Harry Potter: Letters from Thirty-Five Owls (Unauthorized Translation), Also Known as The Correspondence Between Grindelwald and Dumbledore

June 30, 1957 Albus—— Well, your last letter was too blunt. I feel like you're a little tired of me? Will it be me who makes you unhappy this time? Or are you worried about the choices you have to make? After all, in the wizarding world, being a self-proclaimed leader is really troublesome. Or are you worried about Voldemort? Do you think what I said is too to the point? Okay, don't think about this, Albus, let me tell you a story. Every late at night, when the moon shines brightly, I lie on the thin mattress and toss and turn, watching the crescent moon slowly sinking into the mountains and fading out of sight. The cold air at night spreads from the wall to the floor and spreads throughout my body. I let myself swim freely in the long-lasting memories. Of course, I don't have a Pensieve—there's no magic here except for the accurate watch—but I still have my memory. Yes, when I look back on the past, the first things that come to mind are always the little things - the old wand before I found "it", or the woodwork I looted many years ago, which was originally hanging on the wall of a Muggle room, or the toad I had as a child. I also often relive special moments to comfort myself. I think I have a pretty good memory, but of course it can't be compared to a pensieve. Missing me again - little conveniences in the magical world, I don't know what to do without them. Those times that I reminisce over and over again are almost worn out in my mind - but I heard that constantly reminiscing about the past can enhance my memory. That may be true, but even so - I still forgot something. Through my worn-out memory, I vaguely saw that it was midsummer, and Aberforth and Ariana stayed at home. We walked along the waterwheel diversion channel built by Muggles, strolled by the stream in Godric's Hollow, and discussed in depth how to modify the conservation laws in the blood curse. When passing by the windows of those elders, we would bend down and slip by in tacit agreement. After walking for a while, we sat side by side by the stream, took off our boots, dipped our feet in the water and dangled back and forth. You were playing with a silver knife - with your soft and beautiful hands - and you whispered that we had better find the Resurrection Stone first. At that time, we were guessing how much magic a drop of blood could stir up. So you pierced your thumb, and the blood immediately condensed into beads, bright red and charming under the sunlight. This makes me excited. I dipped the tip of the wand into the bright red between your fingers, and the blood droplets disappeared in an instant. The power that came from it made my hair stand on end and my whole body shook. Damn it - there is nothing more convenient than this. Even manipulating fate can't compare to how exciting it is. There is no Muggle-like nonsense, only the vibration of the soul and the instinctive pleasure. This is what I miss most about magic. You, you must still have this power, you have always been so strong and so talented. The magic burns every cell in your body, even beyond sex - can you still feel that simple and primitive pleasure after so many years? But - looking back at the memory. We were there, your blood melting into my wand, and I tore a hollow piece of wood into thousands of silk ribbons with a flick of my wrist, effortlessly yet so powerfully. Then you handed me the knife, and I pressed it back into your hand. We were close to each other, breathing together, and you scratched my thumb with the blade - in short, you have to try it the other way around. Then you lit the water with my blood, so touching, just like you. We laughed and took notes, then slowly put out the fire. I already began to imagine applying this beautiful magic to the Dark Curse; I hummed the incantation under my breath. We were partners, but we had never thought about tapping into this latent power in each other—giving each other our blood willingly, and you know what that means. Afterwards we lay panting by the river embankment. I lay in your lap and you absentmindedly ran your hands through my hair and tangled it around your fingertips. The sun was bright, the bushes were lush, and the knife thrown on the grass shimmered. We chatted happily, and then I mentioned looking for the artifact— "Look for the resurrection stone first," you said. I moved, looked up at you, and asked curiously, "Why?" "Because once we have... Even their ghosts, just ghosts coming back." Like a kitten, I gently fiddled with your hanging hair, "Albus, this is pointless." ​You have no explanation. I guess you want your parents to come back and take care of Aberforth and Ariana, and then you can fly away with me? I thought at that time, how considerate you are, this is not ironic. After that, we talked some more, but that's not why I remember that day. The reason is that you stood up suddenly at that time, causing me to fall off your lap, and then you cast a hiding spell around us. When I put the entire memory into writing, the memory became even longer and blurry. If I remember correctly, before this, we had touched each other clumsily like children. But by that stream, your hair was better than fire in the sunshine. Because of the concealment of magic and the buzz of insects in the bushes, we pleased each other for the first time. Although it is difficult to put it into writing, I will never forget it - at that time, you took off your gold-rimmed glasses and smiled at me, innocent and cunning. You stared at me, as if inadvertently, sliding one side of the glasses over your lips, so hungry and so heart-wrenching. Then you took off your robe, then your cotton undershirt, and I remember laughing, surprised and delighted, and telling you that the water here was too shallow to swim. You were incredibly beautiful back then, and so was I - from the look in your eyes, I could see that you were fascinated by me. But now, I'm afraid we are all old, withered, withered, and unforgivable and unforgivable. Our robes were pillowed against the bushes, and there were ants crawling around the hems of the robes. We groped each other awkwardly and greedily. When I touch you, you feel like your soul is flying out of your body, trembling with excitement. We all have fair skin that can easily turn red with pleasure. I remember holding your face tightly with my hands, watching you being overwhelmed by the feverish pleasure, your face flushed, and my heart beating like a drum beating like a deer hitting, I couldn't help myself, because you are mine. Do you still remember, I used my hands to seduce you? One hand pulled your hair hard to make you lean back, while the other hand held it. Under my teasing, you couldn't help but scream for me. Remember all this? Or are you still feeling shy? You panted and turned over, wiping off the green leaves that had been splashed all over your body by the blades of grass during your orgasm. Your limbs were limp and weak but you were laughing endlessly, still wanting to finish. I still remember, I was lying among the pile of messy robes, and you leaned over, your hair gently scraping my skin, your fingers tightly wrapped around it, from the tip to the root, your lips slipped across it and included it. At that moment, fireworks exploded, it was indescribable - Later, covered with sticky sweat, sun kisses and grass juice, we felt like we were children again, chasing each other, laughing and cursing. At that moment - we were lying side by side, your head in my arm, and I said, "Look at that cloud, it looks like a drunken Hippogriff, Merlin is up there, but luckily Bagshot can't see what we look like now," and then you said - I forgot. Albus, this keeps me up at night and haunts me. I couldn't help but think of the story I once heard about a ghost who had forgotten the last line of his favorite poem and would not rest until a wandering scholar recited it. My old friend, you have a pensieve. By the way, I also told you about that guy Voldemort. You owe me. Best wishes, Gellert Grindelwald

I read the whole article in one breath and was so tortured by the love of old men. The translation is very good, and the interpretation is also very subtle. Albus's family is a tragedy. He is excellent and has ideals, but he has always been burdened by his family. After graduation, I thought I could make it big and show my talents, but in the end, I was forced to return home, and my youth was wasted in endless family trivia. Albus had been a good boy for more than ten years, so it was impossible for him not to be unwilling at all. This deep-seated emotion turned into a kind of rebellion after meeting Gellert. He didn't go home, didn't care about his sister, and even got carried away later and wanted to follow him. One theory is that Gellert is his dark twin. What he says is exactly what Albus is thinking, and his rebellion is what Albus has subconsciously thought about but dare not do. So Albus was obsessed, madly in love. Many fanfics fall into the misconception that without Ariana's tragedy, they would not have parted ways. No, in fact, the biggest difference between them is their outlook. Albus is kind-hearted in nature. In the original book, they had differences on the treatment of Muggles as early as in their two-month letters. If Albus had left with him, and if Gellert had not experienced anything else that made Gellert recognize the strength of Muggles and become fearful, then there is a high probability that the saints will split into the Dumbledore faction and the Grindelwald faction in the future. It is impossible to emotionalize him with love. Fantastic Beasts 3 has proven that Grindelwald puts his "great cause" first, and what he thinks is right will lead to darkness. The lives he took were probably the biggest chasm in GGAD. In fact, throughout the history of HP, the decline of the secrecy law is an inevitable result of history, from Queenie not being able to marry Jacob to the piles of mixed-bloods in Hogwarts decades later. This outdated law only applies to Europe in the Middle Ages. As various scandals broke out, the influence of religion has been dwindling. Look at how the church is now torn apart from LGBT. Can it burn gays? In 20 years, a group of pastors rebelled because of this! Reform or destruction, these are the only two paths for religion. So wizards don't have to worry. Wizards will suffer in major battles, and Muggles will suffer in daily life. They can even set up their own autonomous regions and spend decades transitioning. When the anti-witch generation is gone, a "new order" will arrive.

Oh my god, it suddenly occurred to me that both of them are about ninety years old, and it was only more than ten years since the principal died. Obviously their past seems like yesterday, but it turns out that more than seventy years have passed...

I'm out of parchment paper and don't want to waste sheets. Can you send me some more? Crying violently, I can never send it again T T

It is better to eat with the words "he sought to kill, i sought to protect" and "heaven" from the soundtrack of Shen Dong 3. Already crying in tears in the middle of the night... How could this author be as good at writing as Rowling? Albus still failed to receive Gellert's last love. Actually, I didn't feel it when I read the twenty-some letters. I wanted to say that it's not as cruel as everyone said. The feelings accumulated until the last few letters exploded. I'm so good at writing. Wow.

From the beginning to the end, good guy, he is jealous, he is jealous

Why I like GGAD I have always wondered if there is an era that can fulfill them. I thought about ancient Greece, where people freely pursued and argued the truth, and the Renaissance, where human nature was discovered and liberated. Later I found out, no. Not in any era. They are imprisoned by their genius. Fate is too fond of them and too cruel. For the unparalleled talents given to them by fate, they can only feed them with unparalleled loneliness - overwhelming loneliness, surging loneliness, and majestic loneliness. Like heavy rain, ocean tides, storms. Deadly loneliness. Time cannot fulfill them. They make the times happen. Their names have illuminated the pages of the times. But. When he was ecstatic because he pieced together a spell from the broken manuscripts, who could share his unknown madness? When he screamed at the top of his voice to the world, who could be dazzled by his announcement? When he grows old and has been punished by a lifetime of bad reputations, who can enjoy his decay? Who else remembers his youthful soul? How can time fulfill them? Who in the world dares to say that they can be fulfilled? Who dares? How can those fools claim to understand them? Maybe they can help each other. Perhaps, fulfillment also means destruction. Maybe they can help each other. When ambition collapses. When the false name is annihilated. When the noisy world returns to calm. When death casts a black veil over the soul. ? By then, perhaps greatness will be engraved on their tombstones. Maybe their names are on each other's tombstones. And their love has been buried under the tombstone. ?

Haha, I cried no less than three times after reading it late at night... It was really sad. I can't imagine gg being completely alone in prison for half a year. The last letter has no date and no recipient. Just like the time they spent together, it will always exist in the past and memories.

June 30, 1957 Albus—— Well, your last letter was too blunt. I feel like you're a little tired of me? Will it be me who makes you unhappy this time? Or are you worried about the choices you have to make? After all, in the wizarding world, being a self-proclaimed leader is really troublesome. Or are you worried about Voldemort? Do you think what I said is too to the point? Okay, don't think about this, Albus, let me tell you a story. Every late at night, when the moon shines brightly, I lie on the thin mattress and toss and turn, watching the crescent moon slowly sinking into the mountains and fading out of sight. The cold air at night spreads from the wall to the floor and spreads throughout my body. I let myself swim freely in the long-lasting memories. Of course, I don't have a Pensieve—there's no magic here except for the accurate watch—but I still have my memory. Yes, when I look back on the past, the first things that come to mind are always the little things - the old wand before I found "it", or the woodwork I looted many years ago, which was originally hanging on the wall of a Muggle room, or the toad I had as a child. I also often relive special moments to comfort myself. I think I have a pretty good memory, but of course it can't be compared to a pensieve. Missing me again - little conveniences in the magical world, I don't know what to do without them. Those times that I reminisce over and over again are almost worn out in my mind - but I heard that constantly reminiscing about the past can enhance my memory. That may be true, but even so - I still forgot something. Through my worn-out memory, I vaguely saw that it was midsummer, and Aberforth and Ariana stayed at home. We walked along the waterwheel diversion channel built by Muggles, strolled by the stream in Godric's Hollow, and discussed in depth how to modify the conservation laws in the blood curse. When passing by the windows of those elders, we would bend down and slip by in tacit agreement. After walking for a while, we sat side by side by the stream, took off our boots, dipped our feet in the water and dangled back and forth. You were playing with a silver knife - with your soft and beautiful hands - and you whispered that we had better find the Resurrection Stone first. At that time, we were guessing how much magic a drop of blood could stir up. So you pierced your thumb, and the blood immediately condensed into beads, bright red and charming under the sunlight. This makes me excited. I dipped the tip of the wand into the bright red between your fingers, and the blood droplets disappeared in an instant. The power that came from it made my hair stand on end and my whole body shook. Damn it - there is nothing more convenient than this. Even manipulating fate can't compare to how exciting it is. There is no Muggle-like nonsense, only the vibration of the soul and the instinctive pleasure. This is what I miss most about magic. You, you must still have this power, you have always been so strong and so talented. The magic burns every cell in your body, even beyond sex - can you still feel that simple and primitive pleasure after so many years? But - looking back at the memory. We were there, your blood melting into my wand, and I tore a hollow piece of wood into thousands of silk ribbons with a flick of my wrist, effortlessly yet so powerfully. Then you handed me the knife, and I pressed it back into your hand. We were close to each other, breathing together, and you scratched my thumb with the blade - in short, you have to try it the other way around. Then you lit the water with my blood, so touching, just like you. We laughed and took notes, then slowly put out the fire. I already began to imagine applying this beautiful magic to the Dark Curse; I hummed the incantation under my breath. We were partners, but we had never thought about tapping into this latent power in each other—giving each other our blood willingly, and you know what that means. Afterwards we lay panting by the river embankment. I lay in your lap and you absentmindedly ran your hands through my hair and tangled it around your fingertips. The sun was bright, the bushes were lush, and the knife thrown on the grass shimmered. We chatted happily, and then I mentioned looking for the artifact— "Look for the resurrection stone first," you said. I moved, looked up at you, and asked curiously, "Why?" "Because once we have... Even their ghosts, just ghosts coming back." Like a kitten, I gently fiddled with your hanging hair, "Albus, this is pointless." ​You have no explanation. I guess you want your parents to come back and take care of Aberforth and Ariana, and then you can fly away with me? I thought at that time, how considerate you are, this is not ironic. After that, we talked some more, but that's not why I remember that day. The reason is that you stood up suddenly at that time, causing me to fall off your lap, and then you cast a hiding spell around us. When I put the entire memory into writing, the memory became even longer and blurry. If I remember correctly, before this, we had touched each other clumsily like children. But by that stream, your hair was better than fire in the sunshine. Because of the concealment of magic and the buzz of insects in the bushes, we pleased each other for the first time. Although it is difficult to put it into writing, I will never forget it - at that time, you took off your gold-rimmed glasses and smiled at me, innocent and cunning. You stared at me, as if inadvertently, sliding one side of the glasses over your lips, so hungry and so heart-wrenching. Then you took off your robe, then your cotton undershirt, and I remember laughing, surprised and delighted, and telling you that the water here was too shallow to swim. You were incredibly beautiful back then, and so was I - from the look in your eyes, I could see that you were fascinated by me. But now, I'm afraid we are all old, withered, withered, and unforgivable and unforgivable. Our robes were pillowed against the bushes, and there were ants crawling around the hems of the robes. We groped each other awkwardly and greedily. When I touch you, you feel like your soul is flying out of your body, trembling with excitement. We all have fair skin that can easily turn red with pleasure. I remember holding your face tightly with my hands, watching you being overwhelmed by the feverish pleasure, your face flushed, and my heart beating like a drum beating like a deer hitting, I couldn't help myself, because you are mine. Do you still remember, I used my hands to seduce you? One hand pulled your hair hard to make you lean back, while the other hand held it. Under my teasing, you couldn't help but scream for me. Remember all this? Or are you still feeling shy? You panted and turned over, wiping off the green leaves that had been splashed all over your body by the blades of grass during your orgasm. Your limbs were limp and weak but you were laughing endlessly, still wanting to finish. I still remember, I was lying among the pile of messy robes, and you leaned over, your hair gently scraping my skin, your fingers tightly wrapped around it, from the tip to the root, your lips slipped across it and included it. At that moment, fireworks exploded, it was indescribable - Later, covered with sticky sweat, sun kisses and grass juice, we felt like we were children again, chasing each other, laughing and cursing. At that moment - we were lying side by side, your head in my arm, and I said, "Look at that cloud, it looks like a drunken Hippogriff, Merlin is up there, but luckily Bagshot can't see what we look like now," and then you said - I forgot. Albus, this keeps me up at night and haunts me. I couldn't help but think of the story I once heard about a ghost who had forgotten the last line of his favorite poem and would not rest until a wandering scholar recited it. My old friend, you have a pensieve. By the way, I also told you about that guy Voldemort. You owe me. Best wishes, Gellert Grindelwald

Why are the side effects so destructive... A moth flies into a flame... I voluntarily burned to death in the fire of your love... Thanks for the translation!! This version is very emotional and engaging