0736 The Final Confrontation

“Adam has completed your instructions,”

Bryan once again slowly turned his gaze away from the kneeling figure of Adam Vogel toward the frail old man who continued to sit motionless at the edge of the narrow bed, seemingly oblivious to the words being said few feet from where he sat.

The figure in front of him was the once-mighty revolutionary who had shaken the wizarding world, one of the most formidable and terrifying wizards in all of modern magical history.

This was the Dark Wizard whose war had swept like a plague across not only half the wizarding world but had spilled over into the Muggle world as well, leaving devastation and despair in its trail.

This was the man who had forged Albus Dumbledore’s legendary reputation through their epic confrontations and ultimate duel. This was Gellert Grindelwald—and yet, what Bryan saw before him now was nothing more than an unremarkable old man.

If someone were to place this withered figure alongside the current Albus Dumbledore it would be nearly impossible to convince any reasonable observer that this person had once been a wizard who not only stood on completely equal footing with Dumbledore, but had actually been considered by many to surpass him in raw magical ability and visionary scope.

Bryan could sense that the old man hunched by the bedside had lost not just his physical strength but his very magical essence. The magic flowing through Grindelwald’s withered body was even less abundant than what coursed through Filch.

No one had tortured Gellert Grindelwald after his defeat at Dumbledore’s hands all those decades ago. Magical power emanates from the very soul itself, and when his core beliefs had been utterly shattered by defeat and the weight of his failures, his magical abilities had simply faded away along with his broken dreams, like flowers wilting in an endless winter.

Bryan gazed intently into Grindelwald’s almost vacant eyes, searching for any spark of the once-fierce intellect that had challenged Dumbledore, for the burning ambition that had sought to remake the world according to his vision, for the charismatic presence that had inspired armies of followers to commit atrocities in his name… but all of it was gone that had once made this man the most feared wizard in Europe.

What he found instead was a gaze that seemed to encompass nothing beyond the immediate present moment.

Grindelwald’s entire world appeared to contain only two things: himself and the yellowing newspaper that he held in his hands with the grip of someone clinging to their last connection to a reality that had moved on without them.

Meanwhile, the false Augustus Raman who was in reality Adam Vogel remained kneeling on one knee before the figure of Gellert Grindelwald.

His posture was that of a medieval knight paying homage to his liege lord, or perhaps more accurately, that of a religious devotee worshipping before the shrine of a saint whose miracles had long since ceased.

Throughout this entire scene, Vogel hadn’t spared Bryan Watson a single glance, within his heart, he harbored enormous, desperate expectations, hoping that Watson would do something.

Rumble!

The earth-shaking sound of a massive avalanche crashing against the mountain cliffs mingled ominously with the rolling thunder emanating from the low-hanging clouds that pressed down upon Nurmengard.

And yet, despite the dramatic atmosphere and the weight of anticipation that seemed to fill the room, absolutely nothing happened.

Bryan Watson continued to stand with perfect calm behind the partially open door, his hands relaxed at his sides, showing no signs of unleashing the thunderous magical fury, nor making any move to draw his wand for the epic confrontation that the entire wizarding world seemed to be anticipating.

Meanwhile, the old man by the bedside remained completely absorbed turning another page of his newspaper, his movements were slow as those of a man who had all the time in the world and nowhere else to be.

He appeared to be quietly reading what looked like a sharp and probably unfair commentary written by Rita Skeeter, the Daily Prophet’s most notorious star reporter, regarding Barty Crouch Sr.’s decision to take long sick leave from his position without seeking proper medical treatment at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

Time passed—no one knew how long—crack!

The square gold-rimmed glasses that Adam Vogel held in his hand fell to the floor, bouncing several times before rolling under the room’s simple desk.

The moment seemed to serve as a breaking point for Adam Vogel’s psychological state. As if someone had reached inside his body and removed his spine, leaving him without the support necessary to maintain his posture of devoted worship, Adam Vogel’s fanatical demeanor completely vanished in an instant.

His face, which had been flushed with the passion of religious devotion just moments before, turned a sickly gray that made him look like a man who had just received news of his own impending death.

The halo filter that had colored Vogel’s perception for so many years—the lens of hero worship and idealization through which he had viewed his fallen master suddenly disappeared as if it had never existed.

For the first time in decades, he seemed to see with crystal clarity exactly what lay before him, mere inches away from where he knelt in prayer: nothing more than a dying, broken old man whose time had passed long ago and who now existed in a state of living death, completely disconnected from reality and utterly incapable of leading anyone anywhere.

A mocking smile finally appeared at the corner of Bryan’s mouth as he observed this moment.

“Let me guess,” Bryan said as he began to slowly approach Adam Vogel, who had now collapsed completely to the ground in despair.

Bryan’s gaze fell downward to look at the broken man as he spoke calmly.

“From the very beginning, the attack on Hermione Granger was nothing more than a carefully constructed pretense, wasn’t it? That unfortunate young witch was only selected as your target because of the inexplicable Triwizard Tournament champion status that had somehow fallen upon her—a development that you believed was orchestrated by someone with significant power and influence. You convinced yourself that the mastermind behind this unprecedented situation had to be me.”

Adam Vogel remained completely silent, his body slumped in defeat as his lost spirit stripped away every last trace of the gentlemanly and elegant demeanor he had cultivated over the years.

“Your real target was always either me or Dumbledore,” Bryan continued, his voice now carrying an icy tone. “You didn’t care in the slightest whether Hermione Granger lived or died. But you knew that after something terrible happened to her, both Dumbledore and I would be absolutely furious and would spare absolutely no effort to investigate the truth behind the incident.

You deliberately ordered your adopted daughter to participate in the goblin gambling and place what appeared to be an obviously unreasonable and suspicious bet—You were intentionally trying to leave a clue.

You were familiar with Dumbledore’s network of contacts and connections throughout the magical world, and you knew about my relationship with the goblin nation. If, by some chance, Dumbledore and I had failed to turn our investigative attention toward your organization through other means, then this carefully planted clue would successfully direct our gaze toward you and eventually…” Bryan glanced at Grindelwald, “we would find our way to Nurmengard.”

Adam Vogel’s lips moved, but he said nothing.

“You hoped that Dumbledore and I would enter this cage that no one had set foot in for half a century,” Bryan continued. “You wanted us to believe that the mastermind behind Hermione Granger’s attack was Grindelwald himself—but not the Grindelwald who actually exists, rather the Grindelwald you thought you knew, the Grindelwald you had heard about in stories and legends and your own romanticized memories.

In your imagination, he was proud, still possessing his old arrogance and power. He would disdain to explain himself to his accusers, would meet our challenges with the same fierce pride that had once made him the most feared wizard in Europe. Here, in this very room, another ‘battle of the century’ would erupt.

Or, if direct confrontation didn’t work, it wouldn’t matter if Grindelwald initially chose to defend himself against our accusations. Either way, he would ultimately be ‘inspired’ by the presence of either me or Dumbledore.

He would become invigorated, leave Nurmengard for the first time in fifty years, take up leadership once again, rally you and all the other faithful followers who had waited for his return, and begin a glorious new ‘holy war’ that would finish what he had started all those decades ago.”

The silence that followed this analysis was deafening, broken only by the continued rumbling of thunder outside and the soft rustle of newspaper pages as Grindelwald turned to the sports section.

“It failed,” Adam Vogel finally managed to whisper, his voice emerging as hoarse and raspy as that of a traveler who had been lost in the desert for weeks, dehydrated under the scorching sun with no water to drink and no hope of rescue. “Everything… it all failed.”

Bryan looked down at the broken figure of Adam Vogel with an expression that, surprisingly, contained a genuine measure of respect. Honestly, despite the ultimate failure of the man’s scheme and the harm it had caused to innocent people, Bryan held considerable admiration for the intelligence and dedication that Vogel had demonstrated.

Vogel must have known clearly that once any serious investigation into Hermione’s attack began, it would be only a matter of time before their entire organization would be exposed.

Every member of their secret society would be revealed and captured. This underground network represented the ‘treasure’ that these dedicated believers had painstakingly preserved and protected through half a century of careful hiding, living in shadows and maintaining their faith despite the complete absence of their leader.

And Vogel made the decision to sacrifice it all just for the chance to bring the prisoner of Nurmengard ‘out of retirement’.

His intelligence and strategic thinking were equally admirable, Bryan had to admit. Jasna Rosier and Angus Aeschylus had obviously been chosen to execute the mission after careful consideration of their particular skills and psychological profiles.

But despite all his careful planning, all his intelligence, all his desperate faith and dedication, Vogel had ultimately failed in the most complete and devastating way possible.

And his failure hadn’t been due to any superior rationality on the part of Bryan and Dumbledore, nor had it resulted from any flaw in his tactical execution. He had failed for one single, fundamental reason that subverted everything he had worked toward: he had mistakenly believed that Gellert Grindelwald was still truly alive.

“You betrayed yourself,” Adam Vogel said with immeasurable sadness, his words directed not at Bryan but at the figure of Grindelwald. He looked at his God with despair in his eyes.

It was clearly time to bring this farce to its conclusion. Bryan felt no confusion about what needed to be done, and he had absolutely no interest in prolonging this scene by saying anything more to the broken man at his feet.

Swish!

With a casual gesture, Bryan crooked his index finger in a subtle magical command, and the square glasses that had fallen and rolled under the simple desk immediately responded to his summons, flying smoothly through the air to land gently in his open palm.

He gazed deeply at the spectacles for a few thoughtful seconds, studying their craftsmanship and perhaps seeing in them a symbol of all the shattered dreams and broken hopes that filled this desolate place.

Then a bright flame spontaneously ignited around the glasses, consuming them. As the fire burned, a faint, ethereal shriek seemed to echo from somewhere in the void—perhaps the cry of whatever dark enchantments had been woven into the frames, or maybe just the sound of another dream dying.

The glasses quickly melted away under the magical flames, leaving behind not even the smallest trace of ash to mark their existence.

“I will not kill you,” Bryan said with complete indifference. “You will spend the rest of your life in Azkaban where you can ponder the futility of your life’s work in the company of the Dementors.”

A dazzling flash of red light followed immediately upon his words, the Stunning Spell hit Adam Vogel and the broken man collapsed unconscious to the stone floor.

Outside the tower window, the avalanche continued to thunder against the cliffs with earth-shaking force, sending clouds of snow surging up from the base of the cliff all the way to the clifftop far above.

Nurmengard found itself completely surrounded by rolling mists of snow that created an almost ethereal atmosphere, as if the ancient prison were floating in a sea of white clouds.

Bryan stood before the desk, gazing out at the mountains, quietly appreciating scenery he had never witnessed before.

Above, the thunderstorm in the sky continued to grow increasingly ominous with startling bolts of lightning periodically dispersing the dense snow clouds and temporarily diluting the bone-deep chill that seemed to permeate the air around Nurmengard.

After watching the natural spectacle for several minutes, Bryan gradually lost interest in the scenery outside the window. Despite its undeniable beauty and grandeur, the view was too lonely.

The endless expanse of empty wilderness only served to emphasize the complete desolation of this place and the tragic isolation of its sole remaining occupant.

In comparison, he found that he much preferred the familiar view from his office window at Hogwarts. There, he could enjoy not only the impressive majesty of mountains and the depths of the Forbidden Forest, but also the young wizards and witches frolicking happily on the campus lawns, students practicing Quidditch maneuvers on the school pitch, couples walking hand in hand along the lake shore.

“I must return to Hogwarts now,” Bryan said as he turned around to face the room once more, his hands sliding comfortably into the warm depths of his coat pockets.

He glanced sideways at Gellert Grindelwald, who seemed completely oblivious to everything that had happened in the room over the past hour, still lost in his own private world of newspaper articles and faded memories.

Bryan’s tone was surprisingly warm and gentle, as if he were bidding farewell to an old friend of many years rather than addressing one of history’s most notorious Dark Wizard. “Is there anything you would like me to tell Dumbledore when I see him?”

Grindelwald’s wrinkled hands continued to hold the newspaper with perfect steadiness, though the wind that rushed into the room through the open door caused both his graying hair and the pages of his newspaper to flutter.

But in the end, he didn’t raise those eyes that were clouded with cataracts. He never looked up from his newspaper, never acknowledged Bryan’s presence, never made even the slightest sound to indicate that he had heard the question or was aware that anyone else existed in his world.

“Well then,” Bryan said with a gentle smile that contained no mockery or judgment, only a kind of acceptance of the situation. He reached into one of his coat pockets and took out something small and gently placed it on the desk surface, which was already crowded with stacks of newspapers and had very little remaining space. “Be well, Mr. Grindelwald.”

With those final words of farewell, Bryan lingered no longer in the desolate chamber. Using magic to levitate the unconscious Adam Vogel, he strode out of the cell, his footsteps echoing through the tower as he began his descent back to the world of the living.

Behind him, the old man in the cell continued his quiet routine, turning the pages of his newspaper one after another until the thunder clouds above Nurmengard gradually made the sky as dark as the deepest night, blocking out what little natural light had been coming through the narrow window.

Unable to make out the words any longer, he finally folded the newspaper. He slowly rose and came to the desk, staring blankly at the empty, snow-covered plain beyond Nurmengard’s gates, where no human figure remained.

Eternal, silent stillness reigned supreme, just as it had for the past fifty years and would likely continue for whatever years remained to him.

The old man’s clouded gaze eventually fell upon the desk, drawn by something that hadn’t been there before—a beautiful gold pocket watch, the item that Bryan Watson had left behind.

Click!

Although the old man hadn’t yet touched the antique timepiece, the watch seemed to sense his attention. As if responding to his gaze, the watch’s mechanism automatically sprang open, revealing a photograph of another old man and a young girl.

‘looks familiar.’

The word echoed through the old man’s mind like a whisper from a half-remembered dream.

The facial features of both people in the photograph seemed familiar.

Acting beyond his conscious control, as if guided by some deeper instinct or half-buried memory, he reached out and picked up the watch. He held it directly in front of his eyes, bringing it as close as his failing vision would allow, studying the photograph with an intensity that he had not been applied to anything in decades.

As time passed, his hand holding the watch began to tremble.

Patter, patter, patter!

For the first time in living memory, for the first time since Gellert Grindelwald had been imprisoned in this tower that had been eternally frozen in the grip of winter, it began to rain in Nurmengard.

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