Hogwarts: A Chinese-Style Professor

Chapter 198 Grindelwald's Reply

A secret letter, which can only be opened with the blood of Gellert Grindelwald, departs from Hogwarts.

They were sent to a place forgotten by the world—Niumengard.

The place where Grindelwald rose to power was also the place where he imprisoned himself.

High in the sky, the owl traverses mountains and lakes, eventually reaching the tower perched atop a cliff in Austria.

In the cage on the top floor, a withered hand reached out of the window—it gently stroked the owl's head, the bird's small head nestled in its palm, fully enjoying its caress.

“Pa bang bang~~~”

He took the letter, hugged the owl, and released it out the window.

Gellert Grindelwald slowly lowered his head.

His fingers gently caressed the letter.

Sensing the familiar yet unfamiliar magical fluctuations, those long-dormant heterochromatic pupils trembled slightly.

He had been waiting for this letter for far too long.

When was the last time Dumbledore sent him a letter?
April 1982, 6.

And now, it is September 3, 1993.

It has been eleven years and three months since that liar last sent me a letter.
Grindelwald's chapped lips twitched slightly, a smile on his face a mixture of mockery and an indescribable sense of melancholy.

A glint of light flashed from his fingertips, and a drop of dark red blood seeped out, dripping onto the seal of the envelope.

The blood was absorbed instantly, and the seal on the letter faded away as quickly as ice and snow melting.

Grindelwald thought the next time he might receive a letter would be at Christmas.

Albus must have encountered another troublesome situation—could it be that the little boy named 'Voldemort' has brought him new troubles?

Grindelwald opened the letter, his thin fingers tracing the beautiful words as he read it carefully.
His brows quickly furrowed.

Because the letter mostly discussed another person.
I must tell you about Li Wei.

He came to teach at Hogwarts a year ago, and even by the most rigorous and critical eye, he is the most talented and the one I am most satisfied with among all the professors.

He was not only deeply respected by his students (which was to be expected), but he also developed a technique to recast spells on Squibs, earned the Order of Merlin, and even demonstrated magical prowess that amazed me in some respects.

But tonight, he executed a prisoner who should have been permanently imprisoned in Azkaban.
Gellert admitted it to me in person.

He used his lightning magic to complete the "trial" while escorting the prisoners.

Even when faced with my questioning, he simply calmly listed a series of reasons. His logic was so clear, and his eyes so calm, as if he were dealing with a trivial matter.

This wizard, whom I once thought would stand shoulder to shoulder with me against the darkness, has now used such extreme methods to carry out his so-called "justice."

I tried to persuade him, but I failed.
What frightens me is not only that I cannot refute some of his points.

What terrifies me even more is that I am old, while he is very young. A legendary wizard who is not even 35 years old—can you imagine? He has lived a lifetime in just twenty years.

Gellert, I don't know what to do with him.

I admire his talent, am grateful for everything he has done for the school, and I can even forget about his actions this time.

But I couldn't help but start to worry. Because of your influence, I gave up interfering in a child's life—and you know the final result: the continent welcomed a second Dark Lord.

This time, facing a legendary wizard with a mature and complete mind, what is the right thing to do?

If left unchecked, could he become another sorcerer who uses the name of "greater good" to perpetrate tyranny?

Sometimes I wonder if it was because of the ambiguity of the boundaries of power we had back then that we have created such a successor—one who has looked back on the path we have taken and arrived at conclusions that are similar to ours but fundamentally different in nature.

I absolutely do not want to be his enemy—I watched him take that crucial step, and I know he is not evil—but that is precisely what puts me in a difficult position.

Gellert, after everything we've been through, after I criticized your actions, I now face a similar predicament.

Ignore me, laugh at me.

I was actually condoning a wizard who was enforcing the law without authorization, because I couldn't find a way to satisfy both sides.

I will not apologize for this, but I must admit that I lost my way.

After everything we've been through together, after we've hurt each other deeply, only you can understand the feeling. Only you—my old friend—understand the full meaning of this irony.

I don't know how to proceed.

I'm just a self-righteous old jerk, and I don't know what to do.

I can neither agree with his actions nor deny his contributions; I fear the potential consequences he might bring, yet I also need his power to fight Voldemort.

I'm sorry, I can't write anymore.

Albus Dumbledore

Also, it's for us.

{Attached: One pack of Lemon Snowball}

Grindelwald finished reading the letter.

I opened the envelope and poured out a packet of candy from the inner lining.

His hands trembled, and his movements were as slow as a puppet on a string.

Carefully pinch a corner of the candy wrapper between your left thumb and forefinger. With a soft rubbing sound, the wrapper unfolds like a flower, revealing the crystal-clear lemon-yellow candy inside.

"Ah wu——"

When the candy is put into the mouth, the dry and bitter oral mucosa collides with the sourness of the lemon, and an almost stinging astringent sensation surges out. The hard candy makes a crunching sound between the teeth. After the sourness is gradually neutralized, the restrained sweetness and a faint rusty taste rush into the nasal cavity.

Grindelwald closed his eyes and quietly felt it all.

The sunlight shone on him, and it seemed as if he had unknowingly returned to Godric's Valley. The summer sun shone on him and his lover, hot and dazzling.

When he opened his eyes again, after a fleeting moment of loss, his heterochromatic pupils revealed a sharp edge.

He began replying:
Albus—

First of all, I want to thank you for sending the candy.

Fifty years.

I've lived in this godforsaken place for fifty years.

Over the years, you—and everyone else—have never sent me candy. Just the smell of it makes me tremble with excitement.

This is the most delicious thing I've ever tasted in my life.

Your handwriting remains unchanged.

And my parchment is almost gone—most of the people I correspond with have passed away.

I've read every book in this room countless times. I wonder if Fox is still alive? Is everything still the same?

I think it's certain.

Albus, my dear old rival, the bewilderment you conveyed between the lines made me laugh—it was as if you were discovering for the first time that when someone truly tramples on the rules, the one upholding the rules is often at a loss.

You ask me how to treat him? Just like you didn't know how to treat me back then.

Why not just let it all go and fucking get out of here?

We're all getting old, Albus.

Stop indulging in self-pity over your so-called procedural justice.

Either he should do what he did to me back then, and muster the courage to be my enemy.

Either admit that, at certain times, his approach is indeed more effective than yours.

You'll never admit the latter, will you? Just like you'll never admit that the duel in 1945 was the relief we all needed.

Gellert Grindelwald

P.S.: I kept the candy wrapper; at least the sweetness was real.

(At the end of the letter was a Deathly Hallows symbol deeply engraved with a fingernail.)
(End of this chapter)