1979, in a mountain forest in Austria.
Rain lashed the dense branches, then dripped from them, finally gathering into muddy puddles on the ground.
The sound of running came from afar. A house-elf's bare, dark, rough feet stomped through the mud, splashing filth everywhere.
It stumbled along, seeming panicked and lost, yet exceptionally careful, because it held a baby in its arms—a swaddled infant.
The Anti-Apparition magic here was powerful. Not even house-elves were exempt.
It could only Apparate at the very edge of the forest, then run along the route it remembered.
The baby was well protected. The Waterproofing Charm kept the swaddling dry and comfortable, and the boy slept soundly, seemingly unaffected by the harsh surroundings.
It ran for who knew how long before the outline of a weathered, icy tower gradually emerged through the darkness.
For the Greater Good!
It looked up at the faded words above the tower entrance, its large eyes filled with sorrow and loss.
The prison known as Nurmengard had no guards. The house-elf made its way in without obstruction, carrying the boy into the tower and climbing the steep spiral stone stairs.
Only when it neared the very top did it slow, panting heavily. After carefully wiping the mud from its feet on the steps, it entered the highest floor of the tower.
It was a cramped room, with the floor, ceiling, and surrounding walls all made of black stone.
The small space felt inexplicably oppressive.
Apart from the stone, the only furniture was a wooden bed, upon which an old man sat with his knees drawn to his chest.
He was gaunt and haggard, his hair sparse. He wore tattered robes, and the hands and feet exposed beneath them were little more than bony joints wrapped in thin skin, frighteningly thin.