This is a dark story with disturbing scenes. This fic is about exploring HP characters, their world, and their relationships as they battle through the horrors of a 28 year war.

Imprisoned Realm has STRONG adult themes: torture, rape and murder. There is swearing, violence, slavery and suicide themes, prison and war brutality. PTSD, drug use, infidelity and major/minor character deaths.

GENRE: Horror, drama, angst (none of that teenage emo shit, because I'm not 'a ThirTeEn Year Old FAnGirl wriTing this fiC') and a liberal sprinkling of mystery.

If you're looking for a super!powered, serial!killer, I-hate-the-world-Harry, who fights with magic swords, machine guns and shit, and has his own harem of arse kicking Slytherin girls, then this is the wrong fic for you.

* Thanks to Brianna for Betaing some of my fic. For most of the fic, I have edited myself, so I apologise for SPaG.

* SHIPS: Jily, past Snily. James/OC, Harry/Ginny, Harry/Bellatrix, Harry/Parvati, Ron/Hermione. Canon characters/OCs.

* This story is written in the POV of several characters.

Disclaimer: I'm not JKR, I don't own HP.

I do not endorse the ideas and themes presented in this fic. It is only a work of fiction.

Imprisoned Realm


The full moon shone through the strange mist onto a forgotten church. It stood on a hill, overlooking a Muggle town, where twinkling pinpricks of light filtered from house windows, giving the town life and warmth. On the other hand, the church was in darkness. Even though it seemed derelict, except for birds and rats, a Muggle looking up would've discovered a bizarre sight.

An old wizard with a long, white beard sat on the roof of the church, as though this was a completely natural thing to do. As a breeze hit his dangling legs, he sucked on a sweet and heard an owl hooting nearby.

It was certainly odd for any Muggle to witness, let alone a wizard or witch. However, Albus Dumbledore wanted to experience a bird's eye view of the little town beneath.

But, this odd expedition had its purpose.

There was a small pop to his side. A wizard, tall like Dumbledore and just as old, sat beside him. This wizard wore a crimson cloak and embroidered blue robes. He pulled down his hood and sniffed the cold night air. He had a silver goatee with a pointed moustache, and his slick white hair was pulled into a ponytail, while his grey eyes were bright, like the stars hidden by the mist.

"Well hello, Albus," started the wizard with the crimson cloak. "This isn't the place I would've expected to have a rendezvous. But alas…"

"Alas…" replied Dumbledore. He swung his feet a little over the edge, momentarily lost for words.

The tension was thick. This was the first time he had spoken to the wizard since his escape from Nurmengard. "Would you like a sherbet lemon, Gellert?"

"So you still like them after all this time? Yes, I wouldn't mind one myself." The wizard smiled, before helping himself to a sweet from the paper bag.

Just like the old days, thought Dumbledore, and how long ago those days were.

"You've cleaned up well... very well." Until recently, Grindelwald had been a gaunt shell of a man tucked away in prison. "I hope I haven't exhausted you too much, because you seem to be having a lot of destructive adventures lately."

"Ahh yes, though my skills have rusted," Grindelwald chortled, like it had been a fairly simple thing to do, destroying cities. Like his sixty years in prison had been a holiday.

"But you're gaining Voldemort's attention. However, Gellert, don't get too carried away enjoying your freedom. I need your help to end this war."

"Of course, I will help!"

Dumbledore wasn't so sure about this.

"Why have you helped me escape the prison I had built?" He looked at Dumbledore from the corner of his eyes.

Using Grindelwald had been a risk from the very start. There was always a chance that he would gain power without helping the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore had to take a chance. He was not the powerful wizard he used to be, and not the power that Voldemort had once feared. He was weary, tired, and he wanted nothing more than for the war that has lasted twenty-eight years to end.

"Well, you wouldn't be of any use to me if you didn't have power."

"Is that all? It seems I'm doing the Greater Good I was put in prison for… and the dirty work you wish to steer clear from."

"Perhaps. However…" He grimly looked at Grindelwald through his half-moon spectacles. "I'm not asking you to terrorise Muggles and Muggleborns!"

"Yes, yes, I know, but Lord Voldemort's followers need to notice that I too, seem to care about the purity of our world and thus get them interested in my little group."

It was a horrible tactic, though Dumbledore had to admit, it was one which would prove fruitful. "You need to stay in England now, that's the only way Voldemort will realise the challenge you pose."

The crimson cloaked wizard spread out his arms, displaying a cheeky smile. "I am here at your service."

"Excellent! Make sure you don't kill Muggles and innocents."

Grindelwald sniffed loudly again, but didn't press further with the details. Instead, Dumbledore knew this wizard was itching to ask him something that had been on his mind since his escape.

"Albus, do you still—?"

"Why are you interested in the Elder Wand again?"

"I've heard that you lost the wand to Voldemort."

"I lost it at my defeat."

Grindelwald's eyes lit up. "Will you explain to me what's happened here and to Hogwarts?"

He sighed. "After my defeat, The Chamber of Secrets opened. I lost over one hundred students that night." The shock of it still froze Dumbledore's heart.

"Is it true that Harry Potter opened the Chamber?"

"It wasn't the boy's doing."

He believed Harry when he had denied it. However, since the boy had murdered his brother and maimed his sister, Dumbledore needed to weigh the evidence. Even though the boy had been imprisoned in Azkaban for months now, a niggling feeling crept into his mind.

He knew there were still missing pieces to the Harry Potter puzzle. He wanted the truth on how his protégé had become so evil and bent, though he knew that part of the boy's downfall, if not, in fact all of it, had been his own fault. Fledgling Mages did have a habit of distorting their souls, if they absorbed the power around them too quickly.

His investigations into the matter had to be put on hold as he dealt with bigger things, and Gellert Grindelwald was one of those bigger things.

"Hogwarts is the Dark Lord's hiding place," Dumbledore said calmly. The bitterness still seeped through every pore in his body.

Grindelwald fiddled with his goatee. "I knew that not all the truth about Hogwarts made it out. The Ministry of Magic has an iron fist here. There are too many rumours in Europe and this mist—this dreadful Dementor mist has lasted decades and it's now spreading to other countries!"

"The mist has baffled the Muggles for years. Half the Muggles blame it on climate change. The other half think terrorists are causing it. Only their government knows the truth."

"The Muggles call the Death Eaters, The Green Skulls," said Grindelwald.

"Voldemort has been creating havoc for the Muggles for decades."

"Why hasn't the Ministry done anything about this?"

"They've been helping. The Aurors and Muggle forces work together. But the Ministry have made sure this problem remains only a British problem and have refused help from abroad."

"Hasn't the Muggle government questioned this?" Grindelwald asked, "I'd want help from everyone."

"The Muggles do as the Ministry says. They're too scared of us, and they know it's very hard finding wizards. Yes Muggle warfare helps, but it cannot place a huge dent in Voldemort's army. They bounce right back. The United Kingdom is a powerful country with only a small problem, they tell the world. And the Ministry's agents in the U.N have pleaded for no help."

Grindelwald's brow furrowed. "But why not ask the other Ministries?"

"Because this Ministry is embroiled in corruption and paranoia. Morals, ethics and justice have all been destroyed."

"Please explain why Rufus Scrimgeour's been Minister for eighteen years?" questioned Grindelwald.

"Rufus changed the election laws. No one dares question him."

"And he's imbalanced from what I heard. He hides in the dark while he orders others around."

"Yes," agreed Dumbledore. "He is ruthless and paranoid ever since he was forced to watch his family get murdered seventeen years ago. He believes the Ministry is his inheritance, and that the European nations want to takeover. Rufus ripped apart Ministry departments and disposed of all Heads who opposed him. He replaced them with cruel people he could trust."

"My word!"

"My word, indeed... Almost three decades can warp the way a nation thinks," said Dumbledore sadly. Including myself, he thought.

"And the witch hunts?"

"Say one word against the Ministry and they'll label you a Death Eater or a Ministry Rebel, and they'll send you to Azkaban without a trial."

"It's worse than I thought. When my supporters told me they were scared of the Ministry, I thought they were exaggerating."

Dumbledore nodded. "I've cut most ties with them. I have the Order now, with a thousand members and still growing. We are the good against the weight of both enemies."

"Your followers look up to you. However, Albus, your Order is no match to the Ministry and Voldemort. Your tactics are too noble and your spells weak."

"They're good people. Lost and scared. If we turn to evil, then we're no different."

"Except if you win, life will be better," Grindelwald added. "Your followers admire you, revere you, but I know you, Albus. They don't know what you're capable of and what you've done. If they knew—"

"What they don't know is to their benefit. They're innocent people who want this war over. What I've done… or what I haven't done is my problem alone."

Grindelwald flicked up an eyebrow. "It's not only your problem. You've played with peoples lives."

"Whose lives?" Dumbledore wasn't going to be lectured by a wizard who had killed thousands. "Gellert, we must remain between them. You must remain between Voldemort and the Ministry."

"But you want me to destroy—"

"I don't want you to kill and torture. You need to give Voldemort the right illusion."

"You've grown strange in your old years."

Dumbledore curved his lips into an uneasy smile. "Perhaps..."

"It's like the last sixty years has been a wisp of smoke."

"The past is the past, and now times have grown more desperate."

"Yes, so desperate that you need me in the thick of things," Grindelwald chortled.

"I can't battle him." Dumbledore felt so frail and so weak. "I can't die—won't die—until there is someone strong enough to fight him."

"Now, now, you know that's utter nonsense!"

Dumbledore looked away, as though it was shameful and humiliating to be talking about his lack of power.

"Would you like me to kill him?" Grindelwald asked.

"No, it'll backfire on you."

"You want him alive? After all the trouble he's caused?"

"I'm worried that you don't have the skills to match up to Lord Voldemort," he answered with a frown.

"I was talking about the boy!"

Pausing for a second or two, Dumbledore scratched the point of his crooked long nose. "No."

"There's something you're not telling me about Harry Potter. Is he truly a Mage? Is he the boy who is meant to kill—?"

"There are plenty of things which you do not need to know about Harry Potter... Just wait."

"Hmmm, yes, but what about the second prophecy then?" Grindelwald pressed on.

"Our conversation should end here." He wanted to know how on earth Gellert knew that.

He stared into the wizard's grey eyes, remembering how much they had in common. He remembered their youth together, their fun and adventures, their thirst for power and answers.

Grindelwald looked disappointed. "All right then, until the next time we meet." With a pop he vanished, leaving him alone on the church roof again.

Dumbledore sighed, staring at the very spot his old friend and enemy had sat. He saw something glittering on a broken slate and snatched it up. He chuckled to himself as his eyes raked over the gold calling card. A black 'G' was scrolled upon it. It swirled as though it were alive and writhing.

Satisfied with the evening's events and perhaps with a twinge of doubt twisting in his stomach, Dumbledore pocketed the calling card and pulled out a tattered old note from the same pocket. The note looked as though it had been opened, folded, or flattened a thousand times. Dumbledore read it often, making sure that before the fruition of whatever far fetched plan he had, the words in this note would always ground him firmly in reality.

I did what you asked me to do, but you still betrayed me.

Dumbledore closed the letter he had treasured for long. He treasured the words for their meaning, for their silent threat. He traced out the boy's tear stains, the boy he had trained and who had fallen spectacularly from grace.

He knew his day would come when he had to face Harry for what had truly happened. But until then, he had plenty of work to do.