Nurmengard Castle, Austrian Alps
1981
The mountain ranges stretched vast and imposing, snow reigning over the proud peaks rooted in solid rock. Pine trees—some centuries old—stood tall, filtering the sunlight through their ancient branches.
The Austrian Alps, also known as the Eastern Alps, were home to many magical and non-magical creatures. Among the most famous were golden eagles, Graphorns, mountain trolls, and yetis.
The air was cold and thin, carrying the sharp scent of pine.
At the edge of a mountain stood a stone fortress. It had a square-shaped tower with a مخروط-shaped roof, connected to a narrow building lined with windows. The fortress also had a courtyard, and on both sides of it were prison cells with black iron bars that looked as though they had not been used in decades.
"FWAP!"
A sharp cracking sound echoed as a woman in her fifties appeared, dressed in black robes, her face concealed beneath a hood, leather gloves covering her hands.
Walking through the soft snow, the woman entered the building. Inside, it was in a state of decay—cabinets filled with loot, golden chandeliers, tables, chairs, and walls that had been vandalized or destroyed. She ascended a staircase connected to the corridor, eventually reaching the top of the tower.
At the top, she found only a small cell. The room was dark and foreboding, containing nothing but a hard bed and a thin, tattered blanket.
Sitting on the bed was the prisoner of that cell—a frail, skeletal figure with a skull-like face, large sunken eyes, wrinkled cheeks, and most of his teeth missing.
"I've already eaten. I have no need for your company, guard," the man mocked without turning his head, his gaze fixed on the wall.
His weak, hoarse voice echoed throughout the silent tower.
"I'm here for a different reason, Gellert," the woman said.
The familiar voice reached Gellert's ears. He turned to look at her before rising to his feet, standing before her, the black bars separating them.
"So, how long has it been…" Gellert murmured, his eyes gleaming—for the first time in decades.
"Yes."
"I presume Voldemort has been defeated," Gellert said, even though he already knew the answer.
"He was defeated by the Potter boy. They are calling him 'The Boy Who Lived' for surviving a Killing Curse, which, in my opinion, is a complete exaggeration."
"A Potter! Even having foreseen his defeat, I never imagined he would fall to a Potter." Gellert laughed, revealing his nearly toothless mouth.
The woman removed her hood, letting her long, pale blonde hair fall over her shoulders. She had blue eyes, and her skin was slightly wrinkled. Gellert couldn't help but show a nostalgic look upon his skeletal face.
"You bear the same expression as our great-aunt," Gellert said, recalling his youth.
"And you look like a skeleton in a cell, in a fortress forgotten by all," the woman replied.
"Yes, forgotten by almost everyone. Or should I remind you that you still remember me, my dear sister?"
"Hmph."
"Ah, Lydia, your indifference is just as striking as I remember," Gellert laughed again, though it came out broken and hollow.
Lydia Grindelwald—sister of Gellert Grindelwald, one of the most powerful and notorious dark wizards of all time, now rotting in captivity within his own fortress for decades.
Unlike her brother, who had walked alongside darkness and built a reign of terror across the globe, Lydia followed a different path. She studied at the same magical school her brother had been expelled from years before—Durmstrang Institute—where, like him, she excelled in various fields of magic. Though notably less powerful than her brother, after graduating Lydia became a successful healer in Bulgaria.
As she witnessed her brother's growing power and the ever-expanding influence of the Grindelwald name, it didn't take long for her to become a target of those who opposed him. With no other choice—and unwilling to take part in the war—she erased any trace of her name and appearance, hiding away in a remote village.
"So, my dear sister, what brings you here after all these years?" Gellert asked, narrowing his eyes.
"I'm pregnant."
For the first time in years, Gellert Grindelwald showed a flicker of surprise, only to quickly return to his usual expression.
"I… met a man in a remote village in Great Britain. He was kind, though a bit clumsy, I admit. He came from a newly established pure-blood lineage, only two generations old. We grew close quickly, discovering we had much in common, and soon became very intimate. However, during a Death Eater attack, he was killed while defending a Muggle-born child—before we could even marry."
"I see. But I cannot help you, my dear sister," Gellert said, frowning slightly.
"I only need your consent."
"Oh, my dear Lydia… what is it that you desire?"
"To carry the Grindelwald name forward," Lydia said.
Gellert grimaced at her words.
"Do you have any idea of the burden this child will have to bear?" he asked.
"The burden of your idealism and ambition—the ones that marked our family forever. It was your idealism that sparked the Wizarding World War, and you, Gellert, spread our name across the world with arrogance."
"I am paying for my sins. I have spent decades reflecting on the mistakes of my past, consumed by remorse and shame," Gellert replied sincerely.
"But if you are so determined to make this child carry our family's name, then my consent matters little," he continued, locking eyes with her.
Satisfied, Lydia turned to leave, but was stopped by her brother.
"Wait. When the child is about to turn eleven, enroll them at Hogwarts."
"Why?" Lydia asked, confused.
"At that school is the only man I ever loved and respected. I am certain he will take good care of my nephew."
And so Lydia departed, leaving Gellert Grindelwald alone once more in his prison—once his untouchable fortress. Sitting on the bed, Gellert had a vision of the near future, one that made him laugh for several minutes before abruptly stopping. A macabre smile formed on his face—one that some might find unsettling.
"My dear Tom… it seems Albus and the Potter boy are not the only ones you will have to deal with."