š½š¼š¼
After about 40 minutes, the guards entered his room carrying a pair of dragon-hide boots, a robe, and gloves. Dumbledore, who had been gazing out the window, wondered whether going outside was an order or a choice. Judging by the guardsā displeased expressions, it was clearly an order.
He was still upset about Rosier's intrusion into the room; apparently, one meeting wasnāt enough to clear his doubts. Since Grindelwald spent most of his time away from the Alps, Dumbledore's opportunities to gather information were limited.
Without further thought, he put on the robe and gloves, which felt coarse to the touch. As he descended the stairs to the lower floor, he couldn't ignore the discomfort of the gloves. Even in extreme cold, he wouldnāt have chosen to wear them, but this wasnāt the time to discard themānot with all the guards watching him closely.
A question invaded his mind: Why do they look so irritated with every step they take? After analyzing his surroundings for a few minutes, the answer came to him:
Of course, there were magical elevators. The guards' exhaustion said it all. Given that the castle was undoubtedly anti-Apparition, with no Apparating and no physical conditioning, the existence of elevators was the logical conclusion.
Returning to the present, even though he had been forced to walk long distances, Dumbledore felt a certain satisfaction. He didnāt want to remain confined any longer; moving, even if not freely, was still a small pleasure.
After a few minutes of walking, they reached a part of the prison that served as a dividing line. Numerous guards watched both sides. Nurmengard had not ceased to be a fortress; a barred gate separated the two areas, and merely witnessing them felt like standing between two entirely different worlds.
Crossing to the other side, the surroundings changed dramatically. There was not a single painting or design reminiscent of war. The place became neutral and aesthetic, much like the interior of a ministry.
Soon, they arrived at the castleās vestibule. Everything was perfectly decorated; the tall walls were supported by white marble pillars, and the furniture was dark and cold in color. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, with a massive one in the center casting a spectacular light that reached every corner.
Another notable detail was that, apart from them, the vestibule was empty. Even so, he didnāt linger long to look for anyone else. They stopped in front of large doors that the guards opened. The cold air immediately hit his face, though his beard offered slight protection against the bitter chill. Unfortunately, as time passed, he regretted not wearing the boots; the shoes he had on were entirely unsuitable.
The doors closed behind him, and the guards remained by the entrance. As a result, he didnāt take another step either.
"The Master of Death has permitted you to wander the main courtyard," one of them informed in a mechanical voice, speaking quickly. "However, you are forbidden to descend the stairs leading to the castle's lower levels."
"The Master of Death delights in imposing severe punishments. If you disobey, he will know," the other added, trying to sound indifferent. He was younger, possibly a novice. The cruelty of war had not yet seeped into his being, but by the way he warned of the punishments, it had likely already left marks on his skin.
Dumbledore didnāt look back at them after that. He simply walked straight ahead into the open air. There wasnāt much to explore, as he was surrounded by towering dark stone walls.
Taking a deep breath of fresh air, Dumbledore noticed a barred door in the distance that led to the stables. A bit farther from the horses, there were some carriages. From afar, he admired the beauty of the animals, and a brief fragment of memory surfaced in his mind:
He knew how to ride. As a young man, he was in charge of tending to his father's barn since his brother spent most of his time herding goats and was too small to learn how to ride. Thatās why Dumbledore knew about horsesāor at least the basics.
They only had two horses, a mare and a stallion, which they kept separated most of the time. The rest of the time, they bred them to sell the foals to the highest bidder, providing the family with some financial stability for a few months.
Though he wasnāt particularly skilled in sports or activities requiring physical effort, he was agile and strong enough to mount a horse in one leap, without needing a saddle. Oh, yes, the saddle! He had almost forgotten that detail. They only had one, his fatherās, which was used on special occasions. For daily work, he bought old saddles from the village, though they didnāt last long.
At 17, he began duplicating the saddle with his wand to make tasks easier. His mother hadnāt done so before because she was terrible at Transfigurationāa subject in which he excelled.
He had only ever ridden simple horses; Granians and pegasi were too expensive to buy and maintain. Heād never had the chance to own one, but he had always wished for one. At least then, he would have fulfilled his father's dream: to own a costly horse and care for it until its last breath.
A small smile appeared on his lips at the memory. The first fragment of his youth had emerged. He had a brother, a mother, and a father. Yet, for some reason, the last of them hadnāt been present his entire life. Even so, he felt love in the memory of that forgotten man.
He looked back at the Granians, their tall and imposing figures exuding an air of luxury even from afar. The pegasi, with their delicate and elegant demeanor, seemed sculpted to perfection. Something within him longed to experience riding one of them.
A flying horse that could traverse entire cities in minutes was far more tempting than any earthly horse.
Turning his gaze away from the Granians, he stopped thinking about them. If he kept looking, heād never get them out of his head. So, he continued wandering the courtyard.
An hour passed as he observed his surroundings, taking in every detail. Once he was confident heād noticed everything, he picked up a pine branch from the ground and began drawing in the snow, using the coarse gloves to help shape his work.
That was the only reason he hadnāt discarded them.
The more effort he put into the details, the faster time seemed to pass. For a moment, he felt like a child, delighted by winter and eager to make snowmen and scribbles in the snow. Brief smiles of nostalgia graced his lips.
It only took a few more minutes to complete his drawing. The result was remarkableāa Granian crafted from snow and branches. The process had been a release, transforming stress and the useless into something good, something beautiful.
He took one last look, committing the snowy Granian to memory. It was a reminder of his ability to shape the bad into something better, even when the snow was difficult to work with.
After immortalizing his creation in his mind, he resumed walking through the courtyard, determined to savor his final moments outdoors. Night was falling, and apart from the guards at the door, no one else was outside. The stables had already been closed, and the castleās lights were gradually flickering on in synchrony.
As night fully descended, a man opened the castle doors to deliver a report to the guards. Judging by their expressions, it was unexpected.
The soldier wore a uniform similar to Grindelwaldās, though simpler and gray. He also wore a ceremonial military cap matching the uniform. His skin was as dark as the night, and his eyes gleamed like the moon. His expression was stern, almost apathetic, but he didnāt exude the same imposing presence as Grindelwald.
Dumbledore approached slightly, trying to eavesdrop on the conversation. When the guards noticed his presence, they fell silent and grabbed him roughly by the arms.
"Take him to the private hall of Master Grindelwald and ensure he doesnāt leave until the Master himself permits it," the soldier ordered firmly, watching the guards closely until he was convinced they understood.
"At your orders, Lieutenant Nagel," they responded in unison, preparing to escort Dumbledore to his assigned location.
The guards reopened the doors and led him back inside.
Lieutenant Nagel remained outside, gazing at the horizon as the doors closed slowly behind him. Dumbledore focused on looking straight ahead, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw a carriage landing. Straining his eyes as much as he could, he glimpsed Grindelwald standing next to the lieutenant. Moments later, before the door fully closed, a man stepped out of the carriage, and Grindelwald greeted him with a handshake.
Just before the doors shut completely, Dumbledore recognized the visitor, and a flood of memories rushed into his mind.