact, while a fourth lunged at Albus. What nonsense was this? His Gift of the Prophet could not be deceived! Imagine his surprise when what he foresaw came true. Every person possessed their unique something, and Albus Dumbledore was a cake.
He had assigned a list of actions to each golem, instructing them to choose their actions at random—completely random, tied to a wave function. He powered the random number generator from another, binding it among the golems. Each of them did not know what it would do next, but it would act. It was like... ten Schrödinger's cats!
Yet his Gift of the Prophet was malfunctioning, as the actions of these golems proved incredibly difficult to track, especially in the heat of battle. Albus was guided by the situation. So, today, he fought without the Gift of the Prophet... merely as an archmage wielding the Elder Wand. That would suffice.
Gellert waved the Elder Wand repeatedly in his human form. He felt like a demigod, a notion reinforced by the power of his Dark Curses. He was not the same man who had lost Ariana. One decisive hit, and Albus would be riddled with wounds—he could finish him off. But Albus somehow dodged like a fly. Spells ricocheted off his defenses.
It didn't matter; he could not be harmed. His defenses were indestructible, and Albus would tire long before he did. Soon, there would be nothing left of Albus's adamantium constructs, and Gellert would emerge victorious—he would regain the ability to see the future once more.
Albus was not merely leaping about. Leveraging his charms, the barrier against the phoenix, and the bodies of his nearly vanquished adamantium supergolems, he crafted a colossal opaque barrier—very strong, from which escape was impossible.
Then Gellert saw his death. Albus would exhaust all his energy, simultaneously conjuring an immensely powerful Light and Dark spell. Two streams of opposing magical energy from one wizard would annihilate each other, resulting in a cataclysmic explosion. A very powerful one. And Gellert Grindelwald would die.
And how would Albus survive? He would mimic Gellert's defenses or employ his retreat strategy. He would certainly be able to replicate—after all, he possessed a perfect self-hardening wand! The answer came quickly: there would be no escape. They would perish together—the greatest Dark wizard of all time, who had transcended the human body, mind, strength, and morality, and an inconsequential schoolteacher.
Gellert commanded the Elder Wand to save him, and it began to conjure a shield, warning him that he was running out of time and that the strength he possessed was insufficient to withstand the impending blast. Albus did not appear fatigued!
The Elder Wand performed the impossible: it completely negated all magical factors contributing to the damage from the explosion. He could manage the physical effects. Throughout his life, he had only encountered seven individuals capable of such feats.
He transformed into a state of pure consciousness. Albus mirrored his actions. One could not destroy a body if there was no body to destroy. Their mental duel commenced. Gellert could not determine how long they fought. He perceived Albus as an ocean, while he envisioned himself as a towering tree made of ereghu.
But the battle concluded, and they stood facing each other once more. Only Albus held a wand, while Gellert did not. The Elder Wand lay to the side, too magical to transform alongside its master. He attempted to reach Albus with wandless magic and stretch for the wand, but he could not—his enemy was faster, aided by his eternal transfiguration.
Gellert stood and watched as Albus's wounds healed, the bearded man aiming the Elder Wand at him while grasping his own in the other hand. "Surrender, Gellert. You've lost."
"I surrender! Have mercy!" Gellert shouted. But he knew perfectly well: the Elder Wand would not obey the one holding the other at the same time—jealousy would intervene. He had to eliminate Albus with a single attack. Energy was nearly depleted. He would sacrifice his kidneys, portions of his liver, bones, and muscles.
And then the blow! He fell, turning into an invalid. Albus attempted to block with the Elder Wand, but it refused to respond. Gellert was taken aback, beginning to cast a spell with his wand, but it was too late... He would have to accept the incoming attacks on his defenses.
The phoenix, freed from the spatial pocket, whisked Albus away. Avadas and Cruciatus passed him by. Yet one spell managed to penetrate Albus's defenses, albeit weakened. Blood flowed from his eyes instead of tears. He needed to finish Albus off, but he lacked the strength. Thus, he needed to transform entirely into an Obscurus. For the greater good!
Gellert half-transformed, but Albus cast aside his wand and summoned the Elder Wand. Gellert felt his transformation slowing, the phoenix's song echoing ominously... And then—darkness enveloped him.
---
In Nurmengard
Gellert awoke in Nurmengard. Unthinkable! He had been defeated by a mere school Transfiguration teacher! The shame of it all! He scanned his tiny cell, noting the simple mattress. An attempt to cast a wandless spell yielded nothing. It was evident that the cell was fortified. He tried to shift into magical vision, then astral vision—but encountered nothing.
Ah, but there was a power that could not be blocked—the Gift of the Prophet. He attempted to delve into visions, but nothing manifested. Although... a pale fog began to form in his mind. Clarity washed over him. The issue was not merely the prison; the problem resided within him—he had become a Squib.
He would have to abandon magic; now his ceiling was limited to one or two random visions a month. To overcome the protections of Nurmengard, with only enough strength to light a cigarette—this was unrealistic. Why were his legs still intact? He understood. Someone compassionate had fashioned prosthetics for him, including internal organs.
In his current condition, he was troubled by one thought—why was he still alive? Perhaps they were preparing something special for him. Years of torment would culminate in an event designed to suck out his very soul... He would have to gnaw through his wrists to escape the pain of blood loss! But as he began, his teeth struck an invisible barrier near his skin. An attempt to smash his head against the wall yielded no results.
As if in confirmation of his thoughts, a magical force pinned him to the floor, rendering him immobile. Gellert was not afraid of death—where does electricity go when it is turned off? From his perspective, it was not at all clear that existence was preferable to non-existence. Yet the process of dying could be prolonged and painful; he knew that well. But a good existence was preferable to a bad one, he was certain of that.
He expected a Dementor to glide through the opened door for a hot embrace or a passionate Kiss, but instead, Albus Dumbledore entered, clad in a ridiculously colorful robe and matching hat. The man's lack of taste was astounding. The only discernible change since their last encounter was the pair of glasses perched on his nose. Unthinkable! To have defeated the most powerful Dark wizard of their time with a mere eyewear injury!
"Hello, Gellert. I see you've come to your senses?"
"Damn you, Albus! Because of you, I'm now a Squib! Come on, end this farce. What awaits me?"
"You're facing life imprisonment here."
"What? Why are my servants being kissed by Dementors, while I sit here? I knew there was no justice in the world, but to be so brazen..."
"The point of punishment is not solely to isolate a dangerous individual from society and restore social justice. It's also to reform the criminal and—"
"Let me guess? You scared them all?" Gellert interjected.
"Of course not," Albus replied.
"Then lied to them that I possessed invaluable information? That extracting it from me would help determine the innocent and the guilty, finding a way to assist those I've harmed? And that torture was unacceptable, that it was important to demonstrate we are different?"
"Are you certain you've lost your magical gift?" Albus questioned.
"It's the result of my demonology. The demon's name is common sense, and I summon it through intuition, which is an art in itself."
"I see your madness hasn't dulled your humor. With that much ereghu building up, you should be foaming at the mouth."
He reflected on the ridiculousness of it all. The absurdity of his circumstances.
"Those indescribable fools... they decided not to kill me. So, there would be a trial... Oh, they wouldn't merely silence me in court. I would lengthen the dock and put everyone on it. The Russians, for fattening me up. The Poles, for dividing Czechoslovakia together. The West, for nurturing me as a counterweight to the 'Russian threat.' Sweden, for sharing the ore. I wonder if my father managed to hide?"
Switzerland, for willingly purchasing gold fillings without questioning their origins. His face broke into a smile...
"And how will this bearded sister-killer react?"
"No, Gellert. Your trial has already taken place. It was in absentia."
"Curse," he muttered.
"I want to publicly repent," Gellert declared to Albus.
He had already begun formulating a speech: "Forgive me. My sentences are fully deserved. My death sentence is merely the conclusion of this chapter. Let those tasked with carrying it out know: I will punish myself. I fear not death. It is terrifying to die without revealing what has been unveiled to me..."
"You will not speak with anyone but me," Dumbledore interrupted, breaking into his thoughts.
"I am simply a sick man! I require treatment! And you are opposed to torture, yes? But force-feeding is considered torture. If I am alive, then you have forced me to eat, and—"
"Gellert, don't play with words. You will not pit us against one another. You will not escape responsibility."
Then there was Albus's meaningless chatter, evolving into Legilimency as he sought to determine who among Gellert's entourage was guilty. Gellert attempted to think—everyone was under the Imperius Curse—but he could not deceive the new master of the Elder Wand.
Two years passed while his followers faced judgment. He had hoped to never see Albus again, but the man visited once a year on the anniversary of their battle, engaging in soul-saving discussions. Gellert did not sign up for forced confessions. He offered to share insights on demons, Dark Magic, and the Obscurus form, but Albus, with his obstinate demeanor, continued to discuss the failure of the common good.
"Idiot. Victory does not equate to denial. Sometimes, once every few months, Gellert experienced visions. Completely useless ones. For instance, he foresaw a book penned in the future by a Colombian author. There would be such a novel by García Márquez, 'One Hundred Years of Solitude.' In the end, the city of Macondo, where the events transpired, would be destroyed by a hurricane. Gellert would wish for the same fate to befall the entire world. He desired the planet to be wiped from the universe in some cataclysm. He despised everyone. This planet was a prison that had denied him the opportunity to build the common good. He loathed the dilapidated houses, the cars parked in yards, the fools and weaklings surrounding him. He hated both wizards and especially Albus Dumbledore.
He hated the ridiculous flower beds, the cars in the driveways, the pathetic individuals. And he also hated himself for being born in this world, for studying here, for living here. If only they could be washed away by a flood. They would all drown, and he would laugh at them—creatures of the animal kingdom. Nothing in this world felt normal. Nothing. All in these years. Damned world. Damned people. Damned time.
At least he once had purpose—a goal, a vision. He wanted to accomplish something. The war's objective was to survive and construct a common good. Now... he resolved not to succumb to despair but to reflect. To ponder why he had lost and what would become of the world. Perhaps he would outlast his captors. Or perhaps they would place someone in his cell. Ideally, a woman.
He thought deeply, and periodically, laughter echoed through his cell. Gellert had been wrong about many things, especially regarding Russia. Or the USSR? What difference did it make! He was simply too clever. He did not realize that the laws of logic did not apply in Russia. He failed to understand that the country lived in defiance of reason.
---
End of Gellert's POV. Forever
Gellert dissipated like ashes from a fire blown away by the wind. Goodbye, Gellert. Of all my teachers, you were the best. We knew each other so little that I didn't even have time to grow tired of you. If you are dead, there is no need to kill you. I would create a monument in your honor, but the locals would never comprehend. Instead, I shall kill Dumbledore for you.
What have I learned? A plethora of captivating insights regarding the Elder Wand and the Invisibility Cloak. I never imagined it would unfold like this! When the battle at Azkaban begins, I will dispatch "Elena" to Hogwarts using the Time-Turner to release the Basilisk, and amidst the chaos, I will carefully plunder the headmaster's office. What if he keeps the Invisibility Cloak there, the third Deathly Hallow?
The clash between Grindelwald and Albus will haunt my nightmares. If Albus is capable of both High Light and High Dark Magic, and he possesses the Elder Wand… He may darken in two or three fights, but it will be sufficient for one encounter! It feels as if I went hunting with birdshot, only to encounter a boar instead... What should I do? Constant vigilance! And think, think...
But the fundamental lesson Gellert imparted was not magic. Sometimes I had doubts—was I truly doing the right thing? Tom's memory insisted that I cease meddling with Lily and Harry, and with Snape. Am I the Dark Lord or not? It is distasteful to view myself in this light—no matter the conversation, it feels akin to a husband persuading his wife to have anal sex, rather than a Dark Lord issuing commands.
With great effort, I managed to curb my pride, but Gellert's example is telling. He did not need to do anything to win. The main weapon is not magic; the principal weapon is intrigue. Gellert should have simply allowed Aberforth to strike him with the Cruciatus. Not resist, plead, and beg Albus and Ariana for assistance. And that would be it. Albus would leave with Gellert, happily granting him the Invisibility Cloak and the Resurrection Stone they had found.
He would spit in the face of the stunned Aberforth upon exiting, and Ariana would kick him as she departed. To win, Grindelwald only needed to become a little smarter: to gloss over the racist features of his regime while emphasizing its foundation—the common good for all. To fight not against nations, but against their political systems, to seek, if not an alliance, at least neutrality with other countries. Most importantly, to learn how to not only construct concentration camps but also to disguise his plans entirely with progressive rhetoric.
And instead? I will not repeat your mistakes. I will be the kindest Dark Lord. I will not annex lands; I will continue to annex people. Living people, for they are more useful than corpses. Not only people. I realized something else. I tried to discredit Albus. Now I comprehend how this will appear in the end: Albus Dumbledore, alongside Grindelwald, aimed to conquer the world. To establish a common good. And there was love between them. No, homophobia is not surprising—this is different. Albus betrayed his friend. And his beloved. He killed his sister. A desperate friend began to construct the common good, unaware that he was merely a tool for Dumbledore.
When Gellert committed his crimes and cleared the path for the common good, Albus studied with Flamel. The Order of Death, however. Gellert sought omnipotence, but the Deathly Hallows remained elusive. When it became clear that he would be defeated, Albus seized the Elder Wand from him. But he was never able to locate the remaining Hallows. Thus, Albus Dumbledore commenced his criminal crusade against the English aristocracy to seize their assets and uncover the Deathly Hallows.
The Gaunts were the first to fall, and even the impoverished Potters... Has the world ever known such a black heart? Of course not. Any means are justifiable to combat this monster, which cannot be vanquished due to the Elder Wand! The compassionate oppressed wizards of Great Britain, led by an orphan boy named Tom Riddle, challenged the most loathsome tyranny that ever existed... Will anyone believe this?
Oh well, people believe in far stranger things. The essential point is to avoid entirely ridiculous phrases like, "a guerrilla squad of aristocratic wizards."
"Lucius, do you have a smoke?" Nott inquired, sitting in the forest.
"No. It all went into the fight against Dumbledore," Lucius replied, wounded.
And do not reveal any of Lucius's secrets, for Goyle weighs as much as half a dozen starving and oppressed people. Now I finally have a vision of the situation for society. The most crucial thing is to avoid dying the next time I encounter Dumbledore. I must urgently revise my strategy for the duel with Albus.