Hagrid's hut had become a regular gathering spot for Qin Yu and his friends.
Nestled beside the Forbidden Forest, with sweeping views of the distant mountains and air fresh as spring water, it was the perfect retreat. Sometimes, if they were lucky, they'd catch a glimpse of the magical creatures Hagrid cared for—though most kept well out of sight. The only exceptions were the unicorn mother and her foal, who would occasionally wander over for a feast of crisp carrots, departing with regal grace once satisfied.
If anyone found themselves truly bored, there was always the Whomping Willow nearby—a favorite dare for George and Fred. According to them, the Willow's temper was as fierce as its branches, and it didn't just threaten to hit you—it really did, and it really hurt. Not that anyone else was eager to test their luck.
All in all, everyone loved spending time here—as long as Hagrid didn't offer up his infamous rock-hard biscuits or that mysterious, blackish sour porridge.
Today, with the sweet taste of victory from the Quidditch match still fresh, the entire Gryffindor team had gathered in celebration, joined by Monie Wanda, now dressed in casual clothes.
At Hogwarts, students were free to dress as they pleased outside of classes or formal events, though many were too lazy to change and simply stayed in their robes.
As for the food, Hagrid had made a trip to Hogsmeade, using Galleons provided by Qin Yu.
Ever since Acromantula Venom found its market, they'd made a tidy profit. Qin Yu finally felt at ease financially—after setting aside enough for Hermione's books, supplies, and a broomstick, he could spend the rest as he wished. Not that there were many places to splash out yet; the biggest expense was still snacks and drinks from Hogsmeade.
…
While Qin Yu and his friends feasted and laughed in Hagrid's hut, Albus Dumbledore, who had been away for most of the day, quietly returned to Hogwarts.
Not long after, Professor McGonagall, resplendent in emerald-green robes, entered the circular headmaster's office.
She gave a brief account of the day's Quidditch results, but couldn't help asking, "Albus, what happened this time? Why did they summon you with such urgency?"
Dumbledore fell silent for a moment before answering slowly, "A messenger arrived from Brazil. He claimed that Aurors from the Brazilian Ministry of Magic had uncovered a group—one that's becoming a serious threat, and whose influence is spreading. What they're preaching sounds eerily similar to the ideas of an old friend of mine…"
"An old friend? Which one?" McGonagall's brow furrowed.
Dumbledore's "old friends" included more than a few formidable figures—some of whom had caused no small amount of trouble in their day.
Fortunately, with Dumbledore around, none of them ever met a particularly happy ending.
—Which is to say, being friends with Dumbledore requires caution. If you ever stray from the right path, Albus himself will set you straight, no matter how close you once were.
"Gellert Grindelwald," Dumbledore said at last, voicing a name he hadn't uttered in over forty years.
"Grindelwald?" For once, McGonagall's usually impassive face showed open surprise. "But… wasn't he captured and locked away in Nurmengard?"
Nurmengard—a prison as infamous as Azkaban, built to contain only the darkest of wizards.
Back in 1945, during a legendary duel, Grindelwald—once considered the most powerful Dark wizard in history—was defeated by Dumbledore and imprisoned in Nurmengard.
It was ancient history now. If Dumbledore hadn't brought it up, McGonagall might have forgotten him entirely.
After all, every era has its own monsters. In the wake of Grindelwald, an even darker lord had risen, shaking the wizarding world to its core and turning Grindelwald's story into little more than a shadow.
But those who had lived through Grindelwald's reign of terror could never truly forget. He had plunged the magical world into a time of madness and darkness.
"Grindelwald is still imprisoned, and Nurmengard's security is tighter than ever—there's little chance he could escape. I've just returned from seeing him myself. He told me, quite plainly, that whatever's happening outside isn't his doing. Still, he hopes someone will inherit his will… He repents for his crimes, but he remains convinced that some of his beliefs were right…" Dumbledore finished with a weary sigh.
Grindelwald's will—the doctrine of wizard supremacy. Wizards, he believed, should rule the world, not cower in the shadows. His vision was to unite the magical world and crush Muggles beneath its heel.
"So, you think someone's using his name to build a new following?" McGonagall's voice was grave.
"I'm afraid so. You know as well as I do—his ideas still find eager ears among certain wizards, perhaps even more so than Voldemort's. And after all these years, people still call him 'You-Know-Who'…" Dumbledore's worry was clear.
"You-Know-Who" was, of course, Voldemort—a name still spoken only in whispers. With the ten-year mark approaching, Dumbledore couldn't shake the feeling that the Dark Lord might return.
One Voldemort was trouble enough. Now, with a new wave of wizard supremacists on the rise, Dumbledore felt the weight of it all pressing down on him.
He glanced at Fawkes, his phoenix, perched serenely nearby. For a brief moment, loneliness flickered in his eyes.
No matter how powerful a wizard may be, none can stand against the slow erosion of time.
The moment passed quickly, but not so quickly that McGonagall missed it. In her calm, steady voice, she said,
"Albus, you mustn't lose heart. I believe the magical world's future is bright, because there are so many brave, good young people who stand for what's right. Even if we can't finish the work ourselves, they will carry it on."
"Young people…" Dumbledore echoed, his gaze clouded with sadness, anger, guilt, regret, and anxiety—all at once. But these feelings vanished almost as soon as they appeared, replaced by resolve, composure, and unyielding determination.
"You're right, Minerva. The magical world's future will be bright! I'll do what I can for those young people." He seemed to speak as much to himself as to McGonagall. "It seems I'll need to adjust my plans."
"Headmaster Dumbledore, I am at your service," McGonagall said with a gentle smile.
"Thank you, Minerva," Dumbledore replied.
—Dimensional Wall—
Author's Note: Regarding Grindelwald's transformation in his later years, let's go with the version in this book. Don't worry too much about the differences—films and novels each have their own take.
And yes, I know everyone's anxious. Trust me, I am too…
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
Explore More Amazing Fanfiction on My Patreon!
Unlock 30+ Advance Chapters and Enjoy Exclusive Stories Early!
👉 patreon.com/GoldenLong