The moment Grindelwald's words fell, as if in response to them, the rust-eaten iron door of the cell gave a sharp creak and suddenly swung inward.
A blast of mountain wind mixed with ice and snow shards burst into the cramped cell, and the temperature dropped at once.
Snape shivered at the sudden chill, his purple star-patterned robes whipping violently around him. He tightened his grip on the Elder Wand, pointing it at Grindelwald.
But instead of an aggressive stance, what he saw on Grindelwald's deeply wrinkled face was a faint, knowing half-smile.
That expression was like a bucket of cold water poured over Snape's head, bringing his mind instantly into focus. He quickly switched the Elder Wand to his left hand, reached into the inner pocket of his robes with his right, and pulled out a small pouch.
He opened it and took out two photographs.
In the first, under the bright summer sunlight of Ottery St. Catchpole, the tidy garden was bathed in warmth. Lily's fiery red hair swayed in the breeze as she chatted with Snape beside her, both smiling at something amusing.
In the second, inside the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts, Pandora's pale silver hair was tied up casually, a few strands falling around her focused face. She was carefully adjusting a complex alchemical device emitting colorful smoke, while Snape watched closely beside her, holding an open, thick notebook in his hands.
"Mr. Grindelwald, look at these." Snape held the photos up to Grindelwald. "These two are the girls I like." He paused, then added, "They're both in that exiled 'Hogwarts' now, living in constant danger."
Grindelwald's gaze lingered on the photographs for a few moments. His expression didn't change much, only that half-smile deepened slightly.
"Interesting taste, Severus," he said, lifting his pale eyes toward Snape before asking a seemingly unrelated question. "Haven't you ever taken a picture with your favorite teacher? A promising student like you should have at least one memento with the mentor who values him."
"Why would I take a photo with a man?" Snape frowned slightly, a little puzzled. But after a pause, he seemed to recall something. "Although, I did once see a picture in Professor Dumbledore's office, of him when he was young."
"Oh?" Grindelwald's brows moved almost imperceptibly.
"In that photo, he was standing with a blond boy, about my age, I'd say," Snape continued, watching Grindelwald carefully as he described. "Under bright sunlight, the two boys had their arms slung over each other's shoulders.
"At that time, Professor Dumbledore's hair reached his elbows, and there was a faint, not-yet-fully-grown beard on his chin. The boy beside him, who was laughing freely with wild joy, had golden curls that hung to his shoulders. He gave off a sense of happiness so intense it was almost reckless."
Grindelwald's face didn't show emotion, but in the depths of his eyes flickered something deeply complex. Snape's words had struck a chord, memories long buried and thought forgotten.
He spoke in a low voice. "No matter how you came across that photograph... don't lie to me, child."
Despite his words, Snape could see a trace of loosened restraint, perhaps even a flicker of joy, in his expression.
"Well then," Grindelwald said, waving a hand lightly, "tell me, what's the state of the world outside? Who has forced almighty Dumbledore to come begging me for help?"
Snape took a deep breath and began recounting the rise of the Dark Lord and his so-called "Death Eaters," Dumbledore's struggle, and the fall of Hogwarts.
As he spoke, he habitually used the name "the Dark Lord."
"The Dark Lord?" Grindelwald interrupted with a scornful laugh, his tone dripping with mockery. "You call him that? You don't even dare to say his name?" His eyes burned with contempt for such cowardice.
"Apologies, it's a habit," Snape said calmly. He met Grindelwald's gaze. "His true name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. But now, he calls himself Lord Voldemort."
"Voldemort?" Grindelwald repeated the name slowly, his lip curling in visible disdain. "What an absurdly pretentious name. 'Flight from death'? Hah, how vulgar. That's exactly why I despise the French language."
"Hah," Snape thought silently, "you also despise Paris, don't you?"
After the internal jab, he continued, "Right now, we're drifting in the sky with Muggle-born students and some professors, seeking any possible chance of survival.
"Professor Dumbledore, before losing consciousness, told me that in this era, Gellert Grindelwald is the only wizard whose power could understand or even challenge Voldemort. He believes in you.
"So I've come to ask, please leave Nurmengard, come to Britain, help us, help Hogwarts, help Professor Dumbledore."
"And why," Grindelwald asked in a low tone through the continuous wail of the wind, "should I help you?"
"What would you require from us in exchange for your aid?" Snape asked.
Grindelwald's gaze dropped slowly to the wand in Snape's hand.
Without hesitation, Snape extended the Elder Wand through the bars. "Take it. If you want it, it's yours."
Grindelwald slowly shook his head. "No, not that."
Snape hesitated briefly. "Then... do you wish to reclaim your old cause or ideology?"
Grindelwald shook his head again, this time more sharply, with a flicker of irritation.
"Put away your probing, boy. My past ideals are not yours to question, nor do they need to be reborn."
Snape paused in thought. "Sir, if you're willing to help, when Professor Dumbledore awakens, he'll be deeply, very deeply, grateful. You know how much Hogwarts means to him, it's everything he's ever cared about."
That seemed to touch a delicate nerve.
A trace of displeasure flashed through Grindelwald's eyes. Of course he knew what Albus cared about. Hearing it from this young man, couched in words of "gratitude," only made him feel oddly uncomfortable. But he betrayed little emotion, his tone merely grew colder.
"Gratitude? Hah... I'm not interested in that old headmaster's cheap gratitude. But since you keep comparing that Riddle fellow to me, tell me, what magnificent ideals does this self-proclaimed Dark Lord preach that have Dumbledore so distressed?"
Snape began describing Voldemort's doctrine of pure-blood supremacy, his persecution of Muggles and Muggle-borns, and the terror he wielded as control.
As Grindelwald listened, his mocking amusement faded.
First came disbelief, then fury, pure, scathing fury.
"Pure-blood supremacy? Persecuting Muggle-borns?" His voice rose with unhidden anger and contempt. "Short-sighted, narrow-minded, pathetically provincial prejudice! And you compare that to me?! Wizards of your generation, degenerating by the year!
"Brutal, graceless, and strategically witless savagery, this passes for 'ideology'?
"Tell me, besides frightening cowards like you with petty Dark Arts, has this Riddle achieved anything truly remarkable, anything that demanded actual intellect and power?"
"Uh..." Snape thought for a moment. "He succeeded in creating multiple Horcruxes."
"Horcruxes?" Grindelwald rose abruptly from the cot, not because of the Elder Wand, but out of pure shock and disgust. "He's mad! To rip his soul apart for so-called immortality? To turn himself into a creature neither man nor ghost?
"And you, you've all been driven to desperation by such a stupid, insane wretch? Even Hogwarts reduced to a drifting ark?"
"I refuse!" He shook his head repeatedly, as if brushing filth off himself. "I refuse to have my name spoken in the same breath as that soulless, tasteless lunatic! He is unworthy!"
Grindelwald straightened to his full height. Though still gaunt, a long-lost aura of command radiated faintly from him.
"I can offer aid," he said at last, after a few seconds of tense silence. He stretched his stiff joints, voice curling with disdain. "To 'restrain,' even oppose this so-called Dark Lord.
"But my aid is not charity, and it is certainly not out of pity for Albus Dumbledore."
"I simply cannot sit by," his gaze swept over Snape, "and watch this generation's so-called dark wizard leader disgrace the title.
"My name, overshadowed by that lowborn halfwit? It's an insult to everything I built. I'll help you, for the sole purpose of correcting that historical mistake."
"Yes, yes, exactly," Snape agreed at once, seizing the chance. His tone was utterly sincere. "I completely agree. Little Tom Riddle, how could he ever compare to you?
"Gellert Grindelwald is the only wizard truly worthy of standing alongside Professor Albus Dumbledore, past or present."
Grindelwald seemed quite satisfied with Snape's tact. He gave a soft hum and commanded, "Take me to your drifting ark in the sky, and to see Albus Dumbledore's current state. Also," he extended his hand, "give me a wand."
Instinctively, Snape offered him the Elder Wand again.
"Not that one!" Grindelwald snapped, impatience lacing his tone.
"Oh, right." Snape realized his mistake and hurriedly produced a plain cloth bag, from which came the faint clatter of wood.
Opening it, he revealed eleven mismatched wands, of various lengths, woods, and styles, all clearly secondhand, some scarred with scratches. These were the wands Snape had previously purchased from Borgin and Burkes.
"Where did you get all these old wands?" Grindelwald asked disdainfully. "Severus, does Dumbledore know about this little hobby of yours?"
"Please don't misunderstand, Mr. Grindelwald," Snape replied with a straight face. "All were acquired through legitimate commercial means, not through robbery or murder. At least... not directly by my hand."
Grindelwald didn't pry further; he seemed uninterested in moral clarifications.
His long fingers passed over each wand, pausing on one simple, dark-brown wand with a natural curve and faint irregular grain along the shaft.
"This one," he said lightly.
Snape didn't ask why, he simply gathered the rest and stowed them away.
Grindelwald held the chosen wand, testing its weight and balance. Then he suddenly lifted his eyes, a flicker of scrutiny and amusement in them.
"You're not afraid... now that I have a wand again?"
"What's there to fear, Mr. Grindelwald?" Snape replied calmly, meeting his gaze. "It's already 1977."
Grindelwald stared at him for a few seconds, then gave a low laugh. Without another word, he raised the wand and gave a graceful flick.
A wave of soft yet immense magic surged through the cold cell, sweeping away the dust, filth, and years of decay.
A faint vitality returned to Grindelwald's withered frame. Though still thin, he now stood straighter. His silver hair turned smooth, his wrinkles eased slightly, just enough to reveal traces of his former face.
His prison rags transformed into a finely tailored, old-fashioned gray high-collared robe. Beneath it gleamed a white silk shirt, over which draped a black cloak embroidered with silver runes along the trim.
The outfit, in its sober elegance, oddly mirrored Snape's own style.
Then Grindelwald pointed his wand at Snape and tapped lightly.
A warm wave of magic brushed past, and Snape's ornate purple robes, those he'd worn while impersonating Dumbledore, vanished, replaced by a simple, undecorated black robe.
Grindelwald gave him a brief, approving glance.
"Follow me."
With that, he strode forward, stepping out of the cell into the dim, dust-filled corridor.
His pace wasn't quick, his long captivity had left him stiff, but his steps carried the ease of a ruler reclaiming his domain.
Snape followed closely. Watching the older wizard's silhouette in the half-light, he couldn't help but ask, "Mr. Grindelwald, are we just... walking out? Won't the local Ministry of Magic notice?"
Grindelwald didn't look back. His tone held a faint mockery. "Notice? Let them. Severus Snape, if you dared to come alone to Nurmengard, surely you're prepared for any consequence?"
Snape stayed silent, descending the spiral stairs and crossing the lifeless hall behind him. The Ministries and the International Confederation of Wizards had refused to aid them against Voldemort. So what did their opinion matter now?
As they neared the gaping main doors, he spoke again: "Mr. Grindelwald, perhaps... you should alter your appearance before leaving? It might avoid unnecessary trouble, especially now, and spare Professor Dumbledore some additional distress."
Grindelwald's steps paused ever so slightly.
He didn't answer, didn't turn.
But as they reached the threshold, Snape saw the outline of his back begin to shift: his shoulders broader, his height subtly altered. The long silver hair shortened and darkened to a common brown through magic.
Even from behind, Snape knew Grindelwald had changed his face as well.
The two finally stepped out of Nurmengard Castle. The Alpine wind and snow instantly engulfed them.
Without hesitation, Grindelwald walked forward into the storm, striding into the white-shrouded mountains.
Snape followed a few paces behind. Just before leaving the castle grounds, he turned back for one last look at the fortress perched like a black tombstone atop the peak.
Amid the blizzard, the words carved above its gate blurred and distant, like a faded summer.
Snow crunched beneath his boots. Watching Grindelwald's figure stride through the wind, Snape suddenly asked,
"Mr. Grindelwald, all these years, have you and Professor Dumbledore ever exchanged letters?"
"Letters?" The voice drifted back through the storm, laced with sardonic humor. "Do I look like someone with the means to post them?"
Snape caught up, smiling faintly. "Oh, so you haven't. That's perfect. When we arrive, you can tell him everything you've ever wanted to say, yourself."