The two of them walked in silence along the rugged path of the Alps for a while before Snape's voice finally cut through the howling wind.
"Mr. Grindelwald, we'll need to Apparate to Vienna first, and from there take a Muggle airplane to London. That way, we'll draw less attention-"
Before he could finish, the figure ahead stopped abruptly and turned around.
Through the wind and snow, Snape saw for the first time Grindelwald's transfigured face.
Short dark-brown hair, a sharply defined jawline, and bright, steady eyes, there was even a faint resemblance to the young Professor Dumbledore he remembered from the photographs.
Ignoring the flicker of astonishment in Snape's eyes, Grindelwald stepped forward in one fluid motion and seized his arm.
Snape didn't even have time to protest before a force far stronger than any ordinary Apparition seized him with almost brutal intensity.
The world spun violently. The snowy peaks around them shattered into fragments of light and darkness.
When Snape finally managed to wrench himself free from the crushing dizziness and nausea, his feet were already standing on damp concrete.
Before him stretched a place utterly unfamiliar. Dim, flickering streetlamps cast a yellow glow over a narrow, filthy underground entrance. It looked like an abandoned subway access, long forgotten by time.
A rusted iron gate barred the way, and a corroded nameplate dangled from it, its lettering so faded it was almost unreadable.
"Where are we?" Snape forced down the lingering disorientation, scanning the area warily. His voice was low, controlled.
Grindelwald had already released him. He was staring at the iron door with a look that mingled contempt and a kind of dark recognition. When he finally spoke, his tone was flat but edged with icy scorn.
"Erksta. The German Ministry of Magic claims it was shut down decades ago. Hah. Hypocrites, all of them. They'd never abandon such a convenient place for... disposal."
He offered no further explanation. Instead, he walked directly to the iron gate. The heavy lock, which looked solid enough to withstand any physical force, sprang open soundlessly at the lightest tap of his wand.
As the door creaked inward, a wave of rot and decay surged out.
Grindelwald descended the grime-slicked staircase first, giving his wand the faintest flick.
Snape felt a cool ripple of magic sweep over his body. Looking down, he saw himself vanishing, his form melting into the surrounding air so seamlessly it was as if he had never been there at all.
He could hardly detect the transition. It wasn't merely invisibility, it was perfection, a Disillusionment Charm so refined that it left no trace.
"Follow me." Grindelwald's voice murmured beside his ear.
At the same time, Snape felt the lightest pull at his wrist, an invisible filament, impossibly fine, connecting them and guiding him through the darkness. Though he could no longer see Grindelwald ahead, that faint, unseen thread drew him unerringly forward.
"I'm going down to find someone," Grindelwald said before Snape could ask, his voice a calm echo in the gloom. "I intend to take her out of here."
Snape didn't need to question who "her" referred to.
The stairs stretched downward, each step slick and narrow, until they reached a wall bricked over and mottled with mildew.
Grindelwald didn't even slow his pace. The invisible thread tugged Snape forward, and together, they passed through the wall as though it were smoke.
Beyond lay a cavernous, eerie chamber that had once been a subway transfer hall, now twisted into the shape of a prison's threshold.
Several guards in German Auror uniforms were huddled around a small brazier, its smoke curling black and acrid. Their faces were expressionless, vacant; they were dozing in uneasy stupor, oblivious to the two unseen intruders drifting past them.
On a cracked wooden counter behind the guards sat a glass jar filled with squirming gray-white larvae, their bodies pulsing faintly with ghostly light.
"Mertle larvae," Snape recognized at once. One of the few substances known to pacify a Manticores' rage.
He briefly considered taking a few, but quickly noticed several larvae were already missing, and the thread guiding him led deeper into the shadows, toward another, thicker iron gate.
Grindelwald moved forward as though through air, pulling Snape effortlessly along as they phased through the gate.
The air on the other side grew dense, heavy with moisture and chill. They had entered the true dungeons.
Then, the illusion faded. The thread dissolved. Snape felt his body shimmer back into view, the faint hum of the Disillusionment Charm vanishing.
When he looked up, Grindelwald was already holding something between his fingers, a Mertle larva, taken who knew when. With a soft wordless incantation, he pinched it gently.
The larva convulsed, then swelled. Its skin split, releasing a tender light like gossamer wings. Within seconds, it had become a tiny, luminescent butterfly. Its wings shimmered with steady, silver fire, casting a soft circle of light around them.
By that dim radiance, Snape could finally see the place clearly.
A narrow catwalk clung to a jagged wall of black stone. Below was a seemingly bottomless pit from which cold air rose like breath from the dead. On either side, rows upon rows of low, cramped stone cells stretched into the dark.
Something shuffled inside, soft scratching, faint sobs, the sound of whispers that might have been prayers or madness. A few pale fingers reached out through the bars as they passed.
"Who's there? Please, please, let me out..."
Grindelwald's expression didn't change. Holding the glowing butterfly aloft, he let its gentle light sweep over the doors, his gaze cool and remote.
As time passed, the light dimmed, flickering uncertainly. Without hesitation, Grindelwald took another larva, crushed it with practiced ease, and let a new butterfly emerge in its place. The old one turned to ash midair.
Downward they went, deeper and deeper into the prison's heart.
At last, at the end of a branching corridor that dissolved into shadow, Grindelwald stopped. The butterfly's light spilled onto a narrow door carved straight into the living rock.
It was smaller than the others, lonelier.
He stepped forward, pressed a hand against the cold, rough surface. Ancient runes shimmered faintly, recognized him, then went dark. The stone door slid inward with a sound like a sigh.
The pale glow seeped into the cell.
It was bare, no furniture save for a stone bed. A slender figure sat there, her back straight despite her frailty, her posture rigid as if frozen by discipline or pride.
At the sound of the door, she stirred. Slowly, she turned.
The light touched her face. Years of confinement had carved their mark into her: skin almost translucent, tinged with the sickly wax of someone long deprived of sunlight; sharp cheekbones, hollow eyes; a body reduced to brittle bone beneath tattered cloth.
Yet even through that ruin, Snape saw it, the delicate lines of beauty that time had failed to erase.
The glow hurt her eyes. She squinted, brow furrowing in confusion.
Her gaze moved past Snape, lingering only briefly on him, then fixed on Grindelwald's unfamiliar, disguised face.
She stared at him as if he were a memory made of stone.
"It's me," Grindelwald said. His voice was low, rasped by age and restraint.
Two words, and the woman's dim eyes sharpened instantly.
For an instant, confusion gave way to disbelief, then to something raw and overwhelming, joy breaking through a shell of numbness.
Tears spilled freely, cutting pale lines down her dirt-streaked face.
Vinda Rosier's frail body trembled so violently it seemed her bones might splinter. She clung to the side of the bed for balance, forcing herself upright inch by inch.
She took a step forward. Her thin, scarred arm lifted, her hand shaking as she reached toward him, then halted, trembling in midair just short of his face.
Her fingers curled slightly, then fell back to her side.
Grindelwald watched her silently. In his dark eyes, something deep stirred, then settled once more into stillness.
"Let's go," he said simply. His tone revealed nothing, no comfort, no emotion.
Without another word, he turned and walked out. It was as though taking her with him required no justification at all.
Rosier followed as if pulled by instinct, tears still wet on her cheeks. She did not wipe them away. Like a believer trailing her god, she kept close, her steps light but unwavering, always half a pace behind.
...
When they reappeared, they stood on an unfamiliar city street. Warm air pressed against their faces, thick with the dust and sound of life, voices, engines, laughter.
Grindelwald stepped into the flow of people. Rosier followed, silent and unblinking, her gaze fixed on the hem of his coat.
Occasionally, she glanced around at the cars, the crowds, the glitter of shop windows, but always quickly, as though the world itself was too loud, too foreign.
Grindelwald paused before a newspaper stand, took a paper, and began to read. Snape tossed a coin onto the counter behind him.
"Vinda," Grindelwald said without looking up. "You can go wherever you wish now. Anywhere, Rome, Monaco, Oslo... any corner of the world. From this moment, you are free."
He folded the paper and turned to face her.
Rosier didn't respond. She didn't even pause. She only continued walking at his side, her eyes lowered, her silence saying everything.
Grindelwald exhaled softly, almost amused by the inevitability of it. He shook his head, then turned down a quiet side alley.
"Vinda," he said again, facing her fully this time. "Why don't you leave? Everything from before, it's over. Completely over." He spread his hands. "You could begin again. Truly."
Rosier lifted her head. The gentler light of the alley softened her features.
She looked at him, the man for whom she had traded youth, freedom, and her very self. She shook her head slowly, lips cracking as she whispered, "It never changed. (Let's say, deeply committed.)"
The alley fell silent except for the faint hum of the city beyond.
Grindelwald said nothing. After a long moment, a soft sigh escaped him, barely audible.
Then the complexity faded from his eyes. He turned toward Snape, extending an arm.
Snape stepped forward in understanding.
"Then," Grindelwald said, taking both their arms, "let's go together."
...
When the airplane finally touched down in London, Snape immediately reached into his cloak and withdrew the Hogwarts emblem token.
He closed his eyes, focusing on its pulse.
The emblem morphed into a miniature compass, its needle turning with purpose, it pointed north, toward the Scottish Highlands. There, above the mountains, the Founders' Ark was moving slowly through the sky.
"Ready?" Snape asked quietly.
Grindelwald gave a curt nod. Madam Rosier stood beside him, silent, detached, her gaze unfocused.
Snape grasped both their wrists, and the three vanished.
They reappeared atop a slope of mossy rock and scrub. Below them, the valley stretched into mist; above, heavy clouds pressed low over the mountains.
The rain had just ceased, leaving only a cool wind stirring through the pines.
Snape raised his eyes toward the clouds, the Ark hovered somewhere beyond that veil.
He reached into his bag and drew out his Nimbus 1001, then hesitated, awkwardness flickering across his face. "I only brought one broom..."
"Put it away," Grindelwald said dryly, glancing at it as though it were a child's toy.
He lifted a finger toward the sky. "Up there?"
"Yes." Snape stowed the broom again, already anticipating what was coming.
Satisfied, Grindelwald stepped closer, gripping Snape's arm with one hand and Rosier's wrist with the other.
"Hold on."
Before Snape could react, an immense force wrenched him upward. It was as if he'd been caught by a rampaging Thestral, or yanked into the heavens by the tail of a Hungarian Horntail.
"I-!"
The roar of air drowned his shout. Wind battered his face and ears until the world dissolved into a blur of motion and noise.
He felt like a rag doll in a hurricane, flung higher and higher. Gasping, he managed to conjure a spherical shield around himself, not enough to slow the pull, but enough to breathe.
Turning his head, he saw the scene beside him and nearly cursed aloud.
Grindelwald flew as if born to the sky. One hand clasped Snape like a dangling parcel, the other still holding Rosier effortlessly.
Where Snape flailed and spun, Grindelwald soared, his cloak streaming behind him, short brown hair untouched by the wind, his face serene and indifferent.
Rosier, too, seemed weightless within an invisible current. Her hair drifted softly around her face; her eyes were half-closed, lips calm, as though the gale itself bowed before her.
It was impossible to say how long they ascended before the dense gray clouds began to thin.
Then, with a soundless parting, the clouds opened.
Blinding light spilled across them, and there, floating in the sea of cloud, loomed the Founders' Ark.
A vast vessel of oaken hue, its masts piercing the sunlight like towers. But as Snape focused, his heart sank.
The ship was wounded.
Smoke coiled from its decks. The timbers were charred in places; blackened scars marred the hull.
The sails that once glowed with living magic now hung in tatters, one of them ripped open and curled at the edges, burned.
Ash still drifted upward from smoldering embers along the deck, the fading breath of a battle not long past.