sinovels Chapter 5
Chapter 5
The deeper you get into Muggle literary criticism, the more you can understand their criteria for creativity, which goes way beyond practical magic.Enclosed is an article, may it help you to understand all this, and may you receive it unwet.But as a wizard, there is another thing that is difficult to understand. When a Muggle pursues his own spiritual world too much, in fact, he is bound to lose some ability to deal with real life.Surprisingly, however, quite a few of them choose this kind of life, of course, there are some who don't, they are called second-class citizens, relying on a simple way, such as working for others Improve your material conditions.I've heard they're unconsciously emulating wizarding society, but I don't think there's a causal connection at all.
Well, I have gone too far, I hope you understand, this topic is very interesting to me recently.And, as you said, I have to keep an eye out for the Dark Lord.
Albus Dumbledore
{Attachment: The Anatomy of Criticism, by Northrop Frye}
GG-AD
1957 year 6 month 30 day,
Albus -
Well, your last letter was too blunt.I feel you are getting tired of me?Did I annoy you this time?Or are you worrying about the choices you have to make?After all, in the wizarding world, being a self-appointed leader can be quite a disturbing thing.Or was it worried about Voldemort?Think what I said is too sharp?
Well, forget about it then, Albus, and let me tell you a story.
Late at night, the moon is shining like practice, I lie on the thin mattress tossing and turning, watching the crescent moon slowly sink into the mountains and fade out of sight, the cold air at night spreads from the wall to the floor and spreads to the whole body, I let myself be in the long-lasting Travel freely in memory.I don't have a Pensieve, of course--there's no magic here, except for a well-traveled watch--but I do have my memory.Yeah, looking back, it's always the little things that first come to mind - that old wand from before "it" was found, or the woodwork I looted years ago that used to hang in some muggle room or the toad I kept as a child.I also often relive special moments to console myself.
I think I have a good memory, of course, not compared to the Pensieve.Missing again-the little conveniences in the wizarding world, I really don't know what to do without them.Those times of reminiscing over and over again are probably almost smoothed out in my mind-but I heard that reminiscing about the past can enhance memory.That might be true, but even so—I'm forgetting something.
Through the worn-out memory, I vaguely see that it was midsummer, Aberforth and Ariana stayed at home, we walked along the waterwheel diversion channel built by Muggles, and walked in the creek in Godric's Hollow At the same time, he discussed in depth how to modify the law of conservation in the blood curse.When passing the windows of those elders, we will bend over tacitly and slip through.After walking for a while, we sat down side by side by the stream, took off our boots, dangled our feet in the water, and you were playing with a silver knife—in your soft and beautiful hands—you murmured to us Best to find the Resurrection Stone first.
At that time, we were guessing how powerful magic could be stirred up by a drop of blood.So you pierce your thumb, and the blood immediately congeals into beads, bright red and coquettish under the sunlight.This gets me excited.I dipped the tip of my wand into the bright red between your fingers, and the drop of blood disappeared in an instant, and the force I received made my hair stand on end and my whole body trembled.Fuck - there's nothing more convenient than that, not even manipulation of fate is as good as it, no Muggle nonsense, just the thrill of the soul, the thrill of instinct, that's what I miss most about magic The place.You, you must still have this power, you have always been so strong, so gifted.Magic burns every inch of cell in your body, even surpassing the physical body - can you still feel that simple and primitive pleasure after a few years?
But—back to memory.We were there, your blood melted into my wand, I tore a piece of hollowwood into ten thousand threads with a flick of my wrist, effortlessly so powerful.Then you handed me the knife and I pressed it back into your hand, we were close to each other, we breathed each other, you sliced my thumb with the blade—in short, it had to be tried the other way around.
Then you set the water on fire with my blood, so soul-stirring, as you are.
We laughed and took notes as we slowly put the fire out.I've begun to imagine applying this beautiful magic to the Black Charm; I hum the incantation under my breath.We're partners, but it never occurred to us before to bring out this latent power in each other — to give each other blood willingly, and you know what that means.
Afterwards we lay panting by the bank of the river.I'm in your lap as you absently brush my hair and wrap it around your fingertips.The sun was shining, the bushes were lush, and the knife thrown on the grass shimmered.We chatted pleasantly, and then I mentioned finding the Hallows—
"Find the resurrection stone first." You said.
I moved around, looked up at you, and asked curiously, "Why?"
"Because once we have...even their ghosts, it would be nice if only the ghosts came back."
Like a kitten, I fiddled with your hanging hair, "Albus, this is pointless."
You did not explain.I guess, you want your parents to come back and take care of Aberforth and Ariana so you can go away with me?
I thought at the time, how thoughtful you are, this is by no means ironic.
After that, we chatted a little more, but that's not how I remember that day.The reason is that at that time you stood up suddenly, causing me to fall off your lap, and then you cast a hiding spell around us.
When I put the entire memory into the tip of the pen, the memory becomes more long and vague.
If I remember correctly, before this, we had touched each other awkwardly like children.But by that brook, where your hair is like fire in the sun, and by the concealment of magic, and with the insects of the bushes, we pleased each other for the first time.Although it is difficult to put it into writing, I can't forget it-at that time, you took off your gold-rimmed glasses, smiled at me, innocent and sly, you stared at me, and slipped the side of the glasses as if inadvertently On the lips, so hungry and thirsty, yet so breathtaking.Then you took off your robe and your cotton undershirt and I remember laughing, surprised and delighted, and telling you the water was too shallow for swimming.
You were so beautiful at that time, and so was I——from your eyes, I can see that you are fascinated by me.But now, I'm afraid we are all old, withered, withered, and unforgivable and unforgivable.
Facing the bushes and pillowing the robes, there were tiny ants crawling on the skirts of the robes, and we groped each other jerky and greedily.When I touched you, you trembled with excitement as if your soul had left your body.We all have fair skin that can easily flush with pleasure.I remember cradling your face in my hands, watching you flush with ecstasy and my heart beating like a drum, unable to stop because you were mine.
Do you remember, I seduced you with my hand?One hand yanks your hair so that you fall back while the other grabs it, and at my prodding, you spout and scream for me.Remember all this?Or are you still shy?
You panted and turned over, scrubbing the green that was splashed by grass leaves during the orgasm, your limbs were limp and weak, but you couldn't stop laughing, still wanting more.I still remember, I lay in the pile of robes, and you leaned over, your hair lightly scraped my skin, your fingers tightly wrapped around it, from the tip to the root, your lips slipped past and Including it, the fireworks bloomed at that moment, it was wonderful——
Later, covered in sticky sweat, kissed by the sun and the juice of grass seeds, we chased and fought each other, laughed and cursed as if we were young.It was at that moment - we lay side by side, your head in my arms, and I said, "Look at that cloud like a drunk hippogriff, Merlin, thank you The Saudis don't see us as we are," and then you say—
I forgot.
Albus, this keeps me up at night and haunts my dreams.I can't help but think of the story I once heard about a ghost who forgot the last line of his favorite poem and didn't rest until a traveler scholar recited it.My old friend, you are a Pensieve man.
By the way, I also told you about that Voldemort guy.You owe it to me.
best wishes,
Gellert Grindelwald
AD-GG
1957 year 12 month 5 day,
Gellert,
You hit me right where I am, and not just in one place.I was worried, uneasy.In short, there are too many things that worry me.And—some things are still unknown.Our memories—so far, decades have passed like this, it’s a pity—it’s just that time, the more I remember it, the harder it is to get out of it.
The idea of making a Pensieve was originally born because, you know, to store the years we have shared together.And try my best to look back on the past with an objective attitude, and see clearly what role you were playing at that time, whether I could have a premonition of what you did later, whether it was really as the people around me said, at that time I was blind I'm so infatuated with you that I pretend not to see your dark magic.Yes, to tell you the truth, the memory you want to know remains intact with me. "Um,