The two of them fell silent.
Witnesses?
They both knew exactly what Harry meant by "witnesses."
"Harry, this matter…" Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head.
Harry cut him off. "It's not as complicated as you think."
"Aberforth doesn't hate you like before. All of this just needs you both to sit down calmly and talk it through."
"Just take the first step."
Unconsciously, the two old wizards picked up their knives and forks, beginning to cut into their plates of food.
"The so-called greatest white wizard," Harry scoffed. "And the dark wizard who once terrorized all of Europe and even North America—now can't handle something this small?"
"Even Tom had the decency to fight for resurrection. And you two? I've literally taken the cheese out of the trap and put it in front of you. You're clearly tempted, but too scared to take a bite."
Time is invisible, intangible, its only measure found in each breath, every rising and setting of the sun, every thought you can't suppress. It feels like nothing—like a stream passing by—but when you look back, somehow you've been swept away, ending up who knows where, as someone you no longer recognize.
Fifty years of inertia—charging straight ahead.
They had long become the shape of time.
Harry took a sip of wine and sighed. "Let's not talk about things that'll make you uncomfortable. Grindelwald, do you know how many Horcruxes Voldemort made?"
Grindelwald shook his head. "I don't. He's just Tom Riddle—I never paid that much attention to him."
"But even counting Harry, it wouldn't be more than seven," he added.
That made both Dumbledore and Harry pause.
A flicker of confusion, then realization.
"I think we overlooked something," Dumbledore murmured, tapping his knife gently against his plate.
Harry nodded, swallowing a bite of beef. "Including me, no more than seven Horcruxes."
"So excluding me, who was an accident, he only planned to make six. Add in the main soul—it fits the number seven perfectly."
"Voldemort's main soul died too quickly for us to even consider it. He never got a chance to do anything meaningful with it."
He paused. "We've destroyed three. He used Hufflepuff's cup to resurrect himself."
"Ravenclaw's diadem—we know it's a Horcrux, just haven't found it yet."
He raised one hand, spreading his fingers. "That's five."
Then he lifted the pinky of his other hand. "One more. The final Horcrux. We don't know what it is."
He looked to Grindelwald.
Grindelwald shook his head. "Potter, I'm not omniscient. I can see some things, but not everything."
Dumbledore tapped the table. "I've spoken to Godric Gryffindor. He's seen all his significant relics. They're all accounted for."
"The Holy Grail," Harry said, lowering his hand. "I mean the legendary one, not Helga Hufflepuff's cup."
Avalon…
Given Voldemort's obsession with legends, it would be strange if he didn't try to corrupt something like that.
Dinner ended quickly.
Harry did most of the talking, Grindelwald answering, and Dumbledore, unusually silent, only spoke about Voldemort.
"Where's my room?" Harry asked after finishing his final glass.
Grindelwald, slightly tipsy, waved a hand. "Room? There are plenty in Nurmengard."
"Pick any you like—with your level of Transfiguration, you could live anywhere comfortably."
Harry sneered. "I should study your hospitality, Mr. Grindelwald."
"Guests cook the dinner."
"And arrange their own lodging?"
Grindelwald laughed. "Well, no one visits a prison as a guest."
Harry said nothing and stood up to leave.
Grindelwald and Dumbledore exchanged glances, silent.
Night passed.
Morning sunlight streamed in through the windows.
Harry had picked a sunlit room. Even after two bottles of brandy, he felt no ill effects. After freshening up, he stepped outside to train.
Nurmengard was bigger than expected—almost half the size of Hogwarts. And it was just a prison.
It was hard to imagine how many enemies Grindelwald had in his prime.
When Harry returned, Dumbledore and Grindelwald were still asleep on the couches, wrapped in blankets tinged with each other's magical aura.
"Albus, wake up," Harry said, conjuring a rooster with a flick of his wand.
Dumbledore blearily opened his eyes. "Fawkes, quiet down."
"Fawkes makes rooster sounds?" Harry asked in surprise.
"He's been around Crookshanks too long—picked up some feline traits," Dumbledore mumbled, shaking his head.
"Fawkes is still just a baby bird," Grindelwald stretched. "Leaving already?"
Harry nodded. "We came as guests, not inmates."
"At least stay a few more days?" Grindelwald coaxed. "The scenery is nice."
"At least let Professor Dumbledore take me back," Harry replied. "If I stayed, it'd make you both uncomfortable."
"You whisper like you're afraid of being overheard—casting silencing charms on yourselves."
Their expressions froze.
"You heard us?" Dumbledore asked cautiously.
He'd kept his voice low during last night's conversation.
Harry shook his head. "No, I didn't."
Dumbledore exhaled in relief. Grindelwald relaxed as well.
"I'm not interested in two old men crying about their sins," Harry said bluntly.
Their faces tightened instantly, the whiplash nearly giving them facial cramps.
"You did hear!" Dumbledore's eyes widened.
"I didn't, I swear," Harry repeated. "But what else would you two be doing at night?"
Neither answered.
Grindelwald sighed and waved his hand.
The walk from the great hall to the gate wasn't long—197 steps. He'd never counted before.
He walked them to the gate.
Dumbledore took Harry's arm and Apparated them away.
Grindelwald took a deep breath, raised his hand, and gestured toward the mountains.
BOOM—giant boulders twisted, forming a massive hand that lifted a group of wizards high into the air.
Snap—he disappeared and reappeared in front of them.
"Dumbledore visits me and this is how you react?" he asked coldly.
"Britain, Austria, Erimeken, France…"
"What? Is the next International Magical Summit being held in Nurmengard?"
The captured Aurors writhed, trying to speak, but their mouths were magically sealed.
"I hate this feeling," he muttered.
BOOM—the stone hand slammed down. Earth cracked. They were buried in the ground up to their necks.
He knelt down and tapped one on the forehead gently.
"Perhaps you've forgotten," he said softly.
"I imprisoned myself in Nurmengard. Dumbledore is the lock."
"None of you are even qualified to be guards."
"Only Albus and I have the right to imprison or watch over me."
His voice was low, soothing, tapping in a steady 4/4 rhythm on the Auror's brow. "You're not even worthy of being prison guards. Repeat my words when you get back. Paint it on your walls. Carve it into your arms if you must."
"Now get lost."
He snapped his fingers.
The hand vanished. The ground reset. All seemed untouched—except for the Aurors' injuries.
Panicked, they pulled out wands to Apparate.
"Wait," Grindelwald said, remembering something.
He froze the space around them.
Spells fizzled.
They stood dumbly, terrified of this unrepentant, towering dark legend.
"Tonight, send me two bottles of brandy," he said. "And a bottle of honey water."
"The kind Dumbledore likes."
"Oh—and every issue of The Daily Prophet and The Quibbler."
"Understood?"
British Ministry Aurors nodded frantically.
"Good." Grindelwald lifted the freeze.
Pop pop pop! They vanished in panic.
Grindelwald's moment of freedom ended. He returned to the highest tower of Nurmengard, sitting on the iron-framed single bed, staring into the distance.
The Ministry worked quickly.
Within half an hour, a house-elf delivered his requests: brandy, honey water, today's Prophet, and The Quibbler.
He conjured a glass and poured honey water.
Thick and golden, it flowed in layers.
He sipped and frowned. "Albus, your taste is getting worse. How can you drink this?"
He added half a cup of brandy before he could finish the honey.
Meanwhile, at 12 Grimmauld Place—
Scrimgeour sat nervously across from Dumbledore and Harry.
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Powerstones?
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