The night was already deep. It was late autumn, and a biting chill hung over the grounds of Hogwarts.
On the cobblestone path leading from Hogwarts Castle toward Hogsmeade Village, a solitary young figure emerged, coming from the direction of the castle.
He looked like a student, yet judging from his clothing, he didn't quite fit the part.
At the same time, a witch wearing a thick, heavily patched hat happened to pass nearby. She was short, covered in dirt, and her wand emitted a bright glow.
The young man quickly slipped behind a clump of bushes. Without making a sound, his body turned hazy, blending seamlessly into the surrounding darkness.
Professor Pomona Sprout came to a stop, scanning the area suspiciously.
"How strange. I clearly heard something," she muttered to herself.
After cautiously observing her surroundings for a while and confirming that it must have been her "imagination," Professor Sprout concluded her routine patrol and turned away, heading back toward the greenhouses.
The hidden figure remained patiently concealed for another ten minutes or so.
Only after confirming there was no longer any risk of being discovered did he quietly emerge from behind the bushes and continue toward Hogsmeade.
Before long, he arrived at the massive oak gate.
Across the entire gate, more than ten enormous iron locks were arranged in a row, sealing it completely and barring all passage.
He simply reached out with one hand, lightly brushing the gate as he murmured in a low voice:
"Open."
Clang. Clang. Clang.
A series of crisp sounds rang out as the iron locks sprang open one after another, obediently responding to his command.
Only after he had passed through the oak gate did they snap shut again in sequence.
...
"Who's there?"
A flustered voice came from beside the oak gate, a moment too late.
It seemed that the "guard" had been completely caught off guard by someone appearing in the school grounds so late at night.
"Confundo!"
From a place beyond his sight, a calm voice sounded.
The guard's eyes instantly turned dull. He swayed slightly, glanced around in confusion, then slowly sat back down.
Already under a Disillusionment Charm on himself, Jon lightened his footsteps and walked past the Auror stationed to guard Hogwarts.
The man looked powerfully built, with stiff, closely cropped hair and a perpetually stern expression. His hair was gray-white.
Jon was fairly familiar with this Auror and vaguely remembered that his name seemed to be "Dawlish."
Although there was no official curfew, the special circumstances meant that Hogsmeade's streets were almost completely deserted.
The walk toward the village was bitterly unpleasant; the cold stung his face until it eventually went numb.
Following the main road straight ahead, he turned into a side street near the post office.
Soon, two pubs standing opposite each other came into view.
One of them was exquisitely decorated and looked warmly inviting inside.
An ornate sign hung above the door, painted with three flying broomsticks.
A well-built, attractive middle-aged woman in her forties was busy at the entrance.
Madam Rosmerta was pouring the remains of unfinished Butterbeer, mead, red currant rum, and violet water from various glasses into the drain.
She wasn't Jon's destination, however.
He paused in the cold night air, waiting until she finished her work, before continuing on toward the other pub.
The second pub looked small and run-down.
A battered wooden sign hung from a rusted bracket above the door, depicting a severed pig's head, blood seeping through the white cloth wrapped around it.
Jon walked over quickly and knocked lightly on the door.
"Who is it?" a wary voice asked from inside.
"Mr. Dumbledore, it's me!" Jon replied at once.
The door to the Hog's Head opened, revealing a tall, thin old man with gray hair and beard, his expression sharp and his temperament clearly eccentric.
...
"Do you have any Butterbeer? It's freezing in here!"
Jon said, shivering as he ducked into the Hog's Head's basement.
"Hmph… wait a moment," Aberforth Dumbledore snorted.
He picked up a mug and headed toward the barrels.
By the time he returned to the cellar, he found that Jon had already lit the fireplace.
The entire room glowed with a warm red light.
"That's much better!"
Jon exclaimed, taking several big gulps of Butterbeer.
In the painting beside the fireplace, Ariana Dumbledore pressed her lips together and pointed at Jon, letting out a soft laugh.
Aberforth sat opposite him.
The scruffy old man fell silent for a moment, then spoke first.
"You came here because of my brother, didn't you?" he said. "Tell me honestly—where is he now?"
"To be honest, I don't know," Jon replied, setting his mug down. "But I can guess. Professor Dumbledore is somewhere in the East… so maybe he's fishing for salmon on Lake Baikal right now."
"Lake Baikal?" Aberforth said calmly.
"That's thousands of miles away from Hogwarts. My brother never goes that far from Britain unless it's for an international conference."
"But times have changed," Jon replied with a smile.
"I convinced Mr. Dumbledore to experience a new kind of life—one that's much more relaxed."
"Really? You convinced him?" Aberforth frowned. "How did you manage that? No one knows better than I do how stubborn and obstinate he is."
"Actually… it was quite easy," Jon said, gesturing as he explained. "Though it's probably better if you don't know the details."
"Forget it, then, if you don't want to say," Aberforth said, not pressing further.
He picked up a clean rag, walked over to the painting, and carefully wiped the grime from the wall beside it.
In the painting, Ariana Dumbledore's large, watery eyes were filled with worry. She blinked at Jon, as if asking him something.
Jon gave her a solemn nod, signaling that she didn't need to worry.
"That bastard… is he with Albus as well?"
Aberforth asked slowly, his back still turned.
"I heard something interesting from passing travelers. There are rumors that Nurmengard suddenly collapsed and became a pile of ruins. The Austrian Ministry of Magic exhausted every effort but still couldn't determine the cause."
"…And of course, the prisoners held there vanished too," he added in a low voice.
"Your information network is still impressive," Jon said, a little surprised. "You only need to tell me whether it's true or not," Aberforth said.
A hint of anger crept into his voice. He looked like a billy goat ready to charge at any moment.
"Yes," Jon said with a nod. He wasn't lying.
In the painting, the young girl looked at her brother, her eyes filled with pleading.
"Sigh…"
Aberforth let out a heavy breath.
"Enough… enough. After all these years… let it all end."
The old man dropped heavily to the floor and muttered,
"Albus has left Hogwarts. These old bones of mine aren't of much use anymore. Ariana… maybe we should leave Hogsmeade too. Let's go back to Godric's Hollow. What do you think?"
"You mean… you're thinking of selling the Hog's Head?"
Jon said suddenly, his eyes lighting up with interest.
"Mr. Dumbledore, why don't you name a price and sell it to me? A thousand Galleons—how about that?"
"Get lost!"
"But didn't you say… you were planning to leave Hogsmeade?"
"I changed my mind!"
...
After finishing an entire mug of Butterbeer, Jon felt warmth spread through his body.
"If there's nothing else," Aberforth Dumbledore said bluntly, "the Hog's Head should be closing."
"No, no, Mr. Dumbledore, there's one more thing," Jon said quickly.
As he spoke, he set his suitcase on the floor and, after considerable effort, pulled out a large chest from inside it.
"This is…?"
Aberforth frowned.
"I'll have to trouble you to pass this along to Madam Rosmerta at the Three Broomsticks—your neighbor," Jon said with a smile.
"Rosmerta…" Aberforth frowned. "She's been acting rather strangely lately."
"Exactly because she's been acting strangely," Jon replied, his smile unchanged.
"Tell her this was passed to her by Stan Shunpike, and only ended up in your hands by accident. You can make up whatever reason you like. Then tell her that this item needs to be delivered to Draco Malfoy."
"Fine, leave it to me," Aberforth nodded. "So what exactly is inside this chest?"
"This chest?"
Jon replied without hesitation.
"It's a gift from the Dark Lord."