(After watching that heart-stopping World Cup final, I was too excited to sleep, so I stayed up all night writing a chapter to celebrate. Messi is the GOAT!)
Austria, Nurmengard.
A rich, sweet fragrance filled the luxurious study. Wherever one reached, some sort of sweet or sugary drink was always within easy grasp.
Grindelwald rarely ate any himself, but that did not stop him from keeping them stocked and having them replaced daily to ensure they tasted their best.
At that moment, Grindelwald sat behind a sandalwood desk, holding a letter and reading it intently. Anger flashed through his eyes from time to time, and his roiling magical energy made the air crackle.
This was already his fourth time reading the letter.
The first time, he had nearly exploded with rage.
The second time, he had looked thoughtful.
The third time, he still felt like exploding with rage.
[To dear Mr. Pailier Rouge]
[I was delighted to receive another letter from you.
Regarding the wizarding war Grindelwald sparked, which you brought up last time, I have a different view.
In a word, Grindelwald is full of crap!
That bastard doesn't deserve to be called a legend. He disgraces the very title. Has he no shame?
I once heard what a great man from the East said about "revolution," and I regard it as the truth.
If you want to get something done, make as many allies as possible and as few enemies as possible.
And Grindelwald? Aside from making enemies all over the world and proving himself a utterly useless Dark Lord, could he manage anything worthwhile?
Everyone says he was good at winning people over, so why didn't he win Dumbledore over?
If he really couldn't win him over or beat him in a fight,
why not take his wife and family hostage? If he refused to join the grand cause, kill the hostages!
Even if that didn't work, if threats failed, he could resort to trickery: feign defeat, devise cunning schemes, play the fool without actually losing his wits, and all sorts of other underhanded tactics.
There are always more dirty tricks than problems.
And he calls himself a Dark Lord? He doesn't have the slightest talent for scheming. Pathetic.
Good people are actually easier to deal with than bad people. They have more weaknesses and more scruples. So Grindelwald's failure was simply a disgrace to the thoroughly wicked title of "Dark Lord"!
Grindelwald was always preaching lofty ideals and all that, but aside from swaying brainless idiots who thought they could live on ideals, that was full of crap too.
Who would work for you without getting something out of it? How much money are ideals worth? How much rice can they buy?
If it were me, I'd simply shout, "Down with the pure-bloods, divide up their land!" I guarantee ninety percent of wizards would join me!
Oh, I got a little carried away with the criticism and strayed off topic. Please don't take offense, sir.
As for how to deal with Muggles, my views broadly come down to three points: integrate wizards into the Muggle world from the top down, incorporate Muggle technology into magic, and manipulate public opinion to gradually prepare people for the existence of wizards.
Of course, the process would be far more complicated and difficult. The hardest parts would be unifying wizards' views and breaking the International Statute of Secrecy.
Regarding the elements, I must thank you, sir. I happen to have a suitable wand.
Alas, Lightning Charms are terribly hard to find, and I'm just a poor student with no connections.
By the way, let me tell you a little secret: Voldemort seems to have returned. Our headmaster is so worried his hair has turned white.
And I happen to be able to shoulder some of his burden, but the headmaster is such a miser. He fobbed me off with a chicken feather.
With regards, your dear friend, Shawn Black]
After his fourth reading, Grindelwald nearly failed to contain the fury in his eyes. He had crushed one corner of the letter, but a competent leader did not let emotions cloud his judgment.
Though he was furious, he also felt that Shawn made a great deal of sense.
He had spent fifty years imprisoned, so naturally he had reflected on his mistakes every moment of every day.
Only after several deep breaths did he suppress his anger. At least he still had enough restraint not to rush straight to Hogwarts and beat Shawn to death.
Once he calmed down, Grindelwald began writing his reply through gritted teeth.
What was more, he had to join Shawn in harshly criticizing himself from a third party's perspective.
Where was the justice in that?
The first Dark Lord actually felt a little wronged.
After finishing the letter, he summoned Abernathy again.
"Any progress on the phoenix?"
Abernathy looked troubled, fine beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He had underestimated the problem before.
There were indeed more than one or two phoenixes, and the Acolytes had found traces of wild ones. The real headache was how to catch them.
Phoenixes could teleport, could not be killed, and could heal themselves. Their only shortcoming was their limited direct combat power; otherwise, they were practically perfect.
But they were truly difficult to catch. The Acolytes had poured in enormous resources and manpower without getting so much as a feather.
Yet Abernathy knew his master cared only about results, not the process.
Seeing his subordinate's expression, Grindelwald looked slightly displeased.
He had long been dissatisfied with how infrequently he and Shawn exchanged letters.
The boy had truly awakened Grindelwald's desire to teach. He could hardly wait to pass on everything he knew so Shawn could fulfill his unrealized ideals.
Having just received a thorough tongue-lashing, he also still had a bellyful of anger to vent.
But before Grindelwald could scold his subordinate to let off steam, a spark burst in midair, and Dumbledore's figure slowly appeared.
Grindelwald immediately hid his displeasure and pointed Abernathy toward the envelope on the desk.
"The usual arrangement. Send the charms along with it."
That was close, Abernathy thought. He picked up the envelope, turned, and hurried away.
He resolved that, if all else failed, he would capture the phoenix mascot of that New Zealand Quidditch team.
Dumbledore watched Abernathy leave with the letter, a thoughtful gleam passing through his eyes.
Grindelwald interrupted his thoughts.
"Albus, you're here."
As Grindelwald greeted him warmly, he reached out and summoned an assortment of desserts.
"I bought these sweets from all over the world. This is baklava, and this is tiramisu. Oh, you simply must try this one. They call it tanghulu in the East. Sweet and sour-quite good."
With a complicated look in his eyes, Dumbledore murmured an acknowledgment, accepted the tanghulu Grindelwald offered, and took a bite.
It was indeed deliciously sweet and sour, and he understood Gellert's implied meaning too.
Feeling a little guilty, Dumbledore quickly took a pair of woolen socks from inside his robes, still warm from his body.
"Gellert, these are a gift for you. Although it's summer now, they should still be quite comfortable as long as you don't wear them out in the sun."
Grindelwald's face stiffened. Some of the warmth faded from his expression, and he spoke slowly, with a hint of self-mockery.
"In the end, you still don't believe I'll keep my word. I'm old now. I've languished here for years, and the hardships of prison life have ruined my health. How would I have the energy to go out?"
"Besides, the times have long since left me behind. I might not even know as much as a first-year student at your school."
Dumbledore looked at Grindelwald pleadingly.
"Gellert, the wizarding world really can't withstand any more upheaval. I truly don't have the energy to trade riddles with you right now. Promise me, will you?"
Seeing Albus like this, Grindelwald suddenly recalled something Shawn had mentioned in his letter, and a warm smile spread across his face.
"All right. As long as you put the socks on me yourself, I won't leave the tower."
As he spoke, Grindelwald propped both feet on the desk, looking as though he were waiting to be waited on.
"I'd be happy to."
Dumbledore showed neither embarrassment nor reluctance. He walked over to the sandalwood desk and gently removed Grindelwald's shoes and socks.
But when he saw Grindelwald's withered, wasted feet, his hands began to tremble despite himself, and tears slowly welled in his eyes.
Guilt weighed on his heart, and something inside him nearly snapped.