bookbashuk Chapter 575, Section 584: Deep Space Echoes March 4
Chapter 575, Section 584: Deep Space Echoes March 4
Chapter 575, Section 584: Deep Space Echoes March 4
"Why."
Dumbledore's expression was somewhat grave. His gaze fell upon the prisoners, a hint of pity flashing in his eyes. He knew that some of these people were indeed heinous criminals who deserved to be imprisoned here, but others were innocent victims, sacrificed by the rules of the magical world.
Azkaban has never been a purely righteous place; it is filled with darkness and injustice, political persecution, despair, and suffering. But he was powerless to change it; he could only do his best to maintain the balance of the magical world and to save those who could be saved.
Soon, they arrived at a dimly lit reception room. This reception room was one of the few "normal" rooms in Azkaban—it contained a simple wooden table, a few worn-out chairs, an oil lamp on the table, whose dim light barely illuminated the entire room, and a small window.
Outside the window, there was only endless darkness and the sound of waves crashing against the glass.
That bone-chilling cold, that pervasive sense of oppression, is still unbearable, as if the air itself has become thick and heavy.
Each breath requires a lot of effort.
The head of Azkaban, a bald, middle-aged wizard named Jeffrey Gleeson, sat behind a table. His hair was almost completely gone, and his bald head gleamed in the lamplight. His face was covered in fat, and his small, murky, and timid eyes were fixed intently on Dumbledore and Grindelwald.
The expression on his face was priceless.
His gaze darted back and forth between Dumbledore and Grindelwald, cold sweat beading on his forehead, and his hand holding the handkerchief trembling slightly.
There was fear, doubt, disbelief, and a hint of barely perceptible panic. Cold sweat kept seeping from his forehead, sliding down his cheeks and dripping onto his black robe, leaving dark marks. His hand holding the handkerchief trembled slightly, almost crushing it.
After a long while.
"Professor Dumbledore," he began, his voice dry and strained, as if something was stuck in his throat, each word requiring great effort to utter. "You mean—Mr. Grindelwald—violated his bail agreement? To—"
"To hand over Azkaban?"
The man's gaze swept back and forth between Dumbledore and Grindelwald, a hint of doubt and unease flashing in his eyes, especially when he saw the shackles on Grindelwald's wrists.
Dumbledore nodded, his expression grave, his tone firm: "Yes, Mr. Gleason. I, as his guarantor, formally withdraw my guarantee against him. He must remain here to serve the remainder of his original sentence; this is Wizengamor's verdict, and my decision."
Upon hearing this...
Gleason's hands trembled even more violently. He hurriedly picked up the handkerchief on the table and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, but he couldn't get it clean no matter what he did. He then looked at Grindelwald, the Dark Lord who had once made all of Europe tremble, who was now leisurely leaning back in his chair, legs crossed, hands on his knees.
The other person's heterochromatic eyes held a hint of a half-smile.
It was as if none of this concerned him.
It was as if he wasn't there to be imprisoned, but rather as a guest. That composure, that disdain, sent a chill down Gleason's spine.
"This—this—" Gleeson swallowed hard, his throat still dry and sore. "Professor Dumbledore, you know, Azkaban—Azkaban has always held—uh—ordinary prisoners, mostly dark wizards of average strength. Mr. Grindelwald, he—he's not an ordinary person—"
He dared not continue, but the meaning was clear: Azkaban could not contain Grindelwald. He knew Grindelwald's strength all too well; that man possessed power enough to shake the entire magical world. Azkaban's defenses, while capable of imprisoning ordinary dark wizards, were utterly ineffective against Grindelwald.
If Grindelwald is imprisoned here, Azkaban will face annihilation if he tries to escape, and he, as the person in charge, will bear all the responsibility.
They might even lose their lives.
Who doesn't know that saints are fanatics?
More terrifying than those Death Eaters lunatics! Upon hearing this, Dumbledore's brow furrowed slightly, a hint of displeasure flashing in his eyes. He looked at Gleeson, his tone carrying a sense of pressure: "Mr. Gleeson, are you questioning Wizengamor's verdict? Or are you questioning my decision?"
"No, no, no!" Gleeson hurriedly waved his hands, a fawning smile on his face, his forehead beaded with even more cold sweat. "That's not what I meant! I absolutely did not question Wizengamot's verdict, nor did I question your decision! I was just—just worried—worried that Azkaban's defenses wouldn't be enough to hold Mr. Grindelwald, and if—if he escaped, the consequences would be unimaginable!"
"I'm doing this for the safety of the wizarding world, for the safety of Azkaban!" Bureaucracy is good at talking; he said this while nodding incessantly.
His tone was full of pleading, hoping that Dumbledore would change his mind.
Seeing that Dumbledore wouldn't budge, he gritted his teeth, mustered his courage, raised his head, and looked at Dumbledore. His voice, though still trembling, held a newfound firmness: "Professor Dumbledore, you know better than I do what Mr. Grindelwald is. His magical abilities are unparalleled, and his methods are ruthless. Azkaban's defenses are more than enough to imprison ordinary dark wizards, but to imprison Mr. Grindelwald—it's simply too much of a stretch."
"Our Aurors here, though elite, are no match for him; our imprisoning runes, though powerful, are probably useless against him. Professor Dumbledore, I beg you to reconsider and find a different place to imprison him, or—or perhaps you could personally supervise him, which would be safer."
He didn't finish his sentence, but the unspoken message was already clear: "This wretched place of ours is simply no match for a monster of this caliber. Rather than letting him escape at any moment, it's better to have Dumbledore personally oversee him. That way, even if something goes wrong, it won't be his responsibility."
Just then.
Grindelwald suddenly laughed.
The laughter was low and hoarse, carrying a hint of cold mockery, echoing in the dimly lit reception room like a ghostly whisper, sending a shiver down Gleason's spine.
He instinctively shrank back, not daring to speak again.
"Mr. Gleason, is that right?" Grindelwald spoke slowly, a hint of amusement in his voice. He leaned forward slightly, his heterochromatic eyes fixed on Gleason, filled with mockery and disdain. "Are you afraid I'll run away? Or are you afraid I'll tear down this dilapidated prison of yours?"
The first Dark Lord exuded an overwhelming sense of oppression.
Gleason's face turned deathly pale, his lips trembling, unable to utter a word. Grindelwald's words struck a nerve; he feared Grindelwald would escape, that he would destroy Azkaban, and that he would lose his life as a result. Facing Grindelwald's cold, sharp gaze, he felt a suffocating sensation, as if an invisible hand were tightly gripping his throat, making even breathing difficult.
Dumbledore took a deep breath and slowly stood up. His tall figure made him appear like a majestic mountain, giving off an invisible sense of oppression.
He looked at Gleason, his deep blue eyes gleaming with unwavering authority, his tone firm and forceful: "Mr. Gleason, I understand your concerns. But Grindelwald has indeed violated his bail agreement, and I must transfer him to Azkaban. It is my responsibility, and it is also an order from Wisengagamo. As for whether or not you can keep him in custody," he paused, his gaze becoming even more resolute, his voice rising a few decibels, carrying an undeniable air of authority: "That's your business. I'm only responsible for transferring him; the rest is up to your ability. If you can't even keep an eye on one prisoner, then you, the head of Azkaban, should be replaced."
The sense of oppression is also quite strong.
Poor Gleeson opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but Dumbledore's radiant light rendered him speechless. He knew that Dumbledore had made up his mind, and nothing he said would change it.
Therefore, he could only lower his head helplessly, a look of despair on his face, and silently pray that Grindelwald would behave himself.
Don't cause any trouble here.
Just then, Grindelwald suddenly spoke up.
His voice was no longer leisurely or playful; instead, it became icy and piercing, carrying a strong sense of mockery, like a poisoned knife stabbing Dumbledore.
"Albus, you have truly disappointed me."
Upon hearing this...
Dumbledore turned to look at him. Their eyes met in mid-air, as if invisible sparks were flying, and a powerful aura emanated between them, making the entire drawing room feel even colder. Dumbledore's eyes were calm and deep, revealing no emotion, while Grindelwald's eyes were filled with anger and mockery, and a hint of barely perceptible hurt.
His acting skills are superb.
"I thought," Grindelwald slowly stood up, the clinking of the shackles on his wrists particularly jarring in the silent meeting room, "that our agreement was based on trust. I kept my bail agreement, I helped you, even..."
He gave a cold laugh.
The mockery in his eyes deepened, and his tone grew colder: "I even helped you deal with that arrogant brat, that fool who dared to challenge us. And what did you get in return? This is how you repay me? Sending me to this godforsaken place in these cold shackles?"
Dumbledore's expression remained unchanged; he simply watched him quietly, his eyes still calm and deep, as if he were looking at an unreasonable child.
After a few seconds, he slowly spoke, his voice tinged with weariness and a barely perceptible helplessness: "Gellert, I gave you a chance. It was you who—broke the agreement. I can no longer protect you."
That's all for now.
"What about me?" Grindelwald abruptly interrupted him, his voice sharpening with a hysterical rage. His body trembled slightly, and his heterochromatic eyes burned with fury. "Was I too trusting? Was I too naive? Or was I too stupid to believe I would keep my promise, to believe I still remembered our agreement, to believe I would still work with you to build a brand new magical world?"
He raised his shackled hands and thrust them sharply in front of Dumbledore. The shackles gleamed a cold, silvery light in the lamplight, almost painful to the eyes. "Look at this, Albus."
Grindelwald's voice was hoarse and cold, filled with deep disappointment and anger. Perhaps because he was so immersed in the role, it sounded very real.
"Is this what you call trust? Is this what you call cooperation? Treating me like a prisoner, like an enemy, with shackles on my body?"
Grindelwald spoke up angrily.
Dumbledore was silent for a few seconds. Looking at the anger and disappointment in Grindelwald's eyes, a complex emotion flickered within him—guilt, helplessness, and a barely perceptible pain. But he quickly concealed these emotions, maintaining his calm and composed demeanor, and slowly spoke: "Gellert, you have broken the agreement and harmed innocent people. I can no longer tolerate you. Azkaban is where you belong."
"Enough!" Grindelwald interrupted him sharply, his voice filled with rage that seemed to shake the entire reception room. His eyes turned icy cold and crazed.
"I don't want to hear your nonsense anymore! I don't want to hear your high-sounding reasons anymore! You haven't kept our agreement at all, you've never trusted me! From the very beginning, you've only been using me, using me to solve your problems, using me to achieve your goals!"
He whirled around, looked at Gleason who was trembling with fear, and a cold, insane smile spread across his face. The smile was chilling, like that of a demon from hell.
"Mr. Gleason."
The voice of the first Dark Lord carried a hint of amusement, along with a chilling killing intent, "Weren't you worried that this dilapidated prison couldn't hold me? Weren't you worried that I would escape?"
Upon hearing this...
Gleeson instinctively took a step back, his back pressed tightly against the cold wall, his body trembling uncontrollably, his eyes filled with fear.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out; he could only stare helplessly at Grindelwald.
Grindelwald's smile grew even brighter and more dangerous. He tilted his head slightly, the madness in his eyes intensifying: "Then I'll tell you one now."
Before he could finish speaking, he suddenly pulled his hands away!
"Snap!"
A crisp snapping sound rang out in the silent reception room, particularly jarring. The magical shackles, engraved with countless sealing runes and touted as indestructible, shattered like paper as he struggled with his hands!
Countless silver fragments scattered and flew, landing on the ground with a crisp clanging sound, shimmering coldly in the light of the oil lamp like shattered glass.
"How could that be!"
Gleason's pupils contracted to pinpoints, his face contorted with disbelief. He opened his mouth wide, trying to scream, but no sound came out.
His body trembled like a leaf in the wind, as if he would collapse to the ground at any moment.
The acting really scared the bureaucrat.
He never imagined that Grindelwald could break these seemingly indestructible magical shackles so easily! The power of this man!
Just how powerful is it?