The Prisoners of Hogwarts

Chapter 230 One cannot live without being obsessed.

Chapter 230 One cannot live without being obsessed.

The air inside the Tower of Nurmengard was cold and stagnant, carrying the scent of stone dust and the decay of time.

Lynch followed Reggie's footsteps, silently passing through one invisible magical barrier after another, finally stopping in front of a heavy iron door without any windows.

Reggie silently retreated into the shadows, as if he had never existed.

Almost as soon as he disappeared, the heavy iron door slid open silently.

Lynch stepped into the highest cell in Nurmengard.

The air here was even more stagnant than in the passageway, and the musty smell of stones mingled with a deep-seated loneliness that weighed heavily on the chest.

It was less a prison cell and more a bare stone box—apart from a hard stone bed in the corner, an equally cold stone bench, and a narrow window high up, there was nothing else in sight.

A thin figure stood with his back to the doorway beneath the narrow window, as if waiting for the moonlight to stream in.

Hearing the noise behind him, the person slowly, extremely slowly, turned around, like an old machine starting to run again.

When he saw the other person's face clearly, Lin Qi's gaze froze slightly.

Time has left its merciless marks on this once-powerful first Dark Lord.

Gellert Grindelwald's once dazzling blond hair is now gray and dry, sparse and messy, falling over his shoulders; his face, which once drove countless followers mad, is now covered with wrinkles, like cracks in parched land; his once well-tailored and magnificent robe has been replaced by a rough, patched gray prison uniform.

His once upright and sturdy figure has become slightly hunched due to years of imprisonment.

but.

When Lin Qi's gaze met those eyes—one as blue as a clear summer sky, the other as black as a midnight abyss—he didn't sense decay or despair, but rather something sharpened by the passage of time.

Then he realized that the person in front of him was only showing signs of despondency.

Like a famous sword sheathed in a worn-out scabbard, it may look ordinary, but once drawn, its sharpness can still pierce the eyes.

Lynch's mind involuntarily drifted to the old photos and files that Reggie had painstakingly collected.

In the photo, Grindelwald, with his flowing blond hair and radiant spirit, stands on a high podium with his arms outstretched, surrounded by thousands of enthusiastic followers. Dressed in an elegant and appropriate suit, he exudes a captivating charm with every gesture, a natural leader, dazzling like the sun.

The person before you—the sun has fallen, but its warmth remains, and it may even be more dangerous.

"You've finally arrived."

Grindelwald spoke first, his voice hoarse like the turning of rusty gears, yet strangely penetrating, exceptionally clear in the empty stone chamber.

Lin Qi raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly: "Do you know who I am?"

Grindelwald's lips curled into a subtle smile, a hint of mockery mixed with—a touch of amusement: "Even behind the walls of Nurmengard, there are rumors. I've heard of the 'Hanger.' A—very interesting troublemaker of the times."

A faint smile appeared on Lin Qi's face.

Very well, a powerful warning shot.

Lin Qi shook his head, feigning helplessness: "I always thought I was good enough at hiding my abilities from all prophetic magic."

"You've certainly hidden yourself very well," Grindelwald said. "There's a strange power surrounding you that even I can't predict your movements."

"7

"This is house-elf magic." A hint of reminiscence flashed in Lynch's eyes, then he looked at Grindelwald. "Can you tell me where it slipped up?"

Grindelwald's lips curled into a sly smile, and his eyes, which had witnessed too many secrets, gleamed with insight: "People never understand this simple truth—the difficulty of divination is closely related to how well the world knows the answer."

He slowly took half a step forward, his voice echoing softly in the stone chamber: "In the past, your path was indeed shrouded in mist, leaving no trace."

"But in the future, your identity will be as clear as if it were engraved in the book of destiny."

"When I confirmed your identity from the vision of the future, and then looked back at your past—" his gaze sharpened, "those previously blurry traces became clear."

Lynch fell into a brief silence.

Grindelwald spoke casually, but the meaning behind it, upon closer examination, is chilling—it completely contradicts the common understanding of the linear flow of time.

How can someone living in the river of time simultaneously overlook the entire river's upstream and downstream? This requires not only resisting the erosion of the torrent of time itself, but also accurately locating within an endless network of cause and effect, a task no less difficult than capturing the trajectory of every raindrop in a storm.

He looked at Grindelwald, and although he had repeatedly elevated his opinion of him, it now seemed that he had underestimated him.

Even though this imprisoned demon king has lost his wand and freedom, his wisdom and insight into the deep rules of the universe remain unfathomable.

"Truly... an astonishing ability to foresee the future," Lynch exclaimed.

Grindelwald did not respond. He made a simple gesture, pointing to the only stone bench in the room, the gesture still faintly revealing the elegance of the past.

"Please sit down. I hope you don't mind—" His gaze swept around the empty, cold cell, his tone flat, with a hint of self-mockery that suggested he had seen through the world, "I don't usually have any guests here."

Lynch glanced at Grindelwald, neither refusing nor showing any disdain. He calmly walked to the stone bench and sat down gracefully.

Grindelwald slowly sat down on the edge of the hard stone bed, his posture still faintly reminiscent of his former self sitting on the throne of power.

"So," Grindelwald's gaze refocused, shining like two searchlights on Lynch, "what kind of problem, or rather, what kind of predicament, would drive you to this place—a graveyard specifically for the living—to find a loser like me?"

Lin Qi met his penetrating gaze and instead of answering, asked, "Since you could foresee my arrival, can't you see what's troubling me?"

Upon hearing this, Grindelwald chuckled softly, a dry and hoarse laugh that echoed eerily in the empty stone chamber.

"Ah, yet another common misconception—" He shook his head slightly, a complex and unfathomable light flickering in his heterochromatic pupils, as if recalling something. "Everyone believes prophecies are clear and infallible divine oracles, scripts written by fate itself, unalterable. But the truth is—" He paused, his voice like chanting poetry, "No prophet can truly and completely control prophecy. We—are merely travelers walking along the banks of that surging river called Time. Occasionally, just for a fleeting, purely accidental moment, we manage to break free from the river's grasp, peek above the water, and catch a glimpse of something downstream, a blurry, fragmented piece."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice low but carrying more weight: "Then, we used our own understanding..."

He used his own knowledge, his own fears, and his own expectations to try and decipher that fleeting glimpse. Often, the prophet himself makes the prophecy, but only when the dust settles and the die is cast, looking back, does he suddenly realize—" He drew out his words, his heterochromatic eyes fixed on Lin Qi, "Ah, so that's what that blurry shadow in the river meant."

Lynch fell silent, his thin lips pressed into a straight line. Grindelwald's explanation of the nature of prophecy resonated deeply within him.

He thought of the prophecy that Professor Trelawney had uttered not long ago in the stairwell of Hogwarts, gripping his wrist tightly.

That prophecy was not the vague, indistinct fragment of prophecy that Grindelwald had described.

It is too precise, unsettlingly so—though its meaning is still shrouded in obscure symbolism and metaphor, like a verdict written in riddles.

He calmly suppressed the turmoil in his heart, his face showing no sign of anything amiss.

He made no attempt to discuss the prophecy with Grindelwald.

Lynch stopped beating around the bush and went straight to the core question that had been lingering in his mind for so long: "I've studied every book I could find and developed my own solid and reliable system for applying magic. The theoretical path is clear, but in practice, I feel like I'm crashing into an invisible wall. Tell me, besides knowledge and magic, what else is missing to break through that final barrier?"

A hint of undisguised disappointment flashed in Grindelwald's heterochromatic eyes, as if to say, "After waiting for so many years, is this another mediocre talent who only pursues power?" There was even a touch of boredom in his gaze.

He clicked his tongue softly, leaned back slightly, and rested against the cold stone wall.

This gesture was full of detachment, as if to say that Lynch's question was nothing more than a mundane and boring one for him.

But after a brief silence, he forced himself to stay alert and prepare to answer the question that had disappointed him.

However, just before he spoke, his gaze sharpened again and focused on Lin Qi, the lazy air that had just risen instantly vanishing. He looked Lin Qi up and down, his eyes revealing a hint of doubt and scrutiny.

"Wait a minute—" Grindelwald tilted his head slightly, his voice carrying a hint of genuine surprise, "It's strange that you're asking this question."

He leaned forward, his gaze seemingly piercing through Lynch: "A living legendary wizard, based on what I know of your deeds, your path should be crystal clear, at least not troubled by such a basic question as 'how to become stronger.' How did you get stuck here?"

Before Lynch could answer, he spoke in a commanding tone: "Tell me your story, the hangman. Not the legends that circulate, but the path you've truly walked, what you've done, and—what you plan to do in the future. In detail."

Lynch's brow, hidden behind his mask, furrowed. He didn't answer immediately, but instead asked, "Are you sure my personal experiences and trivial plans are related to your so-called 'understanding' and 'level of attainment'?"

Grindelwald's lips curled into a sardonic smile, his heterochromatic eyes gleaming with a penetrating light. "The course of a river depends on the mountain from which it originates and where it chooses to flow. Your past shapes the foundation of your understanding, while your future goals determine how that understanding will transform and leap forward." He tapped his stone bed lightly. "Enough nonsense, Hangman. If you want anything truly valuable from me, let me see which river you truly are."

Lin Qi was slightly surprised.

He felt a strange sensation as he reviewed everything he had seen and heard since entering the cell.

Although the prisoner's words still carried the arrogance of a former demon king, his actions showed that he was completely open and honest.

Was it the long period of imprisonment that made him yearn for communication?

Or did he see some kind of "variable" in himself that interested him?

This was different from the meeting I had anticipated.

After a moment's consideration, Lynch decided to take the risk.

He needed the answer to this question, and obtaining the answer often came at a price. Moreover, if he wasn't mistaken, his secret would be safe with Grindelwald.

So he no longer held back, recounting how he grew from an ordinary Hogwarts student into the "Mist Hangman," how he established the First Order and the Stone Tower Merchant Guild as his foundation and eyes and ears, and what efforts he made to achieve his goal of changing the wizarding world.

Lynch spoke in a calm tone, as if he were telling someone else's life story, but the ambition, persistence, and perilous paths he had taken contained in his words were enough to outline his own clear and complex life.

Grindelwald listened quietly without interrupting, his heterochromatic eyes sometimes flashing and sometimes fading, as if he were carefully savoring every experience Lynch had gone through.

As Lynch finished speaking, a brief silence fell over the cell. Deep within Grindelwald's heterochromatic eyes, countless threads of fate seemed to be silently weaving and calculating.

A moment later, he suddenly looked up. His gaze no longer held the previous boredom or scrutiny, but rather a genuine, almost astonished surprise.

"Interesting—truly unprecedented—" His voice was low, tinged with disbelief. "I've seen ambitious men, revolutionaries, slaves to fear, and guardians of love. But I've never seen anyone like you, the hangman."

He leaned forward slightly, as if trying to see the person behind the mask more clearly.

"Your goal—to change the entire magical world—is so grand that it seems fraught with difficulties and uncertain prospects to anyone. When ordinary people mention such a goal, they are either filled with excitement or filled with anxiety, always accompanied by strong emotional fluctuations, which are outward manifestations of uncertainty."

“But you are different—” Grindelwald’s tone was sharp and analytical. “You clearly know the immense difficulties involved, logically understand all the obstacles, yet at the heart of your narrative, I hear not a single doubt. You are not blindly arrogant, but rather—a cold certainty. You are convinced you can do it. What arrogance!”

He paused, letting the word linger in the air for a moment.

"But ironically, everything you've done in the past, the abilities and strategies you've demonstrated, has transformed your arrogance into an astonishing level of self-confidence."

He paused slightly, his heterochromatic eyes gleaming, and began to delve into the true core of the matter.

"Now, I'll answer your initial question about realms." You think our strength—myself, Albus, and that pathetic Voldemort—stems solely from the accumulation of knowledge or the depth of our magic?

That's completely wrong.

"Magic, especially the magic that propels wizards to break through their own limits and touch the level of rules, strongly responds to the deepest and most fervent desires and ideals in a wizard's heart! That is the fundamental driving force that propels us to transcend the mortal realm."

"Albus—" Grindelwald's tone shifted for a moment when he mentioned the name, "His power stemmed from love and responsibility. In his youth, he yearned to achieve a greater good with me," a grand, world-changing love. After his sister's death, he completely transformed this immense energy, sublimating it into a universal love for the world and a profound responsibility to Hogwarts. His magic thus became vast, gentle, and incredibly resilient, like his Patronus, the phoenix, symbolizing rebirth and protection.

"And that Voldemort," his tone filled with undisguised contempt, "his power stemmed from extreme fear"—the fear of death. This fear fueled his obsessive desire for immortality. This dark, pure, and intense obsession drove him to study forbidden black magic at all costs. His magic was therefore corrosive and domineering, the embodiment of fear."

"As for me—" Grindelwald's lips curled into that almost trademark arrogant smile, "my power stems from ideals and change. I possess a grand blueprint to reshape the world and elevate the status of wizards, and I firmly believe that my path is the only correct future. This almost divinely ordained belief endows my magic with unparalleled charisma and destructive power, allowing me to glimpse the trajectory of the future and walk upon it with unwavering resolve."

His gaze locked onto Lynch again, filled with the astonishment of discovering a new species.

"The three of us have taken very different paths, and are even enemies of each other, but we all share one thing in common: a powerful core belief that burns through our souls! Magic responded to this passion, which allowed us to break through."

"And you, the hangman—" his voice slowed, "that's your problem. You possess immense ability, meticulous thinking, even a sufficiently grand goal. But what drives you, all of this, is a kind of—inexplicable, unwavering, calm conviction. You believe you can change the world, like believing the sun rises in the east and sets in the west—a conclusion based on pure reason and an assessment of your abilities, not some burning emotion or fanatical belief."

"You lack that extreme dedication, that 'no madness, no life' kind of commitment. Your ideas are strong, but they seem confined within an overly rational framework, lacking the 'passion' and 'madness' needed to create a transformative magic."

Grindelwald eventually retreated into the shadows and made his conclusion.

"This is the answer you've been looking for, the Executioner. You lack emotional depth; you haven't truly found the real goal you'd be willing to sacrifice everything for. That's why you haven't been able to break through to the level of a legendary wizard."

"When you find it and make it truly a part of your soul, your so-called shackles will naturally crumble. Otherwise, you may spend your entire life becoming an extremely powerful wizard, but you will never truly step into—this realm we inhabit."

His voice softened at the end, yet it carried a power that pierced the heart.

"Reason is a good thing, Executioner. But magic—sometimes requires a touch of pure emotion."

Lynch listened in silence. Grindelwald's words were like a thunderclap, creating a crack in his magical understanding system, which was based on an iron will and abundant magic power.

He never imagined that the highest realm of magic would be linked to "sensibility" and "madness".

Finally, Lynch spoke, saying in a calm yet authoritative tone, "There is one thing that needs to be corrected, Mr. Grindelwald."

"I don't 'believe' I can change the world."

He paused for a moment: "I 'know' I can change the world."

A deathly silence fell over the cell.

Grindelwald's expression froze, his heterochromatic pupils contracted slightly, as if for the first time he was truly re-examining the visitor before him.

Lynch spoke as if stating an objective fact as natural as the cycle of the sun and moon: "In fact, I'm already changing it. The existence of the First Order, the infiltration of the Stone Tower Merchant Guild, and even the deviation of certain predetermined trajectories within Hogwarts—these are all proof. The only difference lies in the degree of change and its final form."

After making these remarks, Lin Qi changed the subject.

"As for you, Mr. Grindelwald, you have been unusually cooperative tonight. You have answered my questions, although the answers may not have been what I initially expected. Therefore, I grant your request."

Grindelwald was clearly taken aback by Lynch's directness. He paused for a moment, then a low, hoarse laugh escaped his throat, echoing in the empty cell, carrying a hint of self-mockery and fatalism.

"Is it that obvious?" he asked with a smile, his heterochromatic eyes flashing with a complex light.

"It's practically written all over his face that he's begging you." Lynch's words were sharp, but his tone remained calm.

Grindelwald's laughter subsided, and he shook his head, not denying it.

"Then can I get your guarantee?"

Lin Qi stood up, the hem of his black trench coat tracing a clean arc in the air.

"Don't worry," he said, "I'm a fair trader. You've already paid your dues," so I will keep my promise.

He didn't linger or wait for Grindelwald's response; instead, he turned and walked toward the heavy iron gate.

But Lin Qi suddenly stopped in front of the iron gate.

He didn't turn around: "One last question, Mr. Grindelwald. Is my story—safe here?"

A barely audible chuckle echoed in the cell.

Grindelwald raised his eyes, his heterochromatic pupils gleaming faintly in the dim light.

"You are the first living person I have seen in the past ten years or so," his voice was as calm as stating a perfectly ordinary fact.

A brief silence fell between the two.

Lynch's figure disappeared outside the door, leaving Grindelwald alone sitting on the stone bed, a complex expression on his face, slowly disappearing into the deep shadows of Nurmengard.

>