As the last chapter told, when Dumbledore heard the voice from the cell, his heart felt as if the five-flavor bottle had been overturned. In an instant, it was chaos, as sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, and salty flooded him all at once.
He drew the wand from his sleeve and, with a flick, the small oil lamps in the cell's sconces sparked to life, illuminating the old man within.
What did this man look like, you ask? He was in ragged clothes, wasted away to skin and bone, like a piece of withered, rotted wood. His sparse, messy hair could not cover his scalp, and he had not a trace of vitality.
Only his eyes... only his eyes were like blades quenched in ice and forged in fire. They shot out a bright light, piercing the gloom. He was a dragon stranded in shallow water, his scales dark, yet his eyes still held their tiger's glare.
Seeing his old friend, Dumbledore's grip on his wand tightened. "It's been a long time, Gellert."
Grindelwald heard his voice and shakily stood, stumbling to the iron bars. "Let me guess," he rasped, "Why has the great White Lord graced me, his defeated foe, with his presence?"
"Don't tell me you're here to reminisce? It's been twelve years since we last met..."
"Ah... is it because of that little Potter savior? Has something... gone wrong?"
Hearing him speak the Potter name, Dumbledore's expression hardened. "You foresaw it, didn't you?"
Readers, Dumbledore's words have a basis: This Grindelwald was born with a gift. His eyes could glimpse scenes of the future. He was a Seer.
Sixty-five years ago, when this scoundrel gathered his followers in Paris, he relied on this very gift. He showed the wizards visions of the Muggles' coming Second World War, a vision of the chaos that would engulf the human world. It was this that convinced them to bow and join his Wizard's Party.
Now, meeting again, they had not spoken a word of substance, yet the scoundrel had mentioned Harry. Dumbledore knew he must have seen some heavenly secret.
The White Lord stepped forward until he was at the bars, their noses almost touching. "Gellert," he whispered, "tell me. What did you see?"
Grindelwald met his gaze. After a moment, he stepped back and sat on the cold cot.
"I told you twelve years ago. Whether it's Voldemort or this Potter, they are no different from you and me. They can't change anything."
"But... just now, I saw a change."
Grindelwald leaned against the wall, staring at the ceiling. "I have never seen such an obscure prophecy. Everything it showed me was... difficult to understand."
"This is completely different from the Potter boy's destiny twelve years ago. No... it's completely unrecognizable."
Dumbledore mulled this over, silent for a long time.
Grindelwald saw this and slapped the cot. "Tired of standing, Albus? Want to come in and sit for a while?"
"Five minutes ago, I viewed Harry's memory," Dumbledore said, ignoring the jibe. "I saw a war on a scale far exceeding the Wizard's Party or the Death Eaters."
Grindelwald picked at the mortar on the wall, feigning disinterest. "Ah, memories are easily faked. Queenie was a natural Legilimens, and I still twisted her around my finger, didn't I?"
"But the desire for slaughter and the aura of death cannot be faked. And in that memory, I could feel that every person held the intention of killing every last one of their enemies."
"Most importantly... one side of this war... was led by Harry."
Dumbledore said grimly, "Unless the Dursleys sent him to a Muggle battlefield at age five or six, I cannot imagine what experience would turn him into this."
Hearing his sincere tone, Grindelwald dropped his playful facade. He pondered for a long moment. "The Potter family ancestors... they have Peverell blood."
Dumbledore frowned. "The three brothers who held the Deathly Hallows?"
"If I recall correctly, the Potter's Peverell bloodline is from the one who possessed the Invisibility Cloak. In the legend, he was the only one of the three brothers who evaded Death's malice, living until his time was due, and only then leaving with Death."
Dumbledore was startled. "You mean—"
"Think about it, Albus. What if the legend is false? What if he didn't leave with Death, but used some magical means to... reside in his descendants? Or... direct reincarnation?"
"To be honest, I've wanted to say this for a long time. Relying on a 'love spell' to rebound a Killing Curse is about as laughable as me slipping on a slug and falling to my death."
"I am more willing to believe that a self-preservation measure left by an ancient wizard was triggered."
Though Grindelwald's words were harsh, upon reflection, they held a sliver of twisted logic. It made Dumbledore hesitate.
"That possibility... though small... is not zero..."
Dumbledore recalled how he had secretly assigned one Arabella Figg, a Squib, to be the Dursleys' neighbor.
She was a meticulous woman who, over the years, had observed Harry's behavior. Every report she sent said he was polite, gentle, a "little Bodhisattva."
Who could have known that when Harry entered the school, he wouldn't show a trace of gentleness, but would instead be a "devil-king who churns the seas and rivers"?
Grindelwald, seeing his hesitation, added, "It's only been two hundred-some years since the Ministry banned the Three Unforgivable Curses. Before that, killing was as common as breathing."
"And in that era, there was no 'Dark Wizard.' Every wizard knew some 'dark magic'."
Dumbledore's mind was a tangled mess; his head felt as if it would split.
Next time I see Harry... should I try addressing him as "Sage"?
Dumbledore killed the thought. He sighed. "No. I believe Harry has not changed."
"I can see the love he has for James and Lily."
"Even if... he is a bit extreme."
"I am merely proposing a hypothesis. Whether you believe it is your business," Grindelwald shrugged. "So... are you really not coming in to sit?"
Hearing this, Dumbledore's gentle smile returned. "My apologies, Gellert. There are too many things at school waiting for me."
"The Chamber has been opened again. I must prepare for the monster, and I must find the Chamber's location. I cannot make the same mistake as Armando."
"Go safely, Professor Dumbledore. I shall await our next meeting... twelve years from now."
"It won't be that long," Dumbledore said suddenly. "Perhaps... you will have the chance to walk out of Nurmengard and see the world again."
With that, he Apparated, spinning on the spot and vanishing. The flames in the cell extinguished instantly, plunging it back into darkness.
Grindelwald fumbled his way back to the cot. He lay there, stunned, for a long time.
"Harry Potter..." he whispered.
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