Under The Starry Sky

My mind churned through the dream—the dream where I had seen this place—revisiting it over and over. The passageways of Nurmengard were labyrinthine, a maze so intricate that even the most skilled navigator could lose their way. The castle's enchantments didn't merely disorient; they actively worked to ensure your downfall, a predator lying in wait.

Click-clack.

The sound of boots echoed through the dim corridors. Instinctively, I melded into the stone wall, my magic camouflaging me seamlessly. Even the faintest trace of my presence could not be detected; I couldn't afford it. Holding my breath, I focused on the figure approaching—a guard on patrol. His uniform was thickly layered with protective wards, glimmering faintly in the dim torchlight. Nurmengard truly lived up to its reputation as the most impenetrable prison, designed to hold one prisoner above all—Grindelwald.

As the sound of footsteps faded, I stepped forward cautiously, retracing the path I had seen in my vision. The corridors grew narrower, the air heavier with layers of ancient magic. Soon, I arrived at the long passageway where a line of Aurors stood guard, stationed at regular intervals like silent sentinels. Would they detect me? Unlikely. Their wards were primitive compared to the skills I wielded.

This journey, to my surprise, had been easier than expected. The realization struck me with unsettling clarity: I had grown so accustomed to comparing myself to the likes of Dumbledore, Voldemort, Bellatrix, or even Moody, that I had forgotten how unremarkable the average witch or wizard was. Their wards barely flickered against my simple disillusionment charm. The war that had ravaged Britain forged hardened soldiers, but the rest of the wizarding world had remained in a state of fragile peace since the fall of Grindelwald. The conflicts of the Cold War were, after all, a Muggle affair.

My thoughts were interrupted as I froze mid-step. An Auror emerged from the shadows, a tray of food in one hand and a folded newspaper in the other. He approached a narrow staircase at the end of the corridor.

"Your turn today, Hein?" a thick German voice called out from the far end of the hall.

"Yes, Hans," the younger man replied, his tone betraying a hint of unease. He shifted the tray nervously, clearly reluctant to approach the cell of the world's most dangerous Dark wizard.

Hans chuckled, the sound dry and hollow. "The old man is harmless. Just sits in his corner, or so they say."

I shook my head subtly at the remark. How wrong he is.

Hein didn't answer. He merely descended the staircase, his footsteps fading into the gloom. Minutes later, he reappeared, his face pale and tense. He exhaled shakily. "You were right. He just stays there...but his aura..." His voice trailed off, and he shuddered visibly before retreating down the corridor.

This was my moment. No one would return to the cell until morning. Silently, I advanced toward the staircase. The cold, damp stone steps seemed to press in around me, claustrophobic and laced with ancient enchantments. Whispers of dark magic brushed against my mind—remnants of nightmares left behind by those who had once lingered here. Anyone less prepared would have succumbed to madness long before reaching the bottom. But I wasn't anyone.

At last, I arrived. The corridor narrowed to a single cell, the walls lined with moss-covered stone carved with intricate runes. And there he was. Gellert Grindelwald.

He sat in his corner, just as the guard had said, his frail form draped in tattered robes. His long white beard was streaked with gray, and his once-golden hair had thinned to wisps. Yet it wasn't his appearance that held me captive—it was his eyes. They shimmered with an unnatural brilliance, one iris Leviathan blue, the other a predatory Nundu gold.

He ate the miserable food on the tray with deliberate slowness, his movements unhurried, as though savoring the monotony. Then, without looking up, he spoke, his voice a chilling blend of Dumbledore's honeyed persuasion and Voldemort's cold finality.

"Are you going to sit?"

For a moment, I froze, caught off guard by the surrealness of it all. Slowly, I waved my hand, dispelling the disillusionment charm and lowering the enchantments that cloaked me.

"Gellert Grindelwald," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. I moved to sit against the wall opposite his cell, the damp stone pressing against my back. "You have an...impressive home."

Grindelwald let out a soft scoff, rolling his eyes. "The ICW and my dear friend Dumbledore combined could barely activate a tenth of these wards, and they call it the worst prison in history." His lips twisted into a bitter smile. "It's both the highest praise and the gravest insult."

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the empty plate toward the cell bars. Then, he finally looked at me, his eyes boring into mine. A sudden, sharp probe pressed against my mind, but I slammed my mental defenses down, forcing him out. His lips curved upward, almost imperceptibly.

And then, he spoke words that chilled me to the marrow of my bones.

"Harry Potter. The Chosen One. The last of the last."

"How do you—" I murmured, my voice cracking. How could he possibly know about the last of the last? Just how?

No, no... My thoughts raced, desperate to make sense of the impossible. You can't read my mind... you may be one of the strongest ever, but years in these wards have weakened you. And the absence of magic for so long—

Grindelwald's laughter echoed through the stone walls, unnerving in its casual cruelty. It wasn't chilling or predatory, but more like the laugh you give after hearing a joke too ridiculous to take seriously.

"Oh, Potter," he chuckled, his voice laced with mockery. "You are so wrong in thinking I cannot read your mind."

His eyes locked onto mine, and in an instant, everything around me seemed to dissolve. The very air felt thick, oppressive.

Then, the world warped.

My mother's screams rang out in the darkness. "Take me instead!" She pleaded with Voldemort, her voice breaking as she begged him to spare me. I was left alone, abandoned at the doorstep of the Dursleys, unloved, unwanted. I felt the terror of accidental magic—my hair growing back after Dudley had cruelly cut it, suddenly appearing on top of the school roof, making glass vanish at the zoo, releasing the boa constrictor. "You're a wizard, Harry," Hagrid's words echoed, but they felt so far away now.

I saw Diagon Alley for the first time, so full of wonder. Getting my wand, meeting Ron and Hermione. Being sorted into Gryffindor, rejecting Slytherin's call. The excitement of my first classes, and Snape's unmistakable hatred toward me.

Then, the first time I truly understood the depth of the darkness in my life: learning about my parents' deaths, becoming the youngest Seeker in a century, staring into the Mirror of Erised, seeing my parents' reflection as if they had never gone. My heart clenched.

Flashes of the events I barely survived. Fluffy, the three-headed dog. The trapdoor, the Philosopher's Stone. The constant near-death experiences. Quirrell, possessed by Voldemort—the first death I ever caused.

Second year, the whispers about me being a Parselmouth, students petrified, the truth hidden in Tom Riddle's diary. My first confrontation with the darkness inside me, saving Ginny. Third year, running away from the Dursleys after blowing up Aunt Marge, the Dementors, the Shrieking Shack. Sirius being my godfather, and yet, still, losing him.

Fourth year, the Triwizard Tournament. Facing the Hungarian Horntail. Cedric's death, the return of Voldemort.

The fifth year. The Ministry denying the truth. Losing Sirius. The prophecy—one must die for the other to live.

The sixth year. Private lessons with Dumbledore. Learning of Horcruxes, the Inferi, the cursed locket. Snape killing Dumbledore. The weight of that betrayal.

And then the seventh year, the endless flight, the hunting of Horcruxes. Losing friends, losing myself. The Deathly Hallows, and finally, the end of it all. But even in the peace that followed, I couldn't escape the torment. I became an Auror, trying to forget. But how do you forget a life like mine?

And then the dark twist of fate.

8 February 1998. The last time I truly died. The time rewinds.

I saw it all again. The Quidditch World Cup, revealing Barty Crouch Jr., the Triwizard Tournament, the disastrous first task. My fascination with Fleur... and Death.

My eyes snapped open—except they hadn't really closed. The world around me was a blur. I was on the floor, my chest heaving, utterly spent.

Grindelwald stood before me. How? How was he this strong? He was a shadow of his former self, a husk of power. Yet now, he loomed like an unstoppable force.

"So," he whispered, his voice dripping with mockery, "Can I read your mind now?"

I could barely breathe. The air felt thick and suffocating, his presence pushing down on me like an invisible weight. I could feel his power pressing against my thoughts, like a hand clenching my mind in a vice.

"Impressive," Grindelwald continued, his eerie blue-and-gold eyes gleaming. "What you've endured... I've had nothing but time, Harry Potter. Time to see what others cannot. My confined eye sees more than most open eyes."

My vision blurred again, the memories swarming back, overwhelming me. I tried to push them away, to escape the images, but they flooded me with a mind-bending intensity.

"Your destiny is written." His voice was a low rasp now, as if the words were dragging themselves from the depths of his soul. "I cannot stop it. But you, Potter... you would die a thousand times before you succeed. Death is your old friend and the worst companion."

I felt the weight of his gaze, the predatory force that sought to drag me into the depths of despair. It was like being trapped in a nightmare with no escape. My mind screamed to break free, but the walls of Grindelwald's attack tightened, wrapping around me like cold iron chains.

He leaned closer, his breath cold against my face, and his words sunk into my very bones:

"I once thought the prophecy foretold me, or perhaps Dumbledore. But now? A child like you, Harry Potter, you are the last of the last…"

"And so?" I forced the words out, my voice edged with frustration, as I pushed myself to my feet. "You know everything now, so there's no point in mincing words, is there? You can't kill me... or maybe you can, but what good would it do?"

Grindelwald's laughter was a cold, hollow thing. He snorted, his withered figure leaning against the wall like some twisted relic of the past.

"No, it wouldn't do any good. Why would I waste my time killing you, Potter?" He paused, his eyes glinting with something sinister. "You are the catalyst to the next age. A necessary evil, an unfortunate one, but a role you must play, whether you like it or not. The last of the last from the previous age—he—tried over 3,000 times. And now, he is revered as a god." Grindelwald's voice dropped lower, his tone thick with something akin to reverence. "And by the end, so worn and exhausted from living up to that legacy, he began the next age with his death."

His eyes locked onto mine, like two piercing daggers. "How will you do it, Harry? You are already on the brink of collapse. So much has happened to you. Can you endure it? Can you live ten times, twenty times, a thousand times? Or will you break before the end?"

His question struck me like a physical blow. How was he so aware? How did he know all of this? Even more than what he had seen in my mind? Could he be bluffing? Could this all be a game to him, a manipulation of fear?

I couldn't answer. The weight of his words pressed against me, like a suffocating force. The idea of enduring over and over again… it felt impossible. But why was he telling me this? Was he mocking me, or was he trying to make me believe something?

Grindelwald seemed to sense my confusion. He exhaled deeply, his voice taking on a bitter, almost nostalgic edge.

"Dumbledore…" He spat the name like it was poison. "An emotional fool, and I was just as foolish in my youth. I let my emotions take control, and that is why I lost. But in his old age, despite his so-called freedom, he has grown weak. He leans too heavily on the Elder Wand, relying on it more than he should." Grindelwald's eyes narrowed, and there was something in his gaze—something ancient and terrifying. "I see more than most. I am the greatest seer since Eveline, but my sight is limited compared to hers. She was at the beginning of the age, while I… I stand at its end. And no one can truly see the next age while trapped in the one before."

I rolled my eyes, dismissing him. "You've said enough already. I get it. You're the strongest wizard, you know more than anyone else. Blah, blah, blah." I shrugged, a wry grin tugging at my lips, though it was forced. "But none of it matters. None of it's useful to me."

He raised an eyebrow, as if mildly impressed. "Well, at least you understand your leverage here." He sighed, snapping his fingers.

Before I could react, my right hand jerked forward, as though it had a mind of its own. I tried to fight it, but the magic was too strong. His gaze locked onto my finger, and with a flick of his wrist, it flew from my hand, traveling straight to his. He closed his fingers around it with a swift motion, bringing the small object close to his lips, muttering something under his breath—an ancient incantation that sounded almost like Sanskrit, or some forgotten language older still. A faint glow radiated from his knuckles as he finished.

He tossed the ring back to me, and I caught it, the weight of it oddly cold in my palm.

"What did you just do?" My voice was low, tinged with suspicion.

"Bind it to your bed in Hogwarts," Grindelwald murmured, a disturbing joy flashing in his eyes, his grin widening. It was almost animalistic, and I took a step back, instinctively recoiling. "Or to the Room of Requirements. Then, say Professor Diabolisch."

His smile turned sinister as he added, "Come to me, and perhaps I'll teach you a thing or two."

I stared at him, unnerved by the twisted gleam in his eyes, but before I could speak, he pointed at me with an almost casual flick of his finger.

The world shifted again. My vision blurred, and the ground disappeared beneath me. I was torn through an unfeeling dome of nothingness, my body spiraling uncontrollably through an unbearable void. A sickening tug in my gut made me want to scream. The magic grounding me was unlike anything I had ever felt—heavy and unyielding.

And then, with a violent jolt, I landed on solid ground once more.

I gasped, blinking in confusion. I was no longer in the cell. I was standing in the shop in Dunkelgasse, the very place where my journey in Germany had begun.

I stood there, still trying to catch my breath, the eerie chill of Grindelwald's presence lingering like a shadow in the back of my mind.

Author's note: Well, well, well, here is the chapter. It is a little short, but honestly, it is one of the chapters I had most fun writing. I like this chapter, and the plot moving forward would now have to be even more complex...

Here is a list of things that I can remember that i have to work on in this story in the next 10 chapters: 1) Triwizard Plot, 2) Rita Skeeter, 3)Fleur Plot, 4) Anastasia's eyes, 5) Grindelwald Plot, 6) Harry's next steps and how he would proceed, 7)Barty Crouch/Moody thing, 8) Relationship with Hermione and Ron/ and also Sirius, 9) His stance regarding Dumbledore... and also some other small things that I can't remember on top of my head right now...

I just gave a list to just put it out that I haven't forgotten everything... Like I have to reread sometimes to remember specifics, but I still remember the basics... If you want to give suggestions, I would be very glad, just drop them in the comments...

Also, the story is very close to 100K words... maybe 2 more chapters only... Like I think it would show 100k on already but that includes Author's notes too. In reality it is around 92k i think. Anyways, Thank you for reading... I will not be updating tomorrow or day after tomorrow. Maybe I would Upload a PJO two-shot, so yeah... So Happy New Year to Every One of you!

Thank You!