Hi, back for another fic. Full credit for this idea goes to Darth Krande.

This idea is written with permission as it different to the story that inspired me, but check out all the awesome Grindelwald stories on that profile.

Tell me what you think. Same goes for this one as the last one - my laptop is on it's last legs so I'm not beta reading any of this. Please feel free to pick up on any spelling/grammar/continuity mistakes.

The Great Work (Latin: Magnum opus) is an alchemical term for the process of working with the prima materia to create the philosopher's stone.

The only way to mark the years in his cell was by the temperature. Winters were easy to discern from summer as ice crusted over his blanket and snow drifted through the small window. It was cruelly cold but at least there was something to do as he used his bed pan to shovel the snow out through the window. He'd discovered the first year that the snow would melt into a thick slush over the floor otherwise and it would become wet as well as cold.

Summer was a different form of torture. Although it was warmer he would have nothing to do except lament his lost freedom. The only satisfaction that he still had was wandless magic – it was weak, pitiful compared to the impressive feats that he used to achieve but it was better than nothing.

He didn't miss the irony of course; he was now reduced to little better than a muggle after years of saying how pathetic they were. How he had championed powerful magic but was now struggled with anything more than a heating charm.

Not that a wandless heating charm was anything to be scorned and it certainly had improved his quality of life when he had finally achieved it. Now he could warm his dinner and even cast the charm on the remains of his blanket to create a temporary warmth bubble.

Of course, he had spent years examining his wards, those immaculate enchantments that he had designed himself. Oh again, the irony of that. The hours he had spent perfecting those wards, making them impenetrable and unbreakable, ironing out any weakness. Of course, there was a weakness but without a wand he was helpless to exploit it.

So he focused on his wandless magic, honing his magic into a weapon even as his body degenerated. If he ever managed to get his hands on a wand, he would become a force to be reckoned with.

He poured himself some water from the tap in the wall. It splashed out in an icy torrent, drenching his feet and the floor before gurgling down the drain in the corner of the cell. He filled his chipped mug, then focused, channeling his magic into warming the water. It took a lot of effort but the result was a close to civilized living as he could manage. He folded his blanket into a rough approximation of a cushion and laid it on the window seat, sipping on his hot water as he observed the outside world.

It was late spring or early summer– the snow line beginning to rise up the mountain towards his fortress and purple heather blooming below it. The patch that always melted earlier than the rest on the mountain opposite had gone from looking like a thestral to a dragon, a change which usually happened only a few weeks before he could sleep without a warming charm.

Something bright was climbing the mountain towards him. He shut his eyes, frustrated by the trick before opening them again. No, that was definitely something – a person almost certainly by the bright russet and gold robes. He must have blended into the heather this far.

The prisoner watched the figure maneuver his way across the difficult terrain, the constant mountain wind blowing his long silver hair and beard out behind them. Grindelwald waited for the wards to go off, to alert the ICW of the visitor's presence but he crossed the boundary with no resistance. That meant the wizard could only be one person – the wizard that had imprisoned him here in the first place. Albus Dumbledore.

The famous light wizard disappeared out of view, but the prisoner counted down instead. As expected, roughly thirty minutes later, footsteps were heard coming up the stairs outside his cell and the door opened with a moan of rusted hinges.

'Albus.' The prisoner croaked, his voice not a hoarse as one would expect from a man who hadn't held a conversation in half a century.

The mentioned wizard stood cautiously in the doorway, wand drawn and ready as he surveyed the prisoner who sat on the window seat. The prisoner surveyed him in return, taking in the creased skin and silvery hair and the beard that disguised the scar from the cutting curse that had almost beheaded him in their first encounter months before that fateful duel.

The wizard wore an almost garish set of robes covered in tassels and frills that would have made even the dumpiest housewife proud. The beard was tucked into the matching sash and he held the pointed hat in his hand, folded in a way that implied it had been recently used to wipe the sweat that glistened on the old wizard's brow.

'Gellert.' The visitor replied, entering and shutting the door cautiously behind him. He looked around for a moment as if hoping for a seat, then shrugged and conjured a plush purple armchair, strategically placed in front of the currently unlocked door. Gellert allowed a sneer to cross his face as the other wizard situated himself comfortably.

'What do you want, Albus.' He demanded after a moment of silence.

'Who says that I don't just want to chat?' The other relied blithely and Gellert laughed humourlessly.

'It's been half a century and you haven't visited. I doubt you've decided to come and chat now.'

'I fear you've caught me. I must know if your visions still serve you?' The British wizard asked and Gellert considered the best way to answer. This question was a test, he could tell that much but he wasn't sure what his old friend was hoping to receive as an answer.

'They do.' He finally answered cautiously.

'Ah, excellent. Have they kept you informed as to the current situation in Britain?' Albus looked cheerful, which Gellert took to be a positive sign. The other wizard had never been able to mask his emotions.

'If you mean the Potter boy and his prophesy, then yes I am aware.'

'Ah excellent.' Albus declared, rummaging in his cloak and pulling out a brightly coloured crinkling package. 'I got these at that little village nearby. They're called "Kinder Bars", I thought you might like them.'

Gellert considered the wizard opposite him and the proffered sweets, weighing up the act of seeming kindness. Eventually, the desire for something other than cold porridge won out and he shuffled awkwardly across the room to take one of the chocolate bars, power plays be damned. Albus seemed to take this as some kind of sign because he flicked his wand in a display dazzling to the untrained eye. Another armchair appeared with a pop across from an elegant circular coffee table, a second wave of the wand later and a floral teapot with matching cups materialized. Gellert obligingly used the tap to fill the pot as the other wizard dispensed the remaining chocolate bars on a decorative plate and carefully measure out tea leaves.

Minutes later, Gellert was seated in a comfortable chair, holding a steaming cup of aromatic tea and doing his best to not inhale the chocolate bars. Of course, he knew that none of this came without strings but it was worth it. After all, anything would break the monotony of his imprisonment and the chocolate was rather good.

'So, the Potter boy?' Gellert prompted and Albus smiled serenely. He had certainly changed in the years since they had met, the light wizard never would have worn that expression when Gellert was still free. He was far too energetic and active for such an emotion, driven by his passion.

'Ah, Harry. He has just finished his first year at Hogwarts.' Albus began and Gellert waited for the old man to begin. He wasn't sure if he appreciated this new Albus, he seemed far less emotional which would make manipulating him far more difficult. The dark wizard made a motion for Dumbledore to continue, which he did after he had meticulously unwrapped a kinder bar.

'Voldemort – you know who he is? Marvelous, anyway, he survived his defeat on Halloween and somehow managed to inhabit the back of a Professor's head…' Albus paused and peered at his old friend over the top of his glasses. Gellert shrugged but didn't bother to answer the unspoken question. There were many ways to avoid death and without further information it was impossible to know which method had been used.

'Alas, I hoped you at least would know more. At least he is not back to full strength, he seems to have fled this time.'

'But you know how he intends to regain his body; at a guess you kept it in your school? He wouldn't have done something so risky for mere revenge.' It was the longest sentence Gellert had attempted in a long time and it appeared his accent had thickened; half a century of mumbling to himself in German had done nothing to improve his English.

The long pause answered his question and Gellert cackled.

'The Potter boy managed to retrieve it before Voldemort but I find myself at a loss as to where to keep it now, if even Hogwarts was not secure enough.'

It was rather obvious really, which almost made Gellert laugh again. There was one place in the world more secure than Hogwarts and it had almost faded from memory. Nurmengard was a fortress that Voldemort could not hope to penetrate without physically tearing down the stone walls, should he even think to look there. Its wards had been built by one of the greatest minds of the century, and then reinforced by the only wizard that could hope to rival him. Even if Voldemort did manage to get inside, he'd find the very essence of his dark magic trapped him here in the same way Gellert was trapped.

'What is it?' Gellert asked as he took the second last chocolate bar from the plate, carefully forcing any trace of excitement from his face.

'The Philosopher's Stone.' Albus answered, removing a fist sized package from his robe and passing it to the dark wizard opposite him. Gellert had to try very hard to quell his excitement as he took the precious object, allowing the purple velvet to fall open.

The stone gleamed in the dim light with an almost bloody hue. It refracted across the floor with an inner luminescence that betrayed the rock's magical properties. He looked at it from different angles, inspecting the chipped face where Flamel had made his immortality potions. He rose and shoved it unceremoniously under the pallet that served as his bed.

'I do hope you'll visit to check up on it.' He said as the visitor stood, readying himself to leave. The dark wizard would never admit that he had enjoyed this evening. Albus nodded as he vanished the armchair blocking the doorway, then with one last glance he disappeared down the hallway and the door shut and locked behind him.