HP Thirty-Five Owls

Albus -

Oh, this ending of the last letter is really sloppy and unusual for you.Am I seeing a little trace of impatience with me?It's finally my turn to annoy you?Or are you dreading the choices you have to make?After all, being your self-appointed leader of the free wizarding world is a real mess.Or are you afraid of Voldemort?Or are you afraid of being hit by me?

But never mind that, I want to tell you a story, Albus.

When I lie awake on my cot in the middle of the night, as I often do, until the moon sinks below the horizon, or escapes from my narrow window, until the chill of the devil's hour moves along like a living thing. Sneaking along the floor of my cell, I swim through memories.I don't own a Pensieve, of course - there aren't any magic items here, save for my trusty old watch - but I still have my thoughts.Generally, of course, it's the little things that pop out first.An old wand I used before I found 'it', or woodwork from the wall of a Muggle house I looted years ago, or a toad I kept as a child.And I usually revisit some special things to comfort myself.

I do think I have a decent memory, but it's nothing compared to a Pensieve.So we came back to this topic again - those small objects that can provide convenience in the wizarding world, and what to do without them.Some of the memories that I sometimes recall must have been worn out in my mind, while they say that frequent recall strengthens a memory.It's true, maybe.However, I have forgotten some things.

In my old memory, it was late June, and Aberforth and Ariana were in the room.We walked back and forth along the stream by the Muggle mill in Godric's Hollow, ducked under the windows of the older wizards, and were discussing in depth how to modify the law of conservation of blood magic alone.We sat down side by side, took off our boots and put our feet in the water, and you held a silver pocket knife in your hand - you have beautiful hands - and you murmured that we would find the piece stone.We must find it.

We wonder, how much magical power can we squeeze out of a single drop of blood?You pricked your thumb, and the blood coagulated into a droplet, which was horribly red in the sun.This picture excites me.I stained the tip of my wand with a drop of blood, and it soaked into the wood, disappearing, leaving its residual power all the way to the ends of my hair.Damn - it's so convenient too, beyond the proper way to control someone's reality and destiny, without all that useless Muggle crap, which is what I miss about magic.The internal organs will tremble because of it.You, you must still have it, and you were always powerful and gifted.Magic burning in every fiber of your being, beyond the physical - do you remember, after all these years, the primordial sheer excitement it brought?

And in memory, we were there, your blood seeping into my wand, and I whittled a hollow log to pieces with just a flick of my wrist, so easily, so powerfully.Then you came and handed me the knife, and I shoved it back into your hand, getting very close as you ran the blade across my thumb - after all, had to do it the other way around.

You lit a fire on the water with my blood, so amazing.

We laughed and took notes, then slowly put the flames out.I'm already imagining the great enhancement when applied this way to the darkest of spells I hum softly under my breath.After all, we're partners, and we've never thought of tapping into each other's great power until now—blood, willingly given to each other, you know what it can do.

We lay panting by the river together.My head rests on your lap, and you stroke my hair casually with one hand, the strands of which are tangled between your fingers.The sun was shining, the bushes were verdant, and the bloody knife glistened on the grass.We chatted, cocky with pride, and when I mentioned finding those relics—

"Find the resurrection stone first." You said.

I turned around and looked up at you curiously. "Why?"

"Because once we have that...even if it's their shadows, even just shadows."

I fiddle with your hanging hair like a cat. "Albus, what are you talking about?"

You did not explain.Thinking about it, I guess you want your parents to come back and take care of Aberforth and Ariana so you can go with me?

How considerate.Just for once, I thought, I'm not mocking you.

We chatted for a while after that, but nothing important was said.And that's not why I look back on that day.I'll recall it because you suddenly stood up, knocked me off your lap, and then you got up and walked around, casting the Stealth Charm.

When one has to sit and write the whole thing, it just seems so much longer and darker, doesn't it

We had touched each other like schoolchildren before, if I remember correctly.But this time it was by the stream, under the shadow of magic, with insects singing in the trees, and the sun making your hair blaze, and that was the first time we walked together.I remember all the images so clearly, but find it so indescribable, you give a half sly smile, take off your little gold glasses, and look at me as you inadvertently slide one frame across your lips, seductively hunger and thirst.Then you let your robe slip off and take off your white cotton shirt and trousers.And I remember laughing, surprised and delighted, and telling you the water is too shallow for swimming.

I put my arms around you, do you remember?I pull your hair back with one hand and wrap my arms around you with the other, and you're absolutely, utterly hard for me.I made you scream.Do you remember?Or are you still shy?

You were beautiful then, and so was I—I saw you fascinated by the way you saw me.And now, I think we're all old, with pasts that can't be forgiven.

We fumbled for each other awkwardly by the bushes, lying on our robes while the ants were scurrying to and fro on the edge of it.When I touch you, you tremble with joy, as if you are about to take off.We all have fair skin, and our bodies are prone to flushing and heat due to pleasure, and I remember when I held your face tightly with my hands, watching you being swallowed by cock, I felt like my heart was beating like a drum, because at that time you belong With Me.

I hold you in my hand, do you remember?I pull your hair back with one hand and hold you tight with the other, and you're perfectly, absolutely hard for me.I made you scream, do you remember?Or are you still too shy?

Panting and rolling over, ripping seeds from the grass, splashing green on your orgasm, laughing loosely, you never give up halfway.I remember rolling over in our robes and falling into a beautiful void as you leaned over me.Your hair falls on my skin, wrap your fingers tight around my roots, then wrap your lips around it—

After that, we laughed, argued, and were amazed like children, with sweaty, sun-hickeyed grass seeds.But there's a moment when we're lying together, shoulder to shoulder, your head on my outstretched arm, and I say, "That cloud looks like a drunk hippogriff with wings Beast, I'm so damn thankful Bagshot can't see us now." And you say—

I forgot.

It's keeping me awake, Albus, it's on my mind, on and on.I seem to recall a story I once heard about a ghost who forgot the last line of his favorite poem, delighting only when a traveling scholar recited it.And you, old friend, you have the Pensieve.

I told you everything I knew about that boy Voldemort, and you owe me that.

Regards.

Gellert Grindelwald

The author has something to say:

slap in the face~

Fancy shy?(????ω????)?Medium. . .