"No."
Dumbledore's voice was quiet, but there was zero room for argument.
The refusal came the instant Grindelwald finished speaking—no hesitation, no softening.
Grindelwald burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the empty cell like he'd just won a bet.
It was a boyish, gleeful laugh that sounded completely wrong coming from his gaunt, aged face.
He still loved watching Dumbledore's composure crack, even a little.
That all-knowing, always-in-control act was cute and all, but Grindelwald preferred the real thing.
Dumbledore shook his head with helpless amusement. Some things never changed. The man was still just as wild and dramatic as he'd been in his youth.
Dumbledore wasn't worried about Lucien learning more Dark Magic. The boy had frightening talent in that area, but his heart was solid. Dark Magic wouldn't corrupt him easily.
What worried him was Grindelwald's influence—not spells, but ideas.
Even as a teenager at Durmstrang—which actually allowed Dark Magic—Grindelwald had been expelled for experiments so twisted and dangerous that even the staff couldn't ignore them.
A boy in his teens had dared to touch forbidden arts that grown wizards avoided.
But his real danger had never been the magic.
It was his tongue.
With nothing but words, Grindelwald had swayed countless people. In just a few days he had once talked a complete stranger—an elite Auror—into helping him escape custody. When the Auror was later put on trial, he still defended Grindelwald, insisting it had all been for "the greater good."
That kind of charisma and persuasive power was more unsettling than any curse.
Dumbledore didn't think Grindelwald still dreamed of starting another wizarding war. But a few casual conversations with a brilliant, still-growing teenager? That could plant seeds that made the boy far more radical than he needed to be.
Grindelwald's smile faded. He leaned forward across the table, mismatched eyes locking onto Dumbledore's.
"If you're comfortable with it, you could always bring him to see me in person. Some curse questions are better handled face-to-face."
He paused, gaze steady. "And you'd be right here watching the whole time. That should put your mind at ease, right?"
Dumbledore's eyes flickered.
He absolutely would not allow private SwiftSpeak chats between them. But if he were present the entire time…
Still—bring a young wizard to meet Gellert Grindelwald? The man who had once shaken all of Europe, the whole wizarding world?
Grindelwald popped another Every Flavor Bean into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully, and said in a lazy drawl, "Don't be so rigid, Albus. You don't have to tell him he's meeting Grindelwald."
He swallowed and gave a sly little grin. "Just say you're taking him to visit an eccentric old recluse who lives off the grid. No need to worry about him recognizing me. It's been decades. What teenager is going to look at a decrepit old man and suddenly realize he's staring at the infamous Gellert Grindelwald?"
As he spoke, Grindelwald gestured at his own withered face, a flicker of self-mockery in his mismatched eyes.
Dumbledore stayed silent.
Grindelwald knew that silence meant he was actually considering it. If the idea had been completely off the table, Dumbledore would have shut it down immediately. Hesitation was already halfway to yes.
Not wanting to push too hard, Grindelwald switched topics, tone turning casual again.
"By the way, Albus… do you really believe a child can solve a problem you couldn't crack back then?"
Dumbledore lifted his head and met his gaze.
"Someone always creates miracles," he said, voice calm but certain. "In the Muggle world or the wizarding world."
His eyes drifted past Grindelwald, looking through the barred window at the gray, hazy sky outside.
"And sometimes… a person is the miracle."
Grindelwald clicked his tongue at the high praise but said nothing.
Dumbledore stood, ready to leave. With a wave of his hand the dishes vanished.
He still had a mountain of work—Horcrux leads, Hogwarts matters, and the constant shadow of a Voldemort who could resurface at any moment.
Grindelwald simply raised one hand in a lazy farewell.
The other hand stayed firmly planted on the SwiftSpeak booklet, fingers pressed to the cover like he had no intention of giving it back.
Dumbledore stared at him.
Grindelwald stared right back, completely shameless.
"What? Even with a little delay it's still faster than waiting for an owl to deliver parchment."
Having outright stolen the device, he kept going.
"Think you could ask Lucien to add a few more fun features? Something to help an old man pass the time. You said the boy loves studying and reading, right? As a thank-you, I could teach him a couple of spells myself. Or he could go see Vinda for some books—I'll write him a letter. We'd just need a decent cover story to hide who I really am…"
He rambled on like someone reluctant to end the visit.
Dumbledore ignored the part about sending Lucien to Vinda.
Most of Grindelwald's old Saints were in prison right alongside their leader. Vinda Rosier, as the top Saint, was no exception. Only close family members were allowed supervised visits after Ministry approval.
Still, Grindelwald's comment jogged Dumbledore's memory.
A few days ago Lucien had mentioned reading about the Fiendfyre Curse in one of the books and sounded genuinely curious…