Nurmengard.
Inside the simple cell on the highest floor, two old men sat opposite each other across a worn little table.
The food on the table looked completely out of place in the gloomy surroundings.
There were several plates of roasted pork knuckles, sausages, and potato dumplings, all steaming and giving off a rich meaty aroma. They were all classic German dishes, hearty and filling, entirely unlike the food usually served within these walls.
In front of Dumbledore, Grindelwald made no attempt to maintain elegant table manners.
He devoured the food that suited his tastes perfectly, eating with astonishing speed.
Grease stained his mouth and fingers, but he didn't care in the slightest.
In a place like this, the food normally provided to Grindelwald was only enough to keep him from starving.
The bread was stale, the soup was watery, and the taste and texture were, to put it mildly, difficult to describe.
Nutrition was apparently considered enough.
Enjoyment was unnecessary.
Only when Dumbledore came could Grindelwald enjoy something resembling a proper meal.
Of course, it would have been even better without those sickeningly sweet candies.
After eating his fill, Grindelwald leaned back slightly and used his fork to gesture toward the plate of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans that had been served as dessert, signalling for Dumbledore to take one first.
This wasn't out of politeness or consideration.
It was simply because whenever Dumbledore picked from the beans, he somehow always managed to choose the worst-tasting one.
Without exception.
Ever since they were young, Grindelwald had enjoyed letting Dumbledore eliminate the most unpleasant flavours for him first.
It was a habit he had never bothered to abandon.
Dumbledore glanced at him but didn't comment.
He casually picked one up, placed it in his mouth, and chewed without any change in expression.
Grindelwald stared closely at his face for a second, apparently trying to determine whether Dumbledore had drawn something unpleasant.
There was no reaction.
He reached out, took one himself, and tossed it into his mouth.
His mismatched eyes brightened almost immediately.
"Not bad. Chocolate flavour."
The corners of his mouth curled upward, his tone carrying a hint of smugness.
Dumbledore merely picked up his teacup.
Grindelwald laughed.
"I'm becoming more and more interested in that young wizard named Lucien."
Dumbledore took a sip of tea without replying.
"Compared with that so-called Saviour, the Boy Who Lived," Grindelwald continued, "you've come here more often because of Lucien."
He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.
"Though in total, it's still only been a few times. Hmm, three? Two?"
He counted on his fingers, his tone deliberately serious, as though Dumbledore coming to visit him were some extraordinarily rare and precious event that needed to be carefully recorded.
Dumbledore still didn't answer.
Grindelwald didn't mind.
He had long been accustomed to Dumbledore ignoring questions he didn't wish to answer.
He set down his fork, leaned forward slightly, and stared intently into Dumbledore's blue eyes with his mismatched ones.
"Let me guess, Al."
His voice dropped lower.
"Is it because the Boy Who Lived has yet to show any extraordinary magical talent? At least, nothing close to our level."
Dumbledore's expression remained calm.
"Or perhaps it's because that boy is still under your 'control'?" Grindelwald continued. "Is he developing exactly according to your plans?"
His smile deepened slightly.
"And Lucien..."
He paused deliberately.
"You can't control him?"
Dumbledore finally set down his teacup and shook his head.
"When it comes to Lucien, I only wish to guide him," he said calmly. "Blindly supervising and restricting a child like that would only have the opposite effect."
Trying to force someone like Lucien onto a particular path would accomplish very little.
If anything, it might simply make him more determined to walk another.
Dumbledore thought of the magical fountain that had appeared at Hogwarts.
He thought of the fireworks blooming across the night sky on Valentine's Day, with students laughing together on the lawn beneath them.
And he thought of that vast Patronus Charm, whose silver mist had quietly filled almost the entire castle.
Someone willing to use magic to bring joy and happiness to others.
Someone capable of casting the Patronus Charm.
Whatever concerns Dumbledore occasionally had about Lucien's obsession with magic and knowledge, he did not believe the boy currently showed any signs of straying down the wrong path.
Grindelwald watched him in silence, clearly noticing the certainty in his expression.
Dumbledore reached into his robes.
He pulled a thin booklet from his pocket and pushed it across the table toward Grindelwald.
"This is an alchemical item invented by Lucien, called Instant-Speach, with a great function called Instant-Speak," Dumbledore said. "I think you'll find it interesting."
Grindelwald lowered his gaze to the booklet.
Its cover was simple and completely undecorated with no title and no complicated alchemical patterns.
Nothing about its appearance suggested that it was particularly valuable.
He picked it up.
The surface felt smooth and faintly warm in his hand.
In a good mood after finally having a proper meal, Grindelwald flipped it open.
Then he raised an eyebrow.
Every page inside was blank.
Not a single word had been written anywhere.
He turned another page.
Still blank.
Another.
Nothing.
Grindelwald looked up at Dumbledore, suspicion appearing in his mismatched eyes.
Was this supposed to be a joke?
Just as he was about to speak and ask what exactly he was meant to find interesting about an empty booklet...
Ding~~
A crisp, pleasant sound came from the object in his hands.
Grindelwald's gaze immediately dropped.
Before his eyes, letters began appearing by themselves across the previously blank page.
There was no quill.
No visible spell.
The words simply emerged neatly across the paper as though they had always been there.
[Albus Dumbledore requests to add you as a friend]
Grindelwald stared at the line of text.
Then, very slowly, the corners of his mouth began to rise.
________
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