"Why."
Dumbledore's expression was somewhat solemn. His gaze fell on the prisoners, a hint of pity flashing in his eyes. He knew that some of these people were indeed heinous criminals who deserved to be imprisoned here, but others were innocent victims, sacrificed by the rules of the Wizarding World.
Azkaban has never been a purely righteous place; it is filled with darkness and injustice, political persecution, despair, and suffering. But he was powerless to change anything; he could only do his best to maintain the balance of the Wizarding World and to save those who could be saved.
Soon, they arrived at a dimly lit reception room. This reception room was one of the few "normal" rooms in Azkaban —it contained a simple wooden table, a few worn-out chairs, an oil Oil Lamp on the table whose Oil Lamp light barely illuminated the entire room, and a small window.
Outside the window, there was only endless darkness and the sound of waves crashing against the glass.
That bone-chilling cold, that pervasive sense of oppression, remains unbearable, as if the air itself has become thick and heavy. Every breath requires a great deal of effort.
The head of Azkaban, a bald, middle-aged wizard named Jeffrey Gleeson, sat behind a table. His hair was almost completely gone, and his bald head gleamed in the Oil Lamp. His face was covered in fat, and his small, murky eyes were fixed on Dumbledore and Grindelwald.
The expression on his face was priceless.
His gaze darted back and forth between Dumbledore and Grindelwald, cold sweat beading on his forehead, his hand holding the handkerchief trembling slightly. Fear, doubt, disbelief, and a barely perceptible hint of panic mingled within him. The cold sweat trickled down his cheeks, dripping onto his black robes, leaving dark stains. His hand holding the handkerchief trembled so much he nearly crushed it.
After a long while.
" Professor Dumbledore," he began, his voice dry and strained, as if something was stuck in his throat, each word requiring great effort to utter, "You mean... Mr. Grindelwald... violated his bail agreement? And... be handed over to Azkaban?"
The man's gaze swept back and forth between Dumbledore and Grindelwald, a flicker of doubt and unease crossing his eyes, especially when he saw the shackles on Grindelwald's wrists. Dumbledore nodded, his expression grave, his tone firm. "Yes, Mr. Gleeson. As his guarantor, I formally withdraw my guarantee against him. He must remain here to serve the remainder of his sentence. This is Wizengamot's verdict, and my decision."
Upon hearing this...
Gleeson's hands trembled even more violently. He hurriedly picked up the handkerchief on the table and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, but he couldn't wipe it clean. He then looked at Grindelwald — the Dark Lord who had once made all of Europe tremble—who was now leisurely leaning back in his chair, legs crossed, hands on his knees.
The other person's heterochromatic eyes held a hint of a half-smile.
It was as if none of this concerned him.
It was as if he weren't there to be imprisoned, but rather as a guest. That composure, that disdain, sent a chill down Gleeson's spine. "This... this..." Gleeson swallowed hard, his throat still dry and painful. " Professor Dumbledore, you know, Azkaban... Azkaban has historically held... uh... ordinary prisoners, mostly dark Wizard of average strength. Mr. Grindelwald... he's not an ordinary person..."
He dared not continue, but the meaning was already clear— Azkaban could not contain Grindelwald. He knew Grindelwald's strength all too well; that man possessed power enough to shake the entire Wizarding World. Azkaban's defenses, while capable of imprisoning ordinary dark Wizard, were utterly ineffective against Grindelwald.
If Grindelwald were truly imprisoned here, and he were to attempt an escape, Azkaban would face annihilation, and Grindelwald, as the person in charge, would bear full responsibility, possibly even losing his life.
Who doesn't know that Saints are fanatics?
More terrifying than those Death Eater lunatics! Upon hearing this, Dumbledore's brow furrowed slightly, a hint of displeasure flashing in his eyes. He looked at Gleeson, his tone carrying a touch of pressure. " Mr. Gleeson, are you questioning Wizengamot's verdict? Or are you questioning my decision?"
"No, no, no!" Gleeson waved his hands hastily, a fawning smile on his face, his forehead beaded with cold sweat. "That's not what I meant! I absolutely did not question Wizengamot's verdict, nor your decision! I was just... just worried... worried that Azkaban's defenses wouldn't be enough to hold Mr. Grindelwald, and if... if he escaped, the consequences would be unimaginable!" "I'm doing this for the safety of the Wizarding World, for the safety of Azkaban!" Bureaucrats are good at talking, he said, nodding repeatedly. His tone was full of pleading, hoping Dumbledore would change his mind.
Seeing that Dumbledore wouldn't budge, he gritted his teeth, mustered his courage, and looked up at Dumbledore. His voice, though still trembling, held a newfound firmness: " Professor Dumbledore, you know better than I who Mr. Grindelwald is. His magical power is unparalleled, and his methods are ruthless. Azkaban's defenses are more than enough to imprison ordinary dark Wizard, but imprisoning Mr. Grindelwald... is truly too much of a stretch." "Our Auror here, though elite, are no match for him; our binding runes, though powerful, are likely ineffective against him. Professor Dumbledore, I beg you to reconsider. Perhaps you could find a different place to imprison him, or... perhaps you could personally supervise him; that would be safer."
He didn't finish his sentence, but the unspoken message was already clear. "This wretched place of ours is simply no match for a monster of this caliber. Rather than letting him escape at any moment, it's better to have Dumbledore personally oversee him. That way, even if something goes wrong, it won't be his responsibility."
Just then...
Grindelwald suddenly smiled.
The laughter was low and hoarse, carrying a hint of cold mockery, echoing in the dimly lit reception room like a ghostly whisper, sending a shiver down Gleeson's spine. He instinctively shrank back, afraid to speak again.
" Mr. Gleeson, is that right?" Grindelwald spoke slowly, a hint of amusement in his voice. He leaned forward slightly, his heterochromatic eyes fixed on Gleeson, his gaze full of mockery and disdain. "Are you afraid I'll run away? Or are you afraid I'll tear down this dilapidated prison of yours?"
The First Generation Dark Lord exuded an overwhelming sense of oppression.
Gleeson's face turned deathly pale, his lips trembling, unable to utter a word. Grindelwald's words struck a nerve; he feared Grindelwald would escape, that Grindelwald would destroy Azkaban, and that he would lose his life. Facing Grindelwald's cold, sharp gaze, he felt suffocated, as if an invisible hand were gripping his throat, making even breathing difficult. Dumbledore deep breath and slowly stood up. His tall figure, standing there like a majestic mountain, exuded an invisible pressure. He looked at Gleeson, his azure eyes flashing with unwavering authority, his tone firm and powerful. " Mr. Gleeson, I understand your concerns. But Grindelwald has violated his bail agreement; I must hand him over to Azkaban. This is my responsibility, and it is Wizengamot's order. As for whether he can be imprisoned..."
He paused, his gaze hardening, his voice rising a few decibels, carrying an undeniable authority. "That's your problem. I'm only responsible for handing him over; the rest is up to you. If you can't even keep an eye on one prisoner, then you, the head of Azkaban, should be replaced."
The sense of oppression is also quite strong.
Poor Gleeson opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but Dumbledore's gaze rendered him speechless. He knew that Dumbledore had made up his mind, and nothing he said would change it. Therefore, he could only lower his head helplessly, a look of despair on his face, and silently pray that Grindelwald would behave himself and not cause any trouble here.
Just then, Grindelwald suddenly spoke up.
His voice was no longer leisurely, no longer playful, but icy cold, filled with a deep sarcasm, like a poisoned knife stabbing viciously into Dumbledore. " Albus, you have truly disappointed me."
Upon hearing this...
Dumbledore turned to look at him. Their eyes met in mid-air, as if invisible sparks were flying, and a powerful aura permeated the space, making the entire drawing room feel even colder. Dumbledore's eyes were calm and deep, revealing no emotion, while Grindelwald's eyes were filled with anger, mockery, and a barely perceptible hint of hurt. The Acting Skill was superb.
"I thought..." Grindelwald slowly stood up, the clinking of the shackles on his wrists particularly jarring in the silent meeting room. "Our agreement was based on trust. I kept my bail agreement, I helped you, even..."
He gave a cold laugh.
The mockery in his eyes intensified, and his tone grew colder. "I even helped you deal with that arrogant brat, that fool who dared to challenge us. And what did you get in return? This is how you repay me? Sending me to this godforsaken place in these cold shackles?"
Dumbledore's expression remained unchanged; he simply stared at him quietly, his eyes still calm and deep, as if looking at a spoiled child. After a few seconds, he slowly spoke, his voice tinged with weariness and a barely perceptible helplessness. " Gellert, I gave you a chance. It was you who... broke the agreement. I can no longer protect you." He stopped there.
"What about me?" Grindelwald abruptly interrupted him, his voice sharpening with a hysterical rage. His body trembled slightly, and his heterochromatic eyes burned with fury. "Did I trust you too much? Was I too naive? Or was I too stupid to believe you would keep your promise, to remember our agreement, to work with me to build a new magical world?" He raised his shackled hands and thrust them in front of Dumbledore. The shackles gleamed a cold, silvery light in the Oil Lamp, stinging the eyes. "Look at this, Albus." Grindelwald's voice was hoarse and cold, filled with deep disappointment and anger. Perhaps due to the intense emotional connection, it sounded incredibly real. "This is your so-called 'trust'? This is your so-called 'cooperation'? Using shackles to treat me like a prisoner, like an enemy?" Grindelwald roared.
Dumbledore a few seconds. Looking at the anger and disappointment in Grindelwald's eyes, a complex emotion flickered within him—guilt, helplessness, and a barely perceptible pain. But he quickly concealed these emotions, maintaining his calm and composed demeanor, and slowly spoke, " Gellert, you have broken the agreement, harmed innocent people. I can no longer tolerate you. Azkaban is where you belong." "Enough!" Grindelwald interrupted him sharply, his voice filled with rage that seemed to shake the entire meeting room. His eyes turned icy cold and crazed. "I don't want to hear your nonsense! I don't want to hear your Diadem reasons! You haven't kept our agreement at all! You've never trusted me! From the beginning, you've only been using me, using me to solve your problems, using me to achieve your goals!"
He whirled around, looking at Gleeson, who was trembling with fear, a cold, crazed smile spreading across his face—a smile that sent chills down one's spine, like that of a demon from hell. " Mr. Gleeson."
The voice of the first Dark Lord carried a hint of amusement, along with a chilling killing intent, "Weren't you worried that this dilapidated prison couldn't hold me? Weren't you worried that I would escape?" Upon hearing this...
Gleeson instinctively took a step back, his back pressed tightly against the cold wall, his body trembling uncontrollably, his eyes filled with terror. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out; he could only stare helplessly at Grindelwald.
Grindelwald's smile grew even brighter and more dangerous. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes filled with increasing madness: "Then I'll tell you now—" Before he could finish speaking, he suddenly pulled his hands away!
"Crack!"
A crisp snapping sound rang out in the silent reception room, particularly jarring. The magical shackles, engraved with countless sealing runes and touted as indestructible, shattered like paper as he struggled free! Countless silver fragments scattered and flew, landing on the floor with a crisp clatter, gleaming coldly in the Oil Lamp like broken glass. "How could this be!"
Gleeson's pupils contracted to pinpoints, his face contorted with disbelief. He opened his mouth wide, wanting to scream, but no sound came out. His body trembled like a leaf in the wind, as if he would collapse to the ground at any moment.
The Acting Skill really scared the bureaucrat.
He never imagined that Grindelwald could break these seemingly unbreakable magical shackles so easily! Just how powerful was this man?