Summer night, 1991. Godric's Hollow.
Among all the settlements where wizards and Muggles lived side by side, Godric's Hollow was perhaps the most famous.
Godric Gryffindor, one of the founders of Hogwarts, had been born there. The wizarding goldsmith Bob Wright had crafted the first Golden Snitch there. And The Dark Lord, whose reign of terror had swept across almost the entire British wizarding world, had met his downfall there.
Of course, that had all happened more than ten years ago.
"Dear Bathilda, it's been a long time."
Looking at the kindly, plump old woman before him, Albus Dumbledore slipped a lighter-like device into his pocket, then bent down and gave her a hug. His long beard completely enveloped his old friend. When they parted, the elderly wizard with the Half-moon Spectacles made no effort to hide his surprise.
"Merlin's beard, I can hardly recognize you!"
"Hehe, Albus, come on in."
The plump old woman beamed at that, smiling as she stepped aside to welcome him. She ushered the greatest wizard of all time and Hogwarts headmaster into the house, then casually beckoned. A hunched little creature with a head as big as a bucket appeared out of thin air, bringing them two cups of steaming, dark-brown liquid.
Settling onto an old sofa, Dumbledore accepted a cup. A strange smell immediately assaulted his crooked nose, and despite all his experience, he couldn't make head nor tail of it.
Still, he trusted that his old friend wouldn't harm him. He hesitantly took a sip, then held the cup beneath his crooked nose to sniff it carefully. Looking at Bathilda Bagshot in bewilderment, he asked, "Bathilda, what kind of potion is this?"
"Potion? Hahaha, my dear Albus, this isn't a potion."
As if she'd just heard the funniest joke in the world, the plump old woman burst into laughter. Her voice was as hoarse as an old cat's, yet her manner toward Dumbledore was warm and familiar.
"Well, I suppose even our great Albus Dumbledore is just an apprentice when it comes to the unknown."
Once she'd laughed her fill, she too accepted a cup from the House-elf and took a small sip. Only then did she explain, looking thoroughly pleased, "It's tea—or rather, herbal tea. The boy I mentioned in my letter brought it back from the distant East. Honestly, it tastes best when it's cooled, but you know me. I'm an old-fashioned sort who prefers to see the steam rising from the cup."
Thinking of the boy's face, the historian and author of A History of Magic, Bathilda Bagshot, couldn't help showing her pride and affection.
"Bathilda..."
Several flavors mingled on his tongue, just as complicated emotions tangled in Dumbledore's heart. He seemed about to say something, but at the last moment changed his mind.
"Let me meet the boy. There are some things I want to say to him face to face."
"Rocco, go fetch the young master."
Bathilda Bagshot nodded and gave the order to the House-elf standing quietly at attention.
"Yes."
The little creature with the enormous head bowed slightly. With a pop, he vanished from the spot. Before long, a boy carrying a book came slowly down the stairs and entered the living room where Dumbledore and Bathilda were sitting.
He wore a well-tailored, light-colored linen hunting outfit and spotless, mid-calf leather boots. His pale blond hair was tied loosely at the back in a short ponytail. His eyes were clear and bright, like stars in the sky or blue sapphires submerged in a cold spring. His lips were pressed into a thin line, reflecting the sternness and caution characteristic of Germans.
Dumbledore was taken aback.
"Klein, this is..."
Bathilda Bagshot smiled as she began to speak, unaware of her old friend's reaction. But before she could finish, the boy, who looked as if he'd stepped out of a fresco in St. Peter's Basilica, abruptly interrupted his distant great-aunt.
"I know. The famous Albus Dumbledore."
He paused, then bowed slightly, his manners impeccable.
"Pleased to meet you, Mister Dumbledore. I'm Klein, Klein Grindelwald."
At the sound of that familiar surname, Dumbledore's expression remained unchanged, but a complicated glint passed behind his Half-moon Spectacles.
He narrowed his eyes and spoke in a warm, genial tone. "Hello, Klein. It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard a lot about you. Meeting a young person as adventurous as you always reminds me of my younger self. But using the Confundus Charm and Obliviate on Muggles isn't a good idea. They deserve a certain measure of respect."
Halfway through, Dumbledore suddenly changed tack. He smiled kindly, as though offering advice to an old friend.
"I was careful. Nobody found out. Even the Ministry of Magic doesn't know how I went to the Far East, or how I got here."
Klein's expression didn't change at all.
"Hmm."
Dumbledore was at a loss for words. He hadn't expected the boy to be so utterly indifferent.
This boy seemed both unfamiliar and familiar to him.
The old man fell silent, frowning without realizing it.
"What are you thinking about, Mister Dumbledore? Sending me to prison? I mean, like my great-uncle?"
Dumbledore said nothing, but a challenging smile tugged at Klein's lips.
Gellert Grindelwald.
Klein's great-uncle, the most outstanding figure in the Grindelwald family—and the reason for its decline. The Dark Lord who had left such a mark on history had been defeated by the great wizard standing before him.
"Klein!"
Bathilda Bagshot's expression changed at his words.
But Klein ignored her and continued on his own.
"Great Mister Dumbledore, you may not know this, but when I bore the name of a Grindelwald remnant and others bullied me as they pleased, nobody came to help. When I watched those people take one thing after another that belonged to me from the manor, nobody came to help. When the German Ministry of Magic finally drove me from my home, leaving me with nothing but a burned spellbook and an ownerless wand that was nearly broken, nobody came to help. When I had nowhere to live and could only curl up on the streets of Berlin, nobody came to help.
"So..."
Klein was smiling, but his eyes were cold.
"Are you going to send me to the final resting place of all the Grindelwald clan because I cast spells on Muggles, Mister Dumbledore? I know what that place is called. Nurmengard."
When he finished, the atmosphere grew heavy, as if frozen in place.
Albus Dumbledore, the great wizard whose wisdom was as vast as the sea, opened his mouth, but in the end couldn't utter a single word. His feelings hadn't been this complicated in a long time. The boy's barely concealed hostility threatened to overwhelm him.
He couldn't deny it. He really was the "chief culprit" behind all of that.
"Or would you rather I shouted that slogan? What was it again? Oh, right..."
A trace of amusement flickered in Klein's eyes.
"For the Greater Good."
"All right, Mister Klein."
Dumbledore gently interrupted him.
Suppressing the complicated feelings in his heart, he took a deep breath. His expression gradually returned to the calm warmth it had held at first.
"Your eloquence has left a deep impression on me. I'm almost envious of your travels around the world; they must have been fascinating.
"However..."
"Life is never a journey taken alone. Friends are the most precious treasure of all. Come to Hogwarts, Mister Klein. It will become your home."
Only Hogwarts—or rather, Hogwarts alone—could melt the ice sealing a boy's heart.
He was absolutely certain of it.
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