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Nurmengard.
This forbidding fortress, looming within a desolate valley, seemed like a forgotten corner of the wizarding world. Shrouded in an eternal mist and flanked by dense, twisted forests, it remained hidden from curious eyes.
The castle’s blackened stone walls bore the wear of countless years; ivy clung to cracks, and every weathered brick whispered stories of bygone might and lingering decay.
Within its cramped and dimly lit chambers, the infamous Gellert Grindelwald was imprisoned. Even Voldemort’s most ruthless followers would find themselves unsettled at the thought of standing before the dark wizard who once terrorized Europe.
“My master sends his regards,” Said the bearded man in a tattered cloak, pushing a wand through the iron bars with trembling hands. His voice wavered, betraying his apprehension. “He shares your ideals and believes the time is right. He hopes you will once again reveal your strength to the world.”
“Dumbledore has deluded the wizarding world for far too long. Someone must hold him accountable. My master believes that no one is more suited to judge him than you.” The bearded man instinctively stepped back as Grindelwald stirred, his shadowed figure rising with unsettling grace.
Truth be told, the man would never have dared utter such words had he not been compelled to convey his master’s message. Fear clutched at his throat. What if Grindelwald were to sneer and ask, “Are you instructing me?” There would be no answer to that.
To most British wizards, Grindelwald was little more than a dark legend, a cautionary tale. But the Death Eaters, particularly those who had spent years dissecting Dumbledore’s every move, understood far more than most.
The Ministry’s polished records could never capture the tangled truths of that era— truths Voldemort had long sought to uncover.
Still, suggesting that Grindelwald should stand in judgment of Dumbledore revealed a certain ignorance. Despite all their research, the Death Eaters knew but fragments of the past. Too much had been lost— or deliberately concealed by the man they despised.
“A wand?”
Grindelwald’s eyes gleamed with a spark of something unreadable as he drew closer. The aged wizard’s voice, though soft, seethed with bitter satisfaction.
“Dumbledore, on trial? At last. A traitorous little man. I was deceived by him. It is because of him that I am caged here— forced to live on stale bread and watery broth.” His words dripped with contempt, each syllable twisting with long-harbored resentment.
The bearded man stiffened, uncertain. Grindelwald’s fury was not quite what he had expected, but it was anger nonetheless. That was enough.
“Precisely. My master is prepared to act from the shadows. When the time comes, should you and your followers seek allies, we stand ready.”
“As you wish, you need only reach out. Our goals align—we share the same hatred of Dumbledore.” The man’s voice trembled with poorly veiled eagerness, his own resentment gnawing at him. The Death Eaters had long been humiliated by the headmaster’s victories. This was their chance to see him fall.
“You?”
Grindelwald’s brow furrowed, his pale fingers curling around the wand. He turned it slowly, as if reacquainting himself with the simple, deadly weight of it. Sensing the moment, the bearded man hastily grasped a worn silver goblet— a Portkey. The air thrummed as it activated.
“I await your decision.”
Without another word, the man vanished, leaving only the echo of his parting words. But even as the air stilled once more, the thought lingered— a dark wizard as powerful as Grindelwald would never be underestimated. Not by friend or foe.
The bearded man knew all too well what a wizard in that cell could do and what he had done in the past. He had no desire to become the target of the pent-up rage of a wizard imprisoned for decades.
“Whoosh~”
The cloaked figure disappeared from view, vanishing in a blur of distorted air. In his haste, he had tampered with the protective wards, causing the magical shielding to flicker and fade.
Clearly, he feared being caught by Ministry officials—though that concern was perhaps misplaced. From a distance, a group of Ministry guards, noticing the disruption, merely glanced up from their game of wizard chess. After a brief exchange of looks, they shrugged and resumed their match.
Report it?
Why bother? The guards playing chess weren’t fools. They understood all too well that the true powers pulling the strings weren’t seated in their dingy post. Ever since the resurgence of the Acolytes eleven years ago, things have shifted.
And in Austria, well, who could say how many wizards secretly supported Grindelwald’s followers by now? Even the guards themselves might have family ties to dark traditions. Accusations were dangerous in these times. It was far too easy to cry foul and find the wand turned on you.
The officials in charge had been replaced over a decade ago, and not all by coincidence. The guards understood the risks. If they raised the alarm, the one who walked through that door might not be the cloaked figure at all.
Cautious wizards survived. And in the Ministry’s civil service exams, this very scenario was practically a textbook case.
“What happened?”
“An illusion, most likely.”
“Yes, probably just a trick of the wards.”
“If you all think it was an illusion, then I suppose I must have imagined it too.”
…
The guards shared a knowing glance. Without another word, they returned to their drinks and wizard chess, determined not to draw any unnecessary attention. Their pay wouldn’t change whether they were prison guards or security officers. Some even secretly hoped for a bit of chaos—nothing stirred a dull routine quite like it.
—
Meanwhile, within the dank confines of Nurmengard.
Things were far from calm.
“Where did he go? How could he just run off like that? I wasn’t finished talking!” Gellert Grindelwald— or rather, Gilderoy Lockhart— had maintained a façade of ominous gravitas. But the moment the cloaked figure escaped using a Portkey, Lockhart’s composure crumbled. Panic set in.
“You didn’t even tell me who you were! The Order of the Phoenix? Dumbledore’s Resistance? The Anti-Ministry League?” Lockhart clutched the rusted iron bars and yelled into the emptiness.
Silence.
“Blast it! Can’t you just let me out? Open the door, you coward!”
He kicked the bars in frustration, his shouts echoing down the dark stone corridor. Only the gloom answered back.
Realizing the futility of his outburst, Lockhart sagged against the bars, muttering curses under his breath. Then, as the weight of the situation dawned on him, he slapped his forehead in frustration.
“Why didn’t I just ask him to open the door first?”
Lockhart paced the narrow confines of the cell, his nerves fraying further with every passing moment.
“Think, Gilderoy, think! You’re the most celebrated dark wizard of all time. Surely you can find a way out of a silly little cell. You’ve faced far greater challenges before.”
Tightening his grip on the wand left behind by the Death Eater, he gave it a cautious swish. Immediately, a bright ball of flame burst forth, singeing the hem of his robes and nearly setting his shoes alight.
“Merlin’s beard!”
The wand’s response was clearly not what Lockhart had hoped for. Wands were notoriously temperamental when wielded by someone they did not recognize. This violent reaction only confirmed the incompatibility. After all, wands chose the wizard, not the other way around— a fact Ollivander never failed to remind his customers.
Still, stubbornness ran deep in Lockhart. Despite the evident rejection, he refused to surrender to the reality of his imprisonment. The dull meals of stale bread and watery broth had long since worn down his patience. He wanted out. More than that, he wanted justice.
And when he was free, he vowed to take legal action— against Dumbledore, against Grindelwald, against anyone who had wronged him. In Lockhart’s mind, it all made perfect sense. Dumbledore and Grindelwald had obviously orchestrated an elaborate ruse, turning the old man into a hero at his expense.
Yes. That was the truth of it.
And Gilderoy Lockhart was determined to make sure the world knew it.
Such a sophisticated method of gaining fame left him in awe, but it also filled him with resentment. Why should he be the scapegoat, imprisoned here in place of Grindelwald?
“I want to get out!”
“It’s just a simple unlocking charm. Now that I have a wand, even if this wand looks down on me, I should still be able to force it to open this simple door.”
“Calm down, I must stay calm. I am a wizard…” Gellert Lockhart extinguished the fire in the cell, forcing himself to undergo a mental pep talk before confidently walking toward the door.
“A mere unlocking charm!”
He even adjusted his expression and demeanor, re-embodying the face he wore, as if he believed this would increase his chances of success.
It was hard to imagine that a once-excellent Ravenclaw graduate could feel so anxious and serious over attempting to cast a very simple ‘unlocking charm’.
“Alohomora!”
Gellert Lockhart shouted, adhering to the principle that the louder the voice, the stronger the magic, as he released the spell. The wand in his hand immediately emitted a glow infused with magic.
“Click, click~”
The lock on the cell door shook a few times.
It seemed to be opening but remained shut.
Gellert Lockhart tugged at the cell door, but the imagined scenario of his immediate escape did not occur. This utterly ordinary lock seemed to mock him silently.
“Damn it!”
Unwilling to accept defeat, Gellert Lockhart gritted his teeth and tried again.
“Alohomora!”
The lock continued to resist.
“Alohomora!”
The resistance seemed to lessen.
“Alohomora!”
“Alohomora!”
“Alohomora!”
…
For a moment, the air was filled with his desperate incantations.
Inside the cell, the increasingly unwilling and angry incantations of Gellert Lockhart echoed— perhaps just as Ian had guessed, he had completely lost the diversity of magic as a wizard. Time and again, his attempts and failures were something even a new student just starting school could learn to cast this simple spell.
However.
Gellert Lockhart had only ever reaped failure.
“Open for me!”
Gradually losing his composure, Gellert Lockhart let out a roar, the magic power within him surging violently. The wand, which was already reluctant to be used by him, began to heat up.
“Alohomora!”
Unaware, Gellert Lockhart continued to cast the unlocking charm.
This time.
The wand did not remain in a state of forced use; instead, it chose a special response.
“Boom!”
It exploded.
The uncontrolled magic burst forth directly toward Gellert Lockhart’s face.
“Aaaahhhhhhh!!!”
He let out an exceptionally painful scream.
Like the explosion of a misfired spell, Gellert Lockhart was struck by the out-of-control magic. Fortunately, he was only using an unlocking charm, so he did not suffer the fate of being blown to bits. Of course, even so, the charms that caused his right eye to bleed profusely made him feel excruciating pain.
“My face! My face!”
What is a professional quality? This is what it means to have a professional quality. Gellert Lockhart didn’t care about his vision; he was only concerned about whether his face would be disfigured by this out-of-control charm.
He stumbled toward the mirror, even though he was dizzy and sweating profusely from the pain. He still forced himself to check his face with his other eye.
Fortunately, the charm had only struck his right eye.
“It’s all that damned anti-Dumbledore alliance’s fault!” Gellert Lockhart clearly still didn’t understand who had come for him. His intelligence in this regard had not improved even after being subjected to magical transformations.
“You are Grindelwald now; shouldn’t you be anti-Dumbledore?” Suddenly, Gellert Lockhart heard a light laugh and teasing from behind him.
It was not an illusion.
This made Gellert Lockhart’s skin crawl.
“Obliviate!”
In what he perceived as a critical moment, Gellert Lockhart turned around and cast his most proud and only magic that could ensure a 100% success rate.
The surging and swift Memory Charm was a stark contrast to the previous unlocking charm; it was faster and more powerful than a normal Memory Charm, clearly showing that he had his own understanding and improvement methods.
Many unsuspecting powerful wizards would undoubtedly suffer because of this, but the source of the voice was not a person; only an ancient mirror floated there in mid-air.
It seemed to have anticipated the landing point of the Memory Charm, catching it directly with its mirror surface. Then, Gellert Lockhart’s exceptional Memory Charm was immediately rebounded back.
The speed of the return was swift.
The rebound speed was naturally the same.
Gellert Lockhart had no time to dodge and was directly hit in the face by his own Memory Charm— he fell to the ground as if he had short-circuited.
The suddenly appearing strange floating mirror slowly disappeared.
After a long while.
Gellert Lockhart, who got up from the ground, held his head.
“Who am I?”
Gellert Lockhart struggled to support himself on the dressing table, his mind blank. He looked at the mirror in front of him with a dazed expression, and the eye that had been injured was still slowly bleeding.
“Am I a handsome old man?”
“What’s wrong with my eye…”
Having lost his memory did not change his narcissistic tendencies. Gellert Lockhart raised his hand to touch his right eye, which was bleeding and had the texture of cataracts due to the out-of-control charm.
He squinted in confusion.
“Click~”
At that moment, the lock on the dressing table drawer suddenly popped open, startling Gellert Lockhart. He stumbled back several steps and even fell to the ground.
“You scared me to death!”
After patting his chest to calm himself down for a while, Gellert Lockhart finally stood up from the ground. He cautiously approached the dressing table drawer to take a look inside.
A thick diary lay quietly in the drawer.
“Gellert Grindelwald…”
Lockhart read the signature on the diary.
“This is my diary?” In a state of not being able to remember anything, Lockhart, already anxious and uneasy, felt as if he had grasped a straw of hope.
…
In the quiet and deserted village of Hogsmeade, under the big tree.
A middle-aged wizard wearing a comical top hat glanced up at the distant castle. An ancient mirror suddenly appeared out of thin air and was expressionlessly tucked into his robes.
Then, this wandering chess player looked at the chessboard in front of him. Unlike the one he had set up during the day, this chessboard was filled with various character pieces.
The pieces were uniquely shaped and did not belong to any chess type among wizards; instead, they resembled one after another living sculptures, including Dumbledore, Snape, and Grindelwald.
“The careless Prophet, this is the right direction…” The middle-aged wizard muttered to himself as he stared at the pieces, raising his hand to gently tap one of the black pieces on the board.
“At least it is for me.”
In the tranquil night, the homeless wanderer whispered softly, his voice weary. Moonlight poured down through the branches, illuminating the pure silver ring he wore on his hand.
The ancient ring shimmered with a faint glow.
It was engraved with a raven.
…
The next day.
Ian woke up in the Room of Requirement.
He felt a bit of a headache, his mouth dry, and the pillow he was holding was too cold. It might be fine in summer, but in winter, it was somewhat inappropriate—slowly rebooting his mind, Ian opened his eyes to see a grotesque face without eyes staring back at him.
“What did I do last night!”
Ian let out a terrified scream.
He abruptly released the Dementor, which had been dressed up for Halloween and tied up like a dumpling, jumping up from the floor of the Room of Requirement like a startled deer.
“Yes, what did you do to us last night?”
Before Ian could recall his fragmented memories while looking at the Dementor on the floor,
In the next moment, dozens of books made of skeletons floated over.
They surrounded Ian.
They issued questions filled with indignation.
‘The Book of Parselmouth’
Ian recognized the crooked handwriting on the book.
(End of this chapter)
You can read ahead up to 100 chapters on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/darkshadow6395