Chapter One, The Prologue (rewrite)
[A/N: I rewrote the chapters, the first four chapters are mainly added content and corrected mistakes, the later ones have much more dialogue and content.
Thank you for reading. Good day.]
The 7th of July 1982 was a marvelous summer day, with the sun shining in the clear skies and a pleasant breeze flew across Britain. But two very particular events took place that day. Somewhere in the Highlands of Scotland, before a vast lake and dense forest, was a huge, rambling, magical castle with jumbles of towers and battlements. The forest seemed almost alive with whispers and cries while the lake felt like a raging monster lived within it. But high up in the tallest of towers, was a very small room with very few visitors since its existence. Candles with tiny golden dancing flames lighted the small room, placed underneath of a shallow window with cracked glass. But in the middle of the room, laying upon a pedestal encrusted with fine details of silver and gold, was a heavy enchanted leather-book. And beside it, was a heavily feathered quill, seemingly waiting for something, as it levitated early left to right.
The enchanted book and feathered quill were in fact, the Quill of Acceptance, and the Book of Admittance. Two powerful and ancient artifacts created by the founders of Hogwarts and meant to register every magical child in Britain by their first bout of accidental magic.
Suddenly, the quill flew up and dipped itself into an inkwell hidden behind the pedestal, while the leather-book opened, revealing hundreds upon hundreds of pages, filled with names almost carved into the pages in black ink. As the quill retracted itself from the inkwell, the book automatically turned to a new page, without any names written on it yet. The quill soared across the small room and elegantly wrote down the name of a child before it froze. Only for a second or two. Then, the quill gently floated back to where it laid before, seemingly waiting once more.
But the first particular event of that fateful day, was when the book was about to snap shut, the newly written down name, lit up in a golden light and vanished. Normally, for a name to be erased meant the magical maturity or the death of a child. But in this very particular case, it did not mean either of the two possibilities. For the name was never erased but simply invisible. This could only mean one thing, the usage of the Fidelius charm.
The charm itself is a very complex and difficult spell because it hides a secret in one's soul, making it invisible to the world except the caster and secret keeper.
Only powerful witches or wizards could cast such a charm, but even then, to fool two ancient and magical artifacts created by the four founders of Hogwarts. Only two known wizards of this century could possibly pull this off.
Thousands of miles away, the second event took place, the sun began to set over the Austrian Alps, the wind blew ominously as if something momentous was about to happen. Hidden at the peak of the mountains, was an enormous magical castle, Nurmengard, serving as prison with only a single cell occupied.
The walls of the very same cell were bare, the washed off paint peeling off from the grey stone. The entire cell, matter of fact, was made up of stone, from ceiling to floor. Only the heavy metal door with a narrow rectangular slit serving as window, lighting the sinister room was an exception.
The air shimmered, undoubtedly charged with numerous amounts of spells and wards. In the center of the cell, magically fixed to a metal chair was the prisoner. One could see the old man's features even though they were hidden beneath his wild mane of silver white hair. Gaunt, skeletal and missing his right eye, nobody could mistake him, Gellert Grindelwald.
Even after thirty-two years of imprisonment, the wizarding world had not forgotten him in the slightest. It was clear by the periodically changed patrols roaming around the fortress, and the thirty-five ICW Aurors constantly guarding him.
But something was amiss, anyone who witnessed the famous battle between Grindelwald and Dumbledore would have known it. Grindelwald should have won it, he should have won the duel easily as well, but purposefully lost. This question had puzzled the authorities for years, until now.
Back in the damp cell, Gellert suddenly lifted his head high, an indescribable pain struck him, he began writhing in agony, heavy thumps were made from hitting the bindings tying his hands against the back of the chair. Trying not to attract the attention of the guards, Gellert bit his tongue. His left eye began to glow as he saw his surrounding melt away and change scenery.
He was receiving a vision, one of his many abilities of Seers. And it was a most anticipated one as well. This was the only reason why Grindelwald was imprisoned in his own fortress, the reason for his loyal followers to hide from the world and await his return. Instead of the dark and sinister cell, the surroundings fated away in black smoke and turned into Paris, more specifically the LeStrange Mausoleum. Gellert was sat in the center, still seated on his metallic chair as he saw his younger self giving his speech at the rally. And then, once more the scenery fated and changed into him at Nurmengard, training Credence, then it changed again, to him leading an army of wizards and witches against the no-majs in Germany.
The vision was the same he received so many years ago, the one which led him to the Elder Wand, to Credence, to bestow upon the world the Greater Good. But something felt different, Gellert only realized it when the landscape turned into something new. Gellert found himself on a muddy battlefield surrounded by hundreds of men and woman, all appearing grim and tense.
Suddenly, an equally large group, all wearing grey robes with the Deathly Hallow symbol engraved on their backs, apparated about a hundred meters from him. Clearly both parties were preparing for battle. Insults were traded for a few moments until an eerie silence took place. Two leading figures silently apparated in front of their respective groups. Gellert saw his younger self standing with the grey robed wizards and witches. Gellert's eye widened when it dawned on him, he wasn't the one in the vision, it was someone else. The person looked very much alike to Gellert's younger self, with silver white hair and he even had the magical blue eye made by the youngest of the Peverell brothers. But his left eye was a bright viridian green, his skin paler, his demeanor more authoritative.
On the other side of the battlefield, someone looking very much alike to Charlus Potter was leading the group. Gellert remembered Charlus very well, he always was a thorn in his plans, and if whoever was in his place had to face Charlus's descendant, they would also find themselves with a headache.
The two leaders stared at each other before talking, Gellert was too far away to hear what they were saying but could have sworn he heard the word 'Dumbledore' in their conversation.
And then, all hell broke loose. He couldn't be sure which side had fired first, but Gellert quickly found himself, still seated on his metal chair, watching the hundreds of wizards and witches trade everything, from cruses and jinxes to even some stunners. Some were killed instantly while others were on the ground, screaming with hideous and gruesome wounds. Cries, moans and whispers came from the piles of entangled bodies and corpses.
Everything was eerily familiar to when Gellert led his army in Normandy, dueling himself against Charlus Potter who had led the opposition. The ground was quickly littered with blood and corpses. Gellert found the silver haired man, with a navy-blue frock coat stalking the Potter descendant unable to hide the mirth and excitement in his eyes.
Gellert heard 'Grindelwald' shouted by the Potter.
His eye widened. He understood now, the vision he was having was not in fact about him, but of his heir, of his legacy. That person was meant to enact the Greater Good upon the world.
Gellert's heir and the Potter heir walked calmly towards each other, a wave of hope, fear and apprehension reverberated around the battlefield. Many stopped to watch the inevitable confrontation and stared with bated breath, abandoning their own conflicts.
It was a moment that would be remembered throughout history, every wizard and witches mutually nodded to each other, indicating a momentarily stop to the battle, waiting for the confrontation of their leaders. This was a decisive moment, any of the sides could lose if their leader lost the duel.
Both Descendants were now at ruffly ten meters from each other, tightly holding on to their wands. the Grindelwald, titled his head and eyed the Potter with a calculative gaze, while the other returned with only fury and hatred in his emerald eyes.
The Potter initiated the duel, firing a powerful barrage of spells smashing into the Grindelwald's own set of curses in mid-air. The crackling noise of the sparks from the colliding spells and the sheer amount of magic reverberated throughout the battlefield.
But before Gellert could comprehend exactly what was happening, the vision turned into black smoke and vanished, and he found himself back in the sinister cell. After a few minutes of speculation, he lifted his head and chuckled lightly and in a deep but raspy voice, he said, "So, my legacy continues."
Gellert knew the time to act was now. Without effort, he rose up from the seat, snapping the magical bidding with ease. Cracking his neck side to side, Gellert bit down on his thumb, allowing a narrow flow of blood. Using his blood covered fingers, he started drawing runes on the floor of the cell.
Decades ago, he had constructed the prison, and planned out meticulously every spell, ward and rune protecting the cell. He still remembered every spell and their weaknesses. The wards prohibited magical travel and strengthened the walls and door to the point a Hungarian Horntail wouldn't be able to scratch them. The runes rendered extension charms and repelled anyone not keyed into the main runic system of the fortress. The numerous spells layered over the cell connected multiple detection spells to the guards.
But in the end, control is only an illusion. Even the best defense has weaknesses meant to be exploited. Every single layer of security was unraveled as Gellert wrote down advanced runes, disabling all the detection charms at once and reversing the seal connecting the threshold to the main runes of the castle.
When the wards and protections fell silently, Gellert grinned. Feeling his magic slowly becoming accessible once more, he chanted the Fidelius charm, "Deflagrate muri tempi et intervallia, etenium, dissimulo fidelis arcanum." His vision had earlier revealed the name of successor, something Gellert wanted to keep a secret for the time being, especially from Dumbledore.
And with a flick of his hand, the heavy metal door burst open. The two guards standing behind the door died near instantly as Gellert transfigured hundreds of shrapnel like bullets piercing both their hearts from the metal door.
Slowly walking away from the cell, Gellert summoned on of their wands. 'Not the Elder Wand, but serviceable none the less,' Thought the escapee.
Walking down the hallways he was met with a squadron of Aurors all pointing their wands at him. But before even letting them blink, Gellert smirked and waved his wand, unleashing uncountable numbers of deadly spells striking the Aurors at incredible speed. Eliminating any Aurors going against him.
Gellert merely smiled as he strolled around the blooded hallway and continued hurling powerful spells after other, killing every guard he encountered before reaching the gate.
Arriving at the grand Gates of Nurmengard, Gellert smiled and shouted "Bombarda Maxima," letting out an overpowered explosion spell from the tip of his stolen wand, destroying the gate with ease.
Walking outside, he breathed in the crisp mountain air for the first time since his imprisonment, before admiring for one last time the strength and beauty of the fortress he built.
And then disapparated with a silent crack.