The Old Ones of Hogwarts

Chapter 530, Section 539: Believers in Deep Space 4

As the saying goes, "Those with a corrupt eye see people as gay."

Grindelwald is certainly not that kind of person.

At least that's the official narrative.

The "agreement" he refers to is naturally the implicit contract made after that legendary duel, concerning his self-imprisonment and Dumbledore's assurance that he would no longer cause trouble.

"Respect me?" Dumbledore raised his eyes, his gaze piercing as he stared directly at Grindelwald. "Or perhaps you actually need my 'help' or 'permission' to fulfill certain...special needs of this 'avatar' of yours? For example, to make it exist more stably, or to go to some place with special magical protection?"

have to say.

The series of experiences did indeed make Dumbledore increasingly suspicious.

It's starting to resemble Dumbledore's paranoia. There's no way around it; the wizarding world is too chaotic, to the point that Dumbledore has never had a few days of peace in his entire life.

"How is that possible?"

Faced with Dumbledore's sharp retort, Grindelwald suddenly rolled his eyes. This somewhat childish action, so unlike his usual image, startled even Dumbledore.

"By Merlin, Albus, why are you more paranoid than before?" Grindelwald's tone carried a hint of genuine helplessness and teasing.

"Can't I simply enjoy making a request that I know will put you in a difficult position, and then watch you frown, struggle, and weigh the pros and cons? That's one of the few pleasures I find in this tower." Perhaps this was the real truth from Grindelwald. And this reason… so straightforward, so "Grindelwald-esque" wicked humor, actually eased Dumbledore's tense nerves slightly. Compared to those schemes hidden beneath warmth or tragedy, this request, purely to see his reaction, while still troublesome, seemed… more in line with the mischievous mindset of this old adversary at times. Especially when the other party was truly old and frail, incapable of stirring up any more trouble.

"You're still as awful as ever." Dumbledore paused for a moment, his stern expression gradually softening into a scrutinizing look tinged with helplessness and a hint of understanding.

He slowly exhaled: "If... it really is just a clone spell that doesn't carry any magic power and is only used for sensory experience." He emphasized the words "if" and "really," "and there are strict limitations on time and scope... I can try to help you apply to the special oversight committee of the International Wizarding Federation. We can go through the proper channels."

This was the biggest concession he could make, offering some flexibility within the framework of official procedures. However, Grindelwald shook his head, his usual authoritative smile returning to his face, his eyes laced with mockery: "Official procedures? Going through formalities? Albus, that's too slow." "The efficiency of bureaucracy, you and I both know. And I..." He leaned forward slightly, his heterochromatic eyes fixed on Dumbledore, "...I want to see London tonight. Right now."

"tonight?"

Dumbledore's brow furrowed again, and the atmosphere that had just eased instantly tensed up once more. "Why the rush? Gellert, what are you up to? London isn't peaceful right now, you know that."

"Of course I know." Grindelwald's joking expression vanished, his tone becoming somewhat evasive. "It's precisely because it's turbulent that it's all the more worth watching, isn't it? As for why the rush..."

He paused, his gaze seemingly piercing through the tower walls, looking towards the unknown distance. "Perhaps it's because I have a premonition that if I don't go out tonight... I might never have another chance."

Dumbledore's heart skipped a beat. Prophecy! One of Grindelwald's most dangerous abilities! He stared intently at the other: "What did you prophesy? About yourself? Tomorrow? Or…?"

Grindelwald met his gaze, nodded slowly and very slightly, then shook his head. This contradictory gesture made Dumbledore even more confused and wary.

"Stop beating around the bush, Gellert!" Dumbledore's voice held an unusual sternness and a hint of barely perceptible urgency. "Explain yourself! What did you see?"

The air atop the tower seemed to freeze. Even the crystal's brilliance appeared somewhat dimmed. Grindelwald took a deep breath, and the last trace of mockery or感慨 vanished from his wrinkled face, leaving only a cold, solemn expression befitting a prophet's insight into fate. In his heterochromatic eyes, a vision of annihilating stars and distorted time seemed to flash by.

He looked at Dumbledore and spoke slowly and deliberately, each word clear and deliberate, yet resounding like thunder atop the silent tower:

"I foresaw... if I didn't go out tonight..."

"I will die."

He paused, allowing the weight of those words to fully sink into Dumbledore's consciousness, and then, as the other's pupils constricted in shock, added the even more impactful second half:

"And you, Albus."

"And...everyone."

The words are not surprising and die endlessly.

A deathly silence fell upon the top of the tower. Only the completely cooled tea and the cold, lifeless pie beside it silently bore witness to this earth-shattering prophecy.

"What?!"

The color seemed to have faded from Dumbledore's face.

His fingers, resting on the stone table, tightened slightly, his knuckles turning white. In his azure eyes, shock, doubt, scrutiny, and deep worry surged like a storm. When it came to truly important prophecies, he knew Grindelwald's prophetic abilities and knew the man was not one to exaggerate! But this prophecy was far too horrifying, too far-reaching!

"Everyone?" Dumbledore's voice was dry. "Gellert, do you know what you're talking about? What kind of catastrophe would involve...everyone? A new Dark Lord? His power is rampant, but it's far from that level!"

Grindelwald did not answer his question directly.

He simply leaned back in his chair, as if the prophecy he had just uttered had taken a great deal of effort. His gaze returned to its deep, unfathomable depths, settling on Dumbledore's face with a complex meaning.

"Therefore, Albus."

He spoke slowly, his tone regaining its calmness, yet carrying an undeniable resolve, "I need to go out. Tonight. In my own form. For a walk, for nostalgia. Also, to... confirm some things, and perhaps... to change some things." "Even if it's just a tiny bit." He looked at Dumbledore again, his eyes sharp and pleading. "I need your help. Not as a prisoner, not as an enemy. But... as two old men who once saw further, now equally bound by time and responsibility. Help me tonight to open a crack. You know I love this world deeply."

"This may determine whether we have a 'tomorrow'."

Grindelwald began speaking, one sentence at a time.

"Is that really so?" Dumbledore stared intently at him, trying to discern the truth from every wrinkle on his face and every flicker in his eyes, and to weigh the pros and cons.

The silence within the tower seemed to carry a weight, making it hard to breathe. After a long while, Dumbledore finally spoke, his voice low and slow, as if each word had been carefully considered with immense weight.

Tell me, Gellert. Where in London are you going? To see what?

He stared intently at his old friend.

Grindelwald's lips twitched upwards almost imperceptibly, a smile barely perceptible. He knew he was halfway there. He extended a finger and gently tapped the now-cold, oil-paper-wrapped pie beside the open ancient book on the stone table. "Go to a bridge," he murmured, his heterochromatic eyes reflecting the cool, crystalline light, as if mirroring the flickering lights and bridge shadows on the Thames.

"Let's go see a... special 'raven'." Grindelwald seemed to have no intention of hiding anything; his previous behavior had all seemed to be just teasing Dumbledore.

"Raven?"

Dumbledore's brow furrowed instantly, like two snow-covered mountain ridges. The word, uttered by Grindelwald, carried an extraordinary weight.

and so.

The ravens here do not refer to the noisy black birds in the sky.

"Is it that raven?"

As if struck by a sudden realization, Dumbledore's spirits lifted. Throughout his long and erudite life, especially during his early, dark years when he was obsessed with exploring the mysteries of death and searching for the Resurrection Stone, he had delved into countless ancient, forbidden, and even mythical legends and texts. Among them, the image of the "raven," in a peculiar and ambiguous manner, occasionally flickered on the fringes of those accounts concerning fate, end, guidance, and powerful beings beyond reason.

It is not a specific historical figure or known magical creature, but rather a "symbol" or "concept" that has lingered across time and appeared intermittently in different civilizations and mystical systems.

Sometimes it is associated with death and prophecy, and sometimes it is described as a maintainer of order in chaos, or even an executor of some ancient "contract" or "trial" that is difficult to trace.

It is a being far more mythical than the phoenix. Dumbledore once saw the most detailed description of this symbol in an extremely obscure ancient text fragment about "illusionary realms," linking it with obscure concepts such as "witness to ultimate change" and "the untangler of causal threads."

However, the document was vague and full of metaphors and conjectures, and seemed more like a philosophical conjecture about some higher-level laws of existence than an empirical record.

Therefore, when Grindelwald mentioned it now, and clearly linked it to the "key" to going out that night, Dumbledore felt an unprecedented sense of astonishment. Could those ethereal, almost mythical accounts actually point to some real... entity? "You found... that 'bird'?" Dumbledore's voice unconsciously lowered, as if afraid of disturbing some indescribable thing, his sharp blue eyes fixed on Grindelwald.

"The legendary 'raven'? It... has appeared on Earth? Right here in London?"

He subconsciously used "it" because, in his limited understanding, it was more likely a conceptual entity or some powerful mythical being, rather than a concrete "person."

Grindelwald took in the subtle shock and solemnity on Dumbledore's face, and the mysterious and playful smile on his lips, hidden in the shadow of his hood, deepened.

Instead of answering Dumbledore's question directly, he leaned forward slightly, his heterochromatic pupils gleaming in the dim light with an almost inviting light.

His voice was low and seductive.

"Why don't you go see him for yourself, Albus?"

He spoke slowly, his tone carrying an intimate, almost secret-sharing quality, "Stay with me, keep an eye on me, and I promise you... you'll be very surprised."

The proposal itself is astonishing enough—two old rivals who were once bitter enemies and whose relationship remains complex and delicate are actually going to "join forces" to spy on the movements of a potentially mythical entity?

But what truly shook Dumbledore was the crucial information in Grindelwald's words, inadvertently revealed yet keenly captured by Dumbledore's keen perception. Grindelwald said, "You'll be surprised," but the preceding sentence, "Why not go yourself?" clearly implied, "Go see 'him'!"

"he"?!

Dumbledore's pupils contracted sharply, like a cat's eyes stung by a bright light. An indescribable horror, like a cold electric current, instantly shot through his spine.

Directly to the brain!

Not "it"! It's "he"!

Grindelwald uses the personal pronoun "He" instead of the impersonal "It"! This means that in Grindelwald's cognition or prophetic vision, the being associated with the "raven" symbol is not some mindless magical phenomenon, an ancient cursed entity, or a conceptual force, but an being with a definite personality.

An existence that can be called "him"! This completely exceeds all of Dumbledore's previous assumptions and knowledge framework! The legendary symbol has become a concrete "him"?

The impact and questions raised by this are explosive.

Who is he?

Where did it come from?

Why did it appear at this time? What power does it possess? What is its purpose? What is its connection to Grindelwald's prophecy and the terrifying future where "everyone will die"?

Countless thoughts collided wildly in Dumbledore's mind, causing even this seasoned and wise old man to momentarily lose his composure and disbelief.

His breathing quickened almost imperceptibly for a moment.

Then.

The horror and scrutiny in his eyes were like sharp swords, piercing Grindelwald, trying to dig out more truths from the depths of the other's mysterious smile and heterochromatic eyes.

Grindelwald seemed quite pleased with Dumbledore's reaction. He didn't avoid the sharp gaze, but instead met it head-on, as if to say: See, I knew you'd react this way. He said nothing more, simply waiting quietly for Dumbledore's decision after his initial shock. The air atop the tower seemed to solidify into amber, firmly sealing the turbulent undercurrents and silent struggle between the two. Even the crystalline brilliance seemed to freeze, leaving only the heavy, slow breathing of the two old men, and the faint yet persistent warmth emanating from the outside world, represented by the cold pie.

"Da da da~"

Dumbledore's fingers unconsciously traced the cold edge of the stone table as his mind raced.

Grindelwald's prophecy was terrifying.

The information involving "raven" was even more shocking.

but.

Raven... Dumbledore's eyes struggled frantically.

His longing arose.

Grindelwald really hit his weak spot!