The wind howled fiercely, carrying with it the salt and icy mist of the North Sea. The sky was a blanket of black clouds, swirling and threatening to swallow up the little light that reached the area.
With a sharp click that barely managed to cut through the roar of the waves, Albus Dumbledore materialized at the edge of a sheer cliff. His robes billowed wildly around him as his blue gaze scanned the darkness. Before him, in the distance, the imposing and terrifying triangular structure of Azkaban rose above the raging waters, surrounded by its eternal swarm of floating shadows.
Dumbledore clenched his jaw and turned his head.
There, just a few meters away, sitting casually cross-legged on a sharp black rock and observing the magical prison as if it were a work of art in a gallery, was he.
"Why are you here, Gellert?" Dumbledore asked. His voice cut through the storm.
Gellert Grindelwald did not flinch. Slowly, he turned his face toward him. His features possessed a natural elegance, with sharp cheekbones, impeccably coiffed hair despite the wind, and mismatched eyes that shone with a dark, overwhelming charisma.
Grindelwald stretched his lips into a smile and let out a deep laugh that mingled with the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks.
"The fortress before us has a long and fascinating history, Albus," Grindelwald remarked, his tone tinged with a sinister charm. "I must admit that its design is utterly intriguing to my taste. A perfect monument to human despair."
With grace, Grindelwald stood up. He brushed a bit of dust and salt from his dark coat and fixed his gaze on Dumbledore's right hand. His eyes lingered on the pale, unmistakable wood and shape of the Elder Wand.
A spark of recognition and dangerous nostalgia flashed across Gellert's face.
"It's good to see you haven't lost it," he remarked, tilting his head. "Though I always knew you took good care of my things."
Albus frowned deeply, refusing to fall into the mind games of his former love. He raised the wand, pointing it directly at the Dark Wizard's chest.
"I'll ask you one more time, Gellert. What are you doing in Britain? Why are you so close to Azkaban?"
Grindelwald sighed wearily, taking slow, measured steps toward him, closing the distance between them while completely ignoring the wand pointed at him.
"Oh, Albus... as always. You only ever care about what we do, but you never seem to understand why we do it," Grindelwald murmured with disappointment and mockery.
When they were face to face, he stopped, so close that Dumbledore could see the madness in his mismatched eyes.
"If you're so eager to know... a friend of mine asked me for some of those rare and fascinating specimens that guard your magical prison so he could study them up close," Gellert explained, whispering in his ear. "And I, of course, being the good ally and friend that I am, came to grant that little wish."
Albus's eyes widened. The blood ran cold in his veins; that simple thought paralyzed his heart for a split second as he realized exactly which "friend" he was referring to.
Kazimir Volyov.
With the information he'd managed to glean from Kazimir over the past few months, Albus realized he was by far the archmage with the most twisted mind of them all. If Grindelwald handed over those creatures of despair and death—like the Dementors—to someone with Kazimir's mind, the results would be an abomination the wizarding world could not contain.
"No!" Dumbledore roared, fury and panic taking control of him. "I will not allow something like a Dementor to fall into Kazimir's hands!"
With a brutal flick of his wand, Dumbledore unleashed a shockwave around him, aiming to incinerate Grindelwald where he stood.
Gellert simply smiled.
"Protego Maxima," he whispered boredly.
A curved, crystalline shield materialized before him. Dumbledore's attack crashed into the barrier with a dull boom that shook the cliff; to Grindelwald, this was nothing.
"Try to stop me, old friend," Gellert challenged him, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Grindelwald traced an arc in the air, and two immense phoenixes made of blue fire came to life. The blue-flamed beasts screeched and lunged straight toward Dumbledore, radiating such heat that they consumed all the air around them.
Knowing that fire could not be blocked, Albus spun on his heel.
"Crack!" Dumbledore Apparated twenty meters away, materializing just in time to see the blue phoenixes crash into the spot where he had been standing, melting it into magma.
But before Albus could counterattack, a deafening roar shook the night.
Dumbledore turned his head toward the sea. From the highest point of Azkaban, an explosion stained the clouds red and orange. The unbreakable walls of the magical prison were crumbling, and the screeches of the Dementors and the laughter of the prisoners filled the air from afar. It was a distraction. A perfectly coordinated operation.
From his right, Gellert's voice echoed close to his ear.
"As always, Albus… you never learn to look at the bigger picture."
Albus Dumbledore didn't waste another second. Ignoring his former lover's taunt, he tried to transform himself into a beam of light to fly directly toward Azkaban's fortress and stop the breach, but something struck him hard in the chest, pushing him backward.
Dumbledore skidded across the damp cliff floor, planting his feet firmly to keep from falling into the abyss. When he looked up, Gellert Grindelwald was wearing an arrogant smile.
"Ah, ah, ah, Albus," Gellert scolded him, wagging his index finger back and forth. "If you want to go deal with your little problem over there, I'm afraid you'll have to get past me first."
Albus let out a sigh, a sound that revealed just how exhausted he was. He straightened up. He was no longer looking at the boy he had fallen in love with in Godric's Hollow; he was looking at the greatest threat to the entire world, and it was his duty to stop him.
Gellert smiled at the change in his posture, cracked his neck, and prepared to face him.
Just then, two loud pops shook the cliff.
Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody and Amelia Bones materialized on either side of Dumbledore. Both of their wands were already drawn and ready to kill.
"Albus!" barked Moody, his magical eye spinning frantically to process the presence of the infamous Dark Wizard and the burning prison. "What the hell is going on?"
Grindelwald lowered his wand slightly, letting out a small chuckle.
"Well, Albus. It's good to see you've made some new friends to play with. Though their sense of style leaves much to be desired."
Dumbledore ignored the taunt and turned his head slightly toward his allies.
"Azkaban is under attack, Amelia. Put everyone on alert," Dumbledore ordered in a stern voice.
Amelia Bones nodded frantically. Without wasting a second, she vanished with a crack to mobilize the entire combat force of the Auror Department.
Moody didn't back down. He let out a growl and, striking the ground with his wand, shot off toward Azkaban.
"We won't let that one get away!" hissed Grindelwald, raising his wand to cast a curse at the old Auror's back.
Before the magic left Gellert's wand, Dumbledore intervened. With a single movement, he struck Grindelwald in the chest, violently pushing him several meters backward and deflecting his attack.
"Now we're even, Gellert," Albus said coldly.
Grindelwald quickly regained his footing. He burst into laughter, reveling in the ferocity of his old love.
And then, the real battle began.
Both Archmages soared into the air, flying around the cliff and the turbulent sea. Golden lightning and blue fire clashed in the sky, creating explosions that rivaled the thunder of the storm. They transformed the sea water into spears of ice and the wind into blades. It was a display of power worthy of two living legends of magic.
While they unleashed the apocalypse in the sky, the interior of Azkaban was an absolute hell.
The walls shook from the explosions outside. The cells were cracking, and the prisoners—who had been mired in apathy for years—were now screaming, howling, and pounding against the bars, growing restless as they watched the chaos and glimpsed the possibility of freedom.
In one of the hallways, the figure of Bellatrix Lestrange danced barefoot through puddles of dirty water.
She spun around, laughing frantically as she watched through a huge hole in the wall the spectacle of golden and blue lights where Dumbledore and Grindelwald fought above the prison.
The witch heard the sound of heavy boots approaching down the corridor. An Azkaban guard appeared around the corner, his wand trembling in his hand.
Bellatrix turned her head in a chilling manner, smiled, revealing her rotten teeth, and pointed her index finger directly at the guard's head.
"Pop," Bellatrix whispered in a childish voice.
A burst of magic shot from her finger. The guard's skull was pierced from side to side, and the man collapsed dead to the floor without having been able to utter a single word.
Bellatrix grinned from ear to ear and began clapping joyfully as she watched the pool of blood spread.
A moment later, a red curse grazed her cheek, singeing several strands of her tangled black hair, and slammed into the wall behind her.
Bellatrix nimbly dodged the explosion and turned her gaze. Alastor Moody was advancing down the smoke-filled corridor, pointing his wand at her furiously.
"I'll lock you back in your hole, Lestrange!" Moody growled, preparing his next attack.
Bellatrix widened her psychopathic smile. She made an exaggerated, theatrical curtsy, holding the edges of her prison garb.
"Oh, my dear old Mad-Eye… I'm afraid it's far, far too late for that. The Dark Lord awaits me!"
Without giving him time to react, Bellatrix leaped through the opening in the wall. She wrapped herself in a trail of black smoke and flew off into the storm, leaving behind the sound of her shrill, maniacal laughter.
Moody ran to the edge, but she had already vanished into the darkness. With a cry of frustration, he slammed his wand hard against the stone, cursing a thousand demons.
High above Azkaban's roof, the rain was pouring down in buckets.
Albus and Gellert landed on the stone, breathing heavily. They were almost evenly matched. Neither had managed to land a decisive blow; their spells canceled each other out, perfectly adapting to the other's movements.
Before Dumbledore could launch a new offensive, a gentle whirlwind appeared beside Gellert. Vinda Rosier materialized next to her leader. She leaned in and whispered something quickly into his ear.
Gellert nodded seriously upon receiving the information.
He looked at Albus and gave a slight nod.
"I'm glad to see you again, Albus," Gellert said, raising his wand defensively. "But I'm afraid my time here is up. It's time to say goodbye."
Dumbledore wasn't going to let him get away that easily. With blinding speed, Albus launched a surprise attack.
Gellert tried to dodge, but the attack was too fast. The magical blade sliced deeply into his arm, shredding his muscles.
Gellert let out a growl of pain, but Vinda acted quickly. She grabbed Grindelwald by his uninjured arm, and the two vanished into thin air with a loud roar, leaving Dumbledore alone on the prison roof beneath the storm.
Hours later, a gray and gloomy dawn began to illuminate the devastation of Azkaban.
The Ministry of Magic and dozens of Aurors had managed to secure the perimeter and contain the vast majority of the rioting prisoners. Albus Dumbledore was walking through the prison's inner courtyard, watching the Aurors at work, when Mad-Eye Moody approached him, limping and looking more exhausted than ever.
"What's the tally, Alastor?" Dumbledore asked in a subdued voice.
"We managed to prevent a mass breakout," Moody replied wearily and bitterly, spitting a little blood onto the ground. "But ten prisoners in total slipped through our grasp—they managed to break through the cordon and escape."
Moody clenched his fists.
"Among them was Bellatrix Lestrange, Albus."
Dumbledore closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the headache threaten to split his skull open. The escape of Bellatrix and nine other Death Eaters meant an invaluable reinforcement for the reappeared Lord Voldemort.
At that moment, Kingsley Shacklebolt approached at a brisk pace.
Dumbledore lowered his hand and looked at him intently.
"Tell me, Kingsley… are the Dementors all accounted for?"
Kingsley nodded stiffly, his voice hoarse from the night's exertions.
"Thanks to your swift intervention against Grindelwald, sir, they didn't have time to go to the lower levels," Kingsley reported. "They were only able to take one."
Albus sighed. Just one Dementor. To the Ministry, it seemed like a victory, but to Dumbledore, it was a death sentence.
He looked out toward the sea, thinking of Kazimir Volyov and his dark castle. Now that monster would have in his possession a creature capable of devouring souls. And the worst part—the truly terrifying aspect of the whole affair—was not the theft itself.
It was the confirmation that Gellert's charisma and rhetoric had achieved the unthinkable: he had convinced the solitary and sadistic Archmage Kazimir Volyov to officially join his cause. The war had just escalated to an even greater level.
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