Old Men Are All Riddle-Mongers

"Death Eaters..." Sean's eyes flickered.

After witnessing Parseltongue in the Hospital Wing, he had sensed something along those lines. But hearing Dumbledore say it himself still made Sean's breathing grow heavier.

As though he had noticed Sean's anxiety, Dumbledore reassuringly patted his hand. "Don't worry. I've already informed the Ministry of Magic. If necessary, I'll take action myself."

And pull Grindelwald in too—beat the hell out of him! Sean silently cried out.

Dumbledore continued, "Of course, you all did very well. Especially you, Sean. No matter the aspect, you've given me no choice but to admire you."

Looking at the old man's satisfied smile, Sean secretly curled his lip. If you hadn't been away from the school, would I have had to fight for my life?

Then he remembered Quirrell. After telling Dumbledore about what had happened that night, the old man adjusted his glasses. "Oh, I know about that. You needn't worry about it. Your task now is to get some proper rest."

Sean relaxed. He knew it—nothing could escape Dumbledore's expectations. That old man was sly.

He rubbed his still-swollen head, then turned over and got to his feet.

"Professor, if there's nothing else, I'll be heading back?"

Dumbledore looked at him in surprise and asked curiously, "Aren't you going to ask about the other matters?"

Ask what? How had that Mysterious Person infiltrated? Why hadn't Dumbledore been in the castle then?

Sean knew that asking would get him no answers.

He smoothed out the wrinkles in his robes and became that elegant, handsome wizard once more.

"Professor Dumbledore, anything you can tell me, you certainly will. Anything you can't tell me, there's no use asking," he said, turning to wink at Dumbledore. "Just as I have my own little secrets too, right?"

Dumbledore froze slightly. Then his smile widened, until he finally burst into hearty laughter. "Sean, I must say it again—you've already grasped the essence of how old men speak."

If I could beat you, I'd definitely hang banners all over the castle saying: Riddle-mongers, get out of Hogwarts. Sean grumbled inwardly.

"Thank you for the compliment." Sean gave a slight bow, maintaining his elegance and courtesy. "Then I'll take my leave first, Professor Dumbledore."

Dumbledore smiled and nodded.

Before leaving, Sean glanced behind the door. The perch there was empty.

I didn't get to see the phoenix. What a pity... As Sean walked down the spiral staircase, he could not help feeling regretful that he had failed to see Fawkes.

He had coveted that magical creature for a long time, though he absolutely had no ulterior motives.

He definitely did not want to test whether his Magical Creature Affinity worked on phoenixes.

Sean was willing to guarantee it with Young Master Malfoy's hairline.

Once Sean stepped out through the crack in the stone wall, the Gargoyle jumped back in front of it.

Inside the Headmaster's Office, Dumbledore remained seated where he was. His smile stayed on his face before he finally shook his head.

He rose to his feet, walked to the other side of the claw-shaped table, and put on the tattered Wizard Hat.

"Oh, Headmaster, it has been three years, six months, five days, twelve hours, five minutes, and thirty-two seconds since you last wore me. The Sorting Hat sincerely welcomes your return! Next, please allow me to introduce the latest services this hat plans to offer in the new school year..."

"Oh, I'm very interested, but I have some urgent business to attend to. Could you contact your counterpart first?" Dumbledore interrupted the chattering Sorting Hat with a smile.

"Fine, fine. Please wait a moment." The Sorting Hat opened its mouth regretfully.

Before long, Dumbledore heard a voice in his head.

It was still the Sorting Hat's strange tone, but the delight and wildness within it were something no one else could imitate.

"Albus, you actually took the initiative to contact me. Allow me to be happy about it for a while. I'll definitely have a few extra drinks tonight."

"Gellert, sooner or later, you'll die of what Muggles call alcohol poisoning," Dumbledore said heavily.

"Oh!" The voice on the other end sounded even happier. "May I take that as you being concerned about me?"

Dumbledore cut off his self-indulgence and spoke quickly. "Voldemort. Still haven't found out who it is?"

"This is no easy matter, Albus. You want to dig out a timid mole from all of Europe, perhaps even the entire planet. Forgive me, old friend, but that isn't very realistic."

"That's not what you said before."

"But you already have a suspect, don't you?"

"But I have no evidence," Dumbledore said seriously. "I can't wrongfully accuse someone based solely on my own feelings."

"Ha, your instincts have always been accurate—" Grindelwald laughed loudly. "Of course, as I said, I'll help you."

As if unable to stand the other man's enthusiasm, Dumbledore frowned. "Then back to the other matter, Gellert. You're not someone who likes following rules, but you must abide by our agreement."

"I know what you mean, Albus. But I have to say, your trust in me is so low that it makes me a little sad." Grindelwald deliberately adopted a regretful tone.

"Protego Diabolica, and that everlasting Fiendfyre—they were both provided by you, weren't they?"

Grindelwald cried out in surprise, "That is a serious accusation, Albus."

"Gellert." Dumbledore's voice became sterner. "I need to remind you that some conflicts exist only between us, while some matters are not for you to involve yourself in."

"Just like you?" Grindelwald asked in return.

"Yes, just like me," Dumbledore answered frankly.

"Ha—" Grindelwald chuckled softly, his tone turning warm again. "All right, Albus. I promise you, I did not personally intervene."

Hearing the implication in his words, Dumbledore shook his head. "You will understand, Gellert."

"Let me correct you, old friend. I have always understood."

In a tower at Newmontgard, Grindelwald took off the hat on his head. He rubbed his fingers together, and a ball of blue flame sprang to life.

"Ha, what an interesting little rat. Perfect—let's give Albus a little amusement." A pleased smile appeared on his face. Then he stretched out his right hand and made a grasping motion. Within the blue flames, a mass of black mist twisted as it rose, as though it had been violently dragged out by a hand.

In a village in Albania, inside a pitch-black room, a man cloaked in black suddenly opened his eyes.

"Ha—" He let out a long sigh that sounded both delighted and pained.

"As expected of you, Grindelwald. Just as I thought, I can't hold on much longer..."

Then his gaze turned cold and stubborn.

"I will never give up..."

"Eternity—and immortality!"