The Girl Who Saw Tomorrow III » Harry Potter

PROLOGUE

A grim fortress stood at the edge of a mountain, a towering building made of jet-black rock with forbidding high walls and very few windows. Its courtyard had not seen a living soul in over half a century, but the words carved into the stone archway were still visible:

Für das Größere Wohl

Through the darkness, a young woman was heading up the path to the metal gates, her strides long and purposeful. Her long black coat billowed behind her as she held up a book laced with Dark Magic.

The gates recognised the age-old spell cast upon them, letting her pass as though the rusted metal gates had turned into smoke.

A space of a heartbeat. Then a chilling sound of cackling echoed from the topmost cell of Nurmengard Castle Prison.

The last remaining prisoner, the previous Dark Lord himself, was left alone to rot away in the prison where he once kept his opponents. Once a day, he was magically sent food and water; every once in a while, some unfortunate Auror was sent to check on him. But no human being had spoken to him in decades.

Yet, at last, someone had sought him out. Just like he knew she would.

The flap in the iron doors slid open creakingly, glowing red eyes peering into the cell for a moment before the flap shut with a small clang.

A flash of red lit up the gloom for a split second as she teleported inside.

"Lumos Maxima."

The orb of light floated out of her wand, shrouding the cell in bright light for the first time in over fifty years.

Every surface was besmirched with half a century's worth of mould and dust and god knew what else. It reeked of dampness and algae, the wind of the Alps bouncing deafeningly off of the outside walls. There was but a small window near the ceiling, far too narrow for any human to fit through or for any light to stream in on this dark night.

In no way, however, was the place small. On the contrary, the large cell was empty, dark and haunting; every inch of the cracked stone walls was covered in what seemed to be the same words, scratched in several different languages:

For the greater good.

"Margaret," whispers a hoarse voice out of the gloom. "Margaret... Xenakis. I knew you would come."

The broken old man in the corner blinked heavily, not used to light anymore. He was sat on a hard bed with nothing but a thin blanket. He was thin and frail, his head nearly bald and his face wrinkled and worn. He was dressed in a thick dark grey gown which was no cleaner than his cell.

With difficulty, he rose to his full height, clasping his trembling hands behind his back.

Despite being in this cell for half of his very long life, he still – by some miracle – seemed to hold the poise which was reminiscent of his old days.

Margaret watched, alert, as he squinted in the light.

"Wouldn't you greet an old man, Margaret?" he says with a frown as fake as his enthusiasm. "Surely, Dumbledore must've raised you better than this..."

"Grindelwald," she spits his name with the utmost contempt, yet it only made his simper grow.

"Forgive me; I have not had visitors in ages. I could not prepare for your arrival."

"There's no need for formalities."

"Come now," says Grindelwald slowly, "You know how special you are to me."

The previous Dark Lord stared at her unblinkingly. A gruesome grin spread across his face; his front teeth were either missing or cracked and yellowed.

Out of all his old and mangled features, however, one had remained unchanged – the mismatched colour of his eyes, the left one midnight-black whilst the right with strikingly grey, almost silver irises.