HP Thirty-Five Owls

Albus:

I considered all the obscenities, but I thought it would be better to start the letter with a simple thank you.My charming bastard, you're so fucking good.I haven't laughed this hard in weeks.

But let me read Muggle literature?Honestly, Albus, you could just send me the Harmless Items Manual, and maybe I won't be angry.This woman named Woolf is really strange.

And what about Legilimency?Stop being annoying and get out of my head.This elongated time is like the taffy you used to suck when we talked, endlessly pulled between your fingers and teeth.That was particularly distracting, causing my pen to scratch marks off the parchment more than once.But it really exploded brightly when we enchanted it.Do you remember, those swirling green smoke?

You always act like crap when you ask, do you remember the time I magically tied your legs to the bed frame and made you wait?It's so sad that you can't even maintain your sham politeness, and I was in a tizzy because I couldn't beat you ruthlessly...

And my life, my life that you have cut down, is nothing more than taffy, long hours, and memories.

Morning: The wardens will come to inspect and review all my dangerous notes on numerology.They used to be rough on me, I mean, when I first got here.Not with spells, they beat me.One of them was a woman who kept screaming "You killed my husband".After a few years they stopped doing it because I kept laughing at them.I take them all for fools, and I have infinite pride in my talents, just like you, Albus.I have a gift for laughing through shattered teeth when I'm kneeling on a flagstone floor clutching a wound, and a gift for laughing at those who try to torture me even with the blood running down my throat.This is a necessary ability to stay in prison, and it is much more valuable than intelligence or magical talents.

The food here tastes like mud.I have lost a lot of weight.The window panes were old and dirty, so I couldn't see myself clearly either.But I can imagine that I might look more like a skeleton.It's hard to imagine, there was a handsome British genius who used to have sex with me on the embankment, huh?

Such a long time.I'm always reading until my vision blurs, I stop, I pick up the book again, and I take notes.Perhaps I could bequeath my library to you - but no, you will no doubt find it disgusting.Even if I can't practice it, my magic is still black magic.I wandered aimlessly among the ancient legends.Tell me, my old friend, have you ever found any other Hallows?Did you live out our dreams in my absence?Now that you've thrown your partner into prison and endless shame, will you be the master of death?

Ah, I remember when I was in Durmstrang, I wrote miscellaneous notes like this, babbling like an old man, looking at what I wrote while watching "Powerful Potions", and accidentally missed it Pen dipped in salamander blood.

I have worn smooth marks on the floor that I often walk on.I hung the three rats I caught in the corner by the chains of the shackles—I stepped on their tails as they passed, twisted their necks, and flayed them with my teeth.They are slowly decaying and will look horrible for a few years.This was used to scare other rats - their kind didn't bother me anymore after that.And you'd be surprised, because you can actually get used to the smell.

Evenings - During certain winter months, I can see the sunset just outside my tiny window.The cold orange sunlight of winter dissolves the pallor on the icebergs.I want to collect those gray magics about the wind, sprinkle three blood spots on the clouds, and fly freely on the top of the mountain like a banshee.Just fly like I used to do.I'm even willing to fly back to my cell in peace after that.Flying like I flew out of old Gregorovich's house with "it" in my hand, laughing and having so much fun.I seem to recall dancing around the room with you when I pieced together that spell from the ancient dark tomes.It was a necessary tool of the Dark Lord, of course, it had to look scary, but also so happy at the same time.

At night, the window panes are frozen, and the moon staggers up the churning clouds.I love the Far North.Better to spend the rest of my life on the tallest tower, looking down on those cliffs and the vast continents, than on those potted-plant lands in England.I used to trace the course of the Volga River with my wand on your naked back, and painted on your skin among the ice crystals.They'll bloom, they'll feather, they'll soften the edges, they'll drip, they'll run down your spine.And you will croon, so sweetly.

I see a similar picture when I touch the panes of the windows with my warm fingers.The same gentle melting, only too silent.There will be no human voices here, never have been, and never will be.

It's been a long time, Albus.You left me and locked me here.Let me share the peace here with your Neville and Ginny now.

you are angry

Gellert Grindelwald

The author has something to say:

This time "Neville and Ginny" is not a character in HP, but a character in the last book

Lao Ge said that he didn’t want to read it, but he still watched it~