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Grindelwald set the SwiftSpeak booklet down and let out a quiet sigh.
It was soft, but it carried decades of weight, like something long buried had finally been pushed out of his chest.
There was nothing left to say.
Even if he'd had a tool like SwiftSpeak back then… even if his followers had been stronger… even if the victories had stretched farther…
In the end, he still would have come face-to-face with the man everyone had pinned their hopes on. The one they had pushed forward as "the one."
Grindelwald glanced up at Dumbledore and saw him calmly pop another Every Flavor Bean into his mouth and chew without the slightest change in expression. Those blue eyes stayed serene; not even a wrinkle shifted on his face.
Ah. Must be a truly terrible flavor.
Grindelwald's mouth twitched, but he didn't laugh.
His thin fingers tapped lightly on the booklet's cover. He shook his head. Using SwiftSpeak to simply make wizards' daily lives a little better… that wasn't such a bad thing.
The war was long over. In peacetime, Albus could finally breathe easier.
Lucien.
Full of wild ideas and actually capable of turning every single one into reality.
That kind of person…
"You were asking about Dark Magic curses earlier," Grindelwald said, pulling his thoughts back. His tone turned calm. "I've been thinking, Albus. You're talking about a blood malediction, aren't you? The one on that blood-cursed beast-woman… Nagini?"
Even though Dumbledore hadn't spelled it out, Grindelwald's deep mastery of the Dark Arts and his intimate knowledge of the headmaster let him piece it together from a few vague hints.
Dumbledore gave a silent nod.
When Nagini had left, their final duel had only been over for a few years. Back then the two of them hadn't been on speaking terms. Dumbledore had known that even if he came, he wouldn't get any real answers.
Shared ideals that had split apart. Once-close friends who had become strangers.
Their history was too complicated for simple words.
But decades had passed. People change.
They had both grown old… and softer.
Grindelwald didn't care who Dumbledore wanted to save. He offered the advice anyway, voice slow and measured.
"When it comes to healing the soul, you can try awakening her human memories and emotions…"
He hesitated a second, then added, "If possible, give her new human memories as well."
His fingers traced idle circles on the tabletop, as if pulling up something from a very long time ago.
Memory. Emotion.
For a soul being eaten away, those things were the last piece of driftwood a drowning person could cling to.
"Of course, the actual curse-breaking needs careful, case-by-case judgment," Grindelwald said, growing serious. "Curses are a vast field of Dark Magic. You can't master it with a few sentences. It requires systematic study."
Dumbledore nodded, listening quietly.
Grindelwald lifted his cup of cold tea, then paused as a thought struck him.
"My personal library on curses, plus everything the Saints collected… Vinda ended up with it all in the end."
Vinda Rosier.
His most loyal follower and right hand. The top figure among the Saints. The Black Rose of France. The brightest jewel of the Rosier family.
"Of course," Grindelwald added, a trace of wicked amusement creeping into his voice, "she'd never hand anything over to you, Albus. Not even if you showed up with my personal token or a letter from me."
He gave a low chuckle. "First thing she'd do is hit you with a curse—even if she didn't have a wand in her hand."
Dumbledore didn't argue.
He knew Vinda well enough. Their usual way of "talking" had always involved trading spells.
She had never wavered in her hatred for him.
And there was jealousy there, too.
"However," Grindelwald said, switching gears. A playful glint returned to his mismatched eyes. "This SwiftSpeak is awfully convenient. Why don't you have that boy Lucien add me as a friend… and I'll teach him myself?"
The corner of Grindelwald's mouth curved into a smile that was impossible to read.