Nurmengard's lofty towers rose above the mountaintop.
It was a "grim fortress," a "black, forbidding, towering structure."
Above the tower's entrance, a barely legible inscription read, "For the Greater Good."
The cell Gellert Grindelwald had occupied since 1945 was a dark room in the tallest tower. Its "window was an extremely narrow slit in the black stone," and inside stood a stone bed covered with a tattered, thin blanket.
Grindelwald's aged fingers gently twirled Fawkes's tail feather. Tiny sparks glimmered along it, lending a little warm, orange light to the otherwise pitch-black room.
A brief letter lay on the table. Grindelwald had read it so many times that he knew even the curves of every letter by heart.
Leave?
Grindelwald looked a little dazed. Ever since coming here, he had abandoned all thought of leaving, endlessly revisiting the past in the darkness, recalling memories that had grown somewhat hazy.
Rumor in the Wizarding World claimed that an immensely powerful spell had locked him securely inside Nurmengard, with a mysterious jailer standing guard.
Some even said that his jailer was Dumbledore, who had placed magic on Grindelwald, his once inseparable friend, allowing him to monitor Grindelwald's movements at any time.
How ridiculous... what did these pitiful, mediocre people know?
They were always like this, speculating according to their own assumptions and tirelessly spreading absurd stories.
Unable to leave? What a joke!
Could Nurmengard hold him? His former Saints had merely grown old. They weren't dead!
If he wished, he could leave at any moment. There were people willing to give their lives to get him out. But what would leaving accomplish...?
In the Wizarding World, power was everything. Dumbledore refused to admit it, but the fact remained that he was the strongest wizard in the world.
The Elder Wand was in