2022

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• "What is the law but a set of consequences for when you get caught? What is depravity but a whisper of disdain when you walk past?" He squeezed my hand. "It does not prevent your truth, it merely deceives you to ache. But there is no pain in sincerity; there is only freedom. I am free. You can be, too."
• "You certainly didn't deserve such a fate," Gellert said, speaking slowly. "It is infuriating to see such injustice, such blatant failing of those who have sworn to protect us. There is much to be done in our world, much to hope for, to work towards."
• Dancing with him had been inappropriate enough, but this was on a different level of lewdness altogether. Had I kissed him, had I given in to the temptation, I would have not only lost my friend to the obscenity, but I would also have been ostracized by everyone present at the festival, and perhaps the entire village.
• Foolishly, I thought, as everyone does when such things happen, that it was the worst moment of my life. It might have been, had I not met Gellert Grindelwald.
• Gellert had a flair for the dramatic which I noticed quite early. The way he carried himself, the words he used and when he decided to say them, it all was as if rehearsed. The world was theatre to him, and he fancied himself the star. I was riveted by the show, and I knew it. What I wasn't aware of though, back then, was that I was the only audience member that mattered to him. The stage light that shone on him expanded onto me as he pulled me into his play, prompted my lines, and directed my movements. He was the lead, always, and I let it happen, enchanted by his poise and his speeches. Everything else paled in comparison.
• Having given his explanation, he sat still, escaping my eyes by looking out the window. Occasionally, he closed his eyes for a minute or two. At first, I believed him tired, but he never once shifted from his straight position to lean back against the upholstery.
• I grieved my mother violently, as any boy my age who had already lost his father would. Her funeral marked the end of my childhood.
• I have always been partial to a good book, and my fondness of reading had given me a clear edge on my schoolmates. Most years, I was top of the class. Though I always made sure to keep only a small circle of friends, my popularity was not lost on me, and my confidence grew even faster than my knowledge.
• It has only been so few days, but I must confess that I consider you my closest friend. I realise that, in the case of my recently uprooted life, and my disdain of most others our age, being my closest friend is not the achievement I might make it appear to be. Though I do mean it in the most genuine sense, and I hope that you believe me when I tell you that.
• Oh, how nervous I was. Gellert was so handsome, and so gentle with me as he led me through the waltz. Even when his hand tightened around my waist I knew it was only his attempt at keeping me steady. I sighed shakily as he did it, and I knew he could feel it.
• One second he was there, the next he was gone. On the spot he once stood was nothing; nothing left to give me hope. A dreadful, dreary darkness that filled my body and soul, drowning every tiny speck of light I had left. The only sound that remained was the beating of the rain on the ground. A white noise, washing out everything else. Wetness crept down my neck into my clothes, and dirt was on my palms and knees. My hair was sticking to my forehead, small rivers of raindrops following it to travel over my face, mixing with my tears.
• Remember, back in Godric's Hollow, when we were young, I would say. Life was hell before I met you. Now it's paradise.
• The clearing was decorated with yellow and white flags and open tents. All around, Feverfew flowers had been grown, heaps and heaps of daisies, with some even rocking to and fro with the melody of the music. Several ten-meter-long sturdy wood tables were placed in the middle, with foods of all kinds placed on them, though it was mostly freshly baked breads, rose butter, cheeses and hams, and an entire table of salads with dressings in every colour, including one that changed its color every so often. Spheres, inverted pyramids, and spirals of drinking glasses were stacked tall, all filled with honey juices, lavender wine, and cooled beer, spilling over continuously and re-filling themselves. Round garden tables that were scattered all about held trays of teapots and cups, sugar cubes and milks, and occasionally stacks of basil leaves, honeydew, mint, and ginger. Ornate spoons stirred the teas of the guests, clinking every now and again against the fragile edges.
• The jaws of fate were craving justice, and justice was not in favour of Gellert Grindelwald.

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• "What I mean is: I think we both have things that tether us to the past, even though we're trying to be someone new." [...] "Sometimes those things aren't tethers, but anchors."
• A most dreadful pirate stood there, clad in leather, guns strapped to his every side. He was holding onto a shroud with his right arm, holding the weight of his body as he leaned forward to get a better look. [...] His beard was deep black and braided into six or seven smaller pieces, and his hair stood out from a tricorn hat; wild and unkempt, it seemed to almost float as if it were smoke.
• Gaudy suit jackets and trousers were in a closed wardrobe, adjacent to — on the left side — one full of outdoor and winter jackets and coats, and — one the right side — one full of miscellaneous winter accessories, including beanies, leather and woolen gloves, an impressive number of scarves, and a single Trapper hat with two pom-poms dangling down from its cushioned earflaps.
• He didn't know why he was the way he was, stoic and listless, wry and distrustful, but there seemed to be no other way. And he didn't know what the question was that he had on his mind almost every waking moment, but he felt the apocalyptically giant question mark looming over his head at all times, sometimes still, sometimes pulsating and vibrating, nudging him to answer it.
• He spoke with a jaunty, melodic voice that suggested confident ease, but his words had been slightly awkward and stumbling. He had the bearing of a gentleman, or rather a child who pretended to be one, with gleaming eyes betraying how much fun the man had in this play-pretend.
• The books looked out of fashion, with muted colors and a distinctive art style that only allowed for the epitome of each gender to be represented; tall, muscular men with long, windswept hair and open shirts, and slender, big-breasted, soft-faced women in revealing clothing. On most of the covers the people were in some sort of romantic or even vaguely sexual position.