In Azkaban, there will never be starlight at night.
This black fortress, standing on an isolated island in the North Sea, resembles a crouching behemoth, its cold back protruding above the water, enduring the ceaseless pounding of the waves day and night. "Splash... splash..."
The seawater, carrying the chill of the deep, crashed against the rocks at the bottom of the fortress again and again, producing a dull and desperate roar, like the sobs of countless prisoners, echoing endlessly across the empty sea.
The fortress walls were constructed of dark, massive stones, each engraved with ancient and cold imprisoning runes that gleamed faintly in the darkness, radiating a suffocating sense of oppression.
The omnipresent Dementor hovered over the fortress like ghosts, their wide black robes fluttering in the night wind. Their empty eye sockets were devoid of any light, yet they could precisely capture any trace of vibrant emotion, slowly stripping away despair and fear, only to return it all to every living being in this prison.
Even on the brightest day, only a hazy glimmer of light barely penetrates the thick clouds. At night, the dense darkness completely engulfs everything, leaving only a bone-chilling cold, like countless fine needles piercing the skin through the seams of clothing and into the marrow, making every breath a cold, stinging pain.
At this moment, Dumbledore and Grindelwald stood side by side on a rock outside the main gate of Azkaban.
The reef, eroded by the waves over time, had become smooth and slippery, gleaming with a cold, bluish-gray light, as if it could be swept away by a giant wave at any moment. The waves roared wildly beneath their feet, huge sprays leaping up and crashing down, the foam shimmering pale in the darkness like scattered bones, only to be swallowed by new waves in an instant. The sea breeze made their robes flutter, Dumbledore's signature purple robe billowing in the wind, its edges billowing in the night air, revealing a neatly pressed garment underneath. Dumbledore wore a white shirt; Grindelwald, on the other hand, wore a long black overcoat, the thick fabric still unable to keep out the sea breeze. His hair was tousled by the wind, clinging to his smooth forehead, making his deeply sculpted face appear even more cold and stern. Dumbledore's left hand gripped one end of the magical shackles tightly, his knuckles turning slightly white from the force. The other end of the shackles was locked to Grindelwald's wrist. The silver shackles, engraved with countless sealing runes, gleamed faintly in the darkness, appearing indestructible.
It seemed to be able to lock away the most powerful magical forces in the world.
The cold metal pressed against Grindelwald's skin, yet it seemed to have no effect on his expression—both knew it was merely a prop. The runes on its surface, though seemingly complex, possessed no real binding power; Grindelwald could easily break free with a little effort. Their "transfer" was, from beginning to end, a meticulously planned charade, a deception performed for the entire Azkaban.
Both harbored their own thoughts, yet they reached a temporary tacit understanding, just like many years ago, trusting each other while also being wary of one another.
Grindelwald glanced at the shackles on his wrists, a hint of amusement flashing in his heterochromatic eyes. He lowered his voice, speaking in a volume only the two of them could hear, " Albus, don't be too surprised when I break these things later."
His voice was deep and husky, with a unique magnetism, yet it also contained a hint of subtle provocation.
Dumbledore's lips twitched slightly, a hint of helplessness flashing in his eyes. He lowered his voice in response, "Don't overdo it. Exaggerating will only make it look fake." " Gleeson isn't stupid, and those Auror aren't useless. Being too flamboyant will only arouse suspicion." His voice was calm and composed, carrying a seasoned steadiness, as if he already had everything under control. Grindelwald snorted softly, offering no reply, but slowly turned his head, his gaze fixed on the distant, dark fortress.
His heterochromatic eyes shone brightly in the darkness, as if they could pierce through the thick gloom and see everything inside the fortress. The sea breeze still howled, and the waves still roared. The two figures appeared and disappeared in the darkness, like two silent statues, letting the sea breeze blow their robes, quietly waiting for the play to begin.
Outside the main gate of Azkaban, two Auror dressed in scarlet robes patrolled back and forth. Their scarlet robes stood out conspicuously in the darkness, forming a stark contrast with the surrounding darkness. The collars and cuffs of their robes were embroidered with gold badges, the insignia of the Ministry of Magic's Auror, symbolizing authority and justice.
The Auror's wand flickered with a faint blue detection magic, like two dim stars swaying in the darkness, warily scanning every inch of the surrounding shadows. This was the most secure prison in the Wizarding World, and even the patrolling Auror were elites carefully selected from the best.
They not only possess powerful magical abilities, but also exceptional vigilance and mental fortitude; even the slightest anomaly cannot escape their notice. Therefore...
"There are people over there!" A younger Auror suddenly stopped, his body stiffening slightly. His wand instantly pointed in the direction of Dumbledore and Grindelwald, his voice trembling with tension, "Two people! On that rock! Right there!"
He looked to be in his early twenties, with a touch of youthful naiveté on his face, and his eyes were filled with vigilance and a hint of barely perceptible panic—in a place like Azkaban, the appearance of an unidentified person late at night was never a good thing.
Another, older Auror stopped abruptly. He appeared to be in his fifties, with graying hair and a face etched with the marks of time, yet his eyes were unusually sharp. He squinted, Hard Work to make out the two figures in the darkness, his brow furrowed, his fingers unconsciously tightening their grip on his wand. A few seconds later, when he could make out the outlines of the two figures, this Auror shuddered. His pupils contracted sharply, his face drained of color, and his voice trembled with disbelief. "That's... Professor Dumbledore! And... Merlin above, that's Grindelwald!"
This is absolutely shocking!
The young Auror's face instantly turned deathly pale, paler than the walls of Azkaban. His hands trembled violently, nearly dropping his wand. He instinctively took a step back, stammering, " Grindelwald?! That Dark Lord?!"
"How did he get here—wasn't he released on bail? How come he's with Professor Dumbledore?" This young Auror's mental fortitude wasn't bad, but he couldn't withstand Grindelwald's truly terrifying influence.
Grindelwald's name was etched into the very bones of every Wizard. Even rigorously trained Auror felt a chill run down their spines at the mere mention of his name. The man who had plunged the entire Europe Wizarding World into chaos, the Dark Lord with his immense magical power and ruthless methods—how could he possibly be standing outside the gates of Azkaban?
"Don't panic!" the older Auror hissed, forcing himself to calm down. His voice, though still trembling, held a newfound firmness. "You stay here and immediately use magic to inform the captain of the guard and Mr. Gleeson that Professor Dumbledore has brought Grindelwald and has important matters to discuss."
"I'll go check it out. Remember, don't make any rash moves. No matter what happens, don't attack first—that's Professor Dumbledore and Grindelwald. We're no match for them." He took a deep breath, Hard Work to calm his wildly beating heart, gripped his wand tightly, and walked step by step towards the two figures. The sound of waves crashing against the rocks roared in his ears, as if to shatter his eardrums, and the cold sea wind stung his throat.
Every step was exceptionally difficult.
no way.
The older.
The more you know, the more terrifying Grindelwald becomes compared to Voldemort.
His gaze was fixed on the two figures, a mixture of awe for Dumbledore and fear of Grindelwald, two emotions intertwined within him, making his entire body tense.
As he approached, Dumbledore slowly turned his head to look at him. His deep blue eyes remained bright in the darkness, like a deep lake, carrying a reassuring gentleness that seemed to soothe all fear and unease.
A faint smile played on Dumbledore's face, a smile gentle and composed, without the slightest hint of panic, as if it were just an ordinary night, a chance encounter with an old friend.
"Good evening," Dumbledore said, his voice calm and composed, like the warm winter sun dispelling some of the surrounding chill. "Please inform your supervisor, Mr. Gleeson. I have urgent business to discuss with him; it is of great importance and cannot be delayed."
"Ah?" The older Auror's gaze swept back and forth over Grindelwald, then landed on the shackles between the two. His expression became incredibly complex—a mixture of doubt, fear, and disbelief. He opened his mouth, hesitated for a moment, and then cautiously spoke, "This... Professor Dumbledore, this is... how did you bring Mr. Grindelwald here? And... how did he end up in shackles?" He simply couldn't understand why Dumbledore would personally bring Grindelwald to Azkaban, and he couldn't understand why that arrogant Dark Lord would willingly be chained up.
Upon hearing this, Dumbledore instantly got into character, letting out a sigh that carried a hint of weariness and helplessness, as if bearing an immense weight. " Grindelwald has violated his bail agreement. As his guarantor, I hereby formally withdraw my guarantee against him, and he must be transferred to Azkaban to serve the remainder of his sentence." His voice was soft, yet carried an undeniable firmness that left no room for argument.
The Auror was stunned, his eyes wide with disbelief. He couldn't believe Grindelwald would break his bail agreement, much less that Dumbledore would personally hand him over to Azkaban. In his memory, Dumbledore and Grindelwald shared a hidden past; they had once been the closest of friends, but later parted ways due to differing ideologies, becoming adversaries. Now, Dumbledore was personally transferring Grindelwald to prison!?
What exactly is hidden in this?
Auror was completely baffled.
Grindelwald sneered, saying nothing, but slightly raising his chin, his eyes full of disdain and mockery. He deliberately shook the shackles on his wrists, making a crisp clinking sound, as if mocking the ridiculousness of the shackles, and also mocking the naiveté of the Auror before him.
These shackles are nothing but a joke, a prop used to deceive everyone, yet this Auror actually believes they can bind him. "Is that so?" The older Auror snapped out of his daze. He knew that Dumbledore's decision was not one he could question. He quickly nodded and said respectfully, "Yes, Professor Dumbledore, I will inform Mr. Gleeson immediately. Please wait a moment with Mr. Grindelwald."
He still had to maintain his respect for Grindelwald. After all, there were still many Acolytes. After saying that, he looked at Grindelwald again, his eyes still filled with fear, then turned and quickly left the reef, his steps even more hurried than when he came, as if something terrible was chasing him.
Dumbledore and Grindelwald fell silent again. The sea breeze continued to howl, the waves continued to roar, and the darkness remained thick. Grindelwald turned his head to look at Dumbledore, a hint of doubt flashing in his heterochromatic eyes. " Albus, are you sure Gleeson will believe you? That old man, though cowardly, isn't stupid. Won't he have his doubts?" Dumbledore shook his head slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips, " Gleeson is timid and cowardly; all he cares about is his position." "He knows what to say."
Despite the dedication of many, Old Deng remained as outstanding as ever.
Grindelwald gave a soft hum, nodded, and said nothing more. He knew that Dumbledore's judgment was correct.
Ten minutes later.
Led by the older Auror, Dumbledore and Grindelwald entered Azkaban.
Passing through the heavy iron gate, an even more intense chill and despair rushed in, more biting than the sea breeze outside. The interior of Azkaban was dark and damp, with dim torches hanging on the walls on both sides of the corridor. The weak and flickering light cast long, long shadows of the two people, which twisted and writhed on the walls like ghosts.
The corridor echoed with the desperate screams and cries of prisoners, along with the low groans of Dementor; these sounds mingled together, creating a symphony of despair that sent chills down one's spine.
" Dumbledore! Help me!"
"Let me out! Do you know who my father is?"
"Our master won't be able to save us; you will all die!"
The cells lining both sides of the corridor held countless dark Wizard and Death Eater. Some huddled in corners, their eyes vacant, like walking corpses. Others pounded on the iron doors of their cells, screaming and howling, their faces filled with madness and despair.
Others had all their joy drained by the Dementor, leaving only empty shells lying lifelessly on the cold ground. Each cell door was engraved with powerful binding runes, radiating a chilling light that firmly trapped the dark Wizard inside, preventing their escape. Grindelwald's gaze swept over the prisoners, his face devoid of pity, only a cold mockery. In his eyes, these people were all trash, scum rejected by the Wizarding World; they were unworthy of magic, unworthy of living in this world.
He once wanted to create a completely new magical world, a world ruled by Great Wizard, and these people were clearly not in his original plans.