31、AD-GG ...
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｛一封只能用盖勒特·格林德沃的血才可启封的密信｝
1995年12月25日，
盖勒特，
经过这么久，我又给你写信了，圣诞快乐。我要向你坦白我辜负了你的信任。伏地魔未被彻底打败，而且最近，在和他最畏惧的人激战过后，他毫发无损地回来了，并重新纠集食死徒，意欲东山再起。老朋友，是魂器搞的鬼。是魂器以及许多其他的防御咒。还有，我向你保证我没撒谎，我真的不知道我为何会在那场决斗中赢了你，我真的不知道你想让我说什么。
嗯，我记得——我说过我再也不给你写信了。但现在，我接受你的道歉，当然，很多年前我就接受了。但我不知道还能做什么，我只能恳求你忍耐我…
想必你一定听说过哈利·波特，对吗？
我将此信寄给你，是因为至深的信任。记得很久以前我就说过，我没有真正的知己。说来奇怪，即便这么多年不联系，即便我们爆发过无数争吵，可我最信任的还是你——只有你会为我保守这些秘密，关于这场未结束的战争，关于英格兰，关于伏地魔——
哈利·波特五年前来到霍格沃茨上学，可能你会惊讶，他被分进了格兰芬多。他的功课中等偏上，师生关系不好不坏，有几个情谊坚如磐石的挚友。在来霍格沃茨前，他在一个麻瓜家庭长大，过着被忽视虐待、非常悲惨的生活。当然，这拜我所赐，虽是为了保护他，但却使他的童年变得异常不幸。他的人生注定要同那与爱有关的、原始又古老的魔法纠缠在一起，而这正是伏地魔拒绝了解的东西，甚至就连你我也未曾探索过。我在绞尽脑汁地描述他，一个平平无奇却又非同寻常的男孩。
他承受了太多本不该这个年龄承受的东西，有很多是由我直接或间接造成的。而且——他毫不知情，他甚至完全不知真相的沉重。
他的命运注定要同伏地魔的命运纠缠。因那不合常理的魔法——
盖勒特，我必须牺牲他。
这么多年我都在回避这个现实。怎么说呢，就是在杀戮咒反弹的那瞬间，一块伏地魔灵魂的碎片，就是他用来制作魂器的碎片，从他体内剥离并依附到了这个无辜的男孩身上。这关乎一个预言，迷雾中的双生蛇。很老很老的远古魔法——
我无法启齿。我如何能说？他必须靠自己意识到这些——
盖勒特，他是个好孩子。他坚强勇敢、聪明伶俐，他值得更好的人生。他值得慢慢长大慢慢变老，之后与喜欢的人坠入爱河，待老了有子孙绕膝，时不时地给好友寄几封有趣的信。他值得在摧毁了伏地魔后，在摆脱了命运与伤疤这些荒谬东西的束缚后，过着无忧无虑独属于他自己的日子。我愿用我的命来换这一切，但是不可能了，永远都没办法，一切已成定局。
当我意识到你的全部计划——残酷的统治手段以及对麻瓜的种种折磨时，我很畏惧。当你像惯犯一样地逃离了阿利安娜的尸体时，是的，我当然生气。非常非常愤怒。但是我不恨你，我从没想过让厄运降临在你身上。因此不管你在做什么，醒着睡着吃饭呼吸，我都没想过要用永恒的凤凰之火烧灼你，但我却想对伏地魔这样做——不，应该是汤姆·里德尔，那才是他的名字，其余都是假象——我要把那个同哈利的命运捆绑在一起的恶魔扔进去，我太恨他了，铭心刻骨的恨——
你不会像毒瘤般依附在活物上只为延续生命。不管你怎么想，光这一点就足够我懊悔的了。作为一个黑魔王，你对死亡有着出人意料的无所畏惧——
对不起，但听我说。我在绝望中写信给你，在我们说过你我之间除了苦涩再无其他之后，又用一个老人的无解的烦恼来困扰你。但是，盖勒特，为了更伟大的利益，我把他推向了死亡。
你说过纽蒙迦德和我都不能摧毁你。是的，都不能。但是，盖勒特，汤姆和哈利已经毁了我。我想终归你还是比我坚强。
不过，还有一线生机！虽然微乎其微，但却是他存活的最后机会。哈利可能活下去——带着伤痛，就像麻瓜所说的战斗疲劳症，但是他能活着。
但有时，怀揣希望反而比彻底放弃更令人痛苦。
忽视我吧。嘲笑我吧。我竟要送一个无辜的男孩上战场，让他受尽折磨甚至死亡，因为这是我必须要做的，我不会为此道歉。盖勒特，看看你的门——我仍活在血腥与诅咒里——
在我们共同经历一切以后，在我们彼此深深伤害以后，只有你能体会这其中滋味，能明白这讽刺的全部含义。只有你，我的老朋友。
我不知道怎么进行下去。我就是一个自以为是的老混球，不知道该怎么办。我只能去帮助他，去做我认为正确并有可能成功的事。而我最后能做的，就是亲手将这个孩子推向死亡——我触碰过的东西，我深爱过的人，都会化为尘埃——盖勒特，我终于认清了自己，我就是个怪物——
对不起，我无法写下去了。
阿不思·邓布利多
另，是给我们的。
｛附：一包柠檬雪宝｝
＊＊＊＊原文＊＊＊＊
[sealed with a charm which opens only to a drop of Gellert Grindelwald's blood]
December 25th, 1995
Gellert,
A Christmas letter, after all this time. I must confess that I have not held to your wishes. Voldemort remains undefeated, and he has recently returned in full health, after his brush with what he so feared, and begun to gather followers. Horcruxes, old friend. Horcruxes and dozens of other defenses. And, on my word, I do not lie. I do not know why I won, in the end. I do not know what you want me to say.
And I know--that I said I would not write again. And I accept your apology, of course, years ago. But I cannot think what else to do. I beg of you patience...
I suppose by now you must have heard of Harry Potter.
I send this to you in the deepest confidence. As I remember writing long ago, I have no true intimates. Peculiar as it is, after all the years of silence and all the anger, you are the man whom I trust most with--this. With a matter of no consequence to the war, to England, to Voldemort--
Harry Potter started at Hogwarts five years ago. He was Sorted into Gryffindor House, which I doubt surprises you. His academics are on the upper side of average, his teacher relations generally neutral, and his friendships unbreakable as diamonds. He was raised by an abusive, neglectful Muggle family, utterly miserable until he came to Hogwarts, and that was my will, for it was necessary to protect him. Necessary to condemn him to a horrible childhood. His entire life is bound up in old magic, wild philomency, things Voldemort refuses to acknowledge and which even you and I barely plumbed the existence of. He is both ordinary and extraordinary at once, and it strains my wit to describe him.
He has suffered so, so much for a boy so young. And so much of it at my hands, even if indirectly. And--he does not know. He has not even the faintest clue of the true weight of it.
His fate is entwined with Voldemort's. Magic beyond logic or reason--
Gellert, I must send him to his death.
I had tried for so many years not to see it. A shred of Voldemort's soul, so torn from the creation of his Horcruxes, dislodged when the Killing Curse backfired and stuck in an innocent boy. There is a prophecy. Twin serpents in the smoke of the pathfinder. Old, old, antediluvian magic--
I cannot tell him. How could I? He must realize it himself--
He is a good boy, Gellert. He is tough and brave and mostly clever, and he deserves better. He deserves to grow up and grow old and fall in love and herd about children and write crochety letters. He deserves to bury Voldemort and move on to his own life, free of fates and scars and nonsense, and I would give my life to make it so, but I cannot, not ever, because that is not how things are.
I feared you, when I realized the extent of your plans, the terror of your rule, the Muggle-torture. When you fled from Ariana's body like a common cut-throat. And I was angry, yes, of course. So very angry. But I never hated you. I never wished upon you the worst thing in the world. And hence you wake and sleep and eat and breathe, and do not burn in the everlasting furnace of phoenix fire into which I would cast Voldemort--no, Tom Riddle, that is his name, the rest is affectation--into which I would cast the man who bound Harry to his fate, I hate him so, I hate him to the marrow of my bones--
You do not cling to life like a canker. That is remorse enough for me, no matter what you may think. And for a Dark wizard, you have a surprisingly healthy relationship with death--
Listen to me. I am sorry. I write to you in despair and burden you with an old man's insoluble worries, after we both said there was nothing left between us but bitterness. But, Gellert. I send him to his death. For the greater good.
You claim Nurmengard and I will not break you. And perhaps they have not. But, Gellert, Tom and Harry have broken me. You're stronger than me in the end, I suppose.
Oh, but there is a chance! a faint glimmer of a chance that he might just survive. That Harry might live--damaged, no doubt, shell-shocked as the Muggles would say, but alive.
But sometimes hope is more painful than surrender.
Ignore me. Laugh at me. I send an innocent boy to war and torture and death, because I must do what is necessary, because I must not apologize for what is necessary. Look over your door, Gellert--I still live by those bloody, cursed words--
Only you could possibly appreciate what this means. The full irony of it. Only you, old friend, after everything we've done and all this time we've spent hurting each other.
I never knew the way. For all that I am a sanctimonious old bastard, I never knew the way. I only tried to help, to do what I thought would be right, would be successful. And this is where it ends, sending a child to die--everything I touch, everyone I love, turning to dust--I admit what I am, Gellert, I am a monster--
I--must stop this. I'm sorry.
Albus Dumbledore
P.S. for both of us
[enclosure: a package of sherbet lemons]
作者有话说
第31章 AD-GG
