Visitors on a Summer Night

A summer night in 1991, Godric's Hollow.

Among all the half-blood gathering places, Godric's Hollow was perhaps the most famous.

Godric Gryffindor, one of the founders of the magic school Hogwarts, was born here; the wizard goldsmith Bob Wright forged the first Golden Snitch here; the "Dark Lord" who swept almost the entire British wizarding world with terror also met his defeat here.

Of course, that was more than ten years ago.

"Dear Bathilda, long time no see."

Looking at the kind-faced, plump old lady before him, Albus Dumbledore slipped a lighter-like object into his pocket and bowed his head to give her a hug. His long beard completely enveloped his old friend. When they separated, the old man with half-moon spectacles did not hide his surprise and immediately added, "Merlin's Beard, I almost didn't recognize you."

"Heh heh, Albus, come in quickly."

Hearing this, the plump old lady's face lit up with joy. Smiling, she stepped aside to welcome him and invited the greatest wizard and Headmaster of Hogwarts into her house. With a wave of her hand, a hunched little creature with a head as big as a bucket appeared out of thin air, serving two cups of steaming dark brown drinks.

Sitting down on the old sofa, Dumbledore took the cup. A strange scent rushed into his crooked nose. Even with his vast experience, he was baffled.

However, he trusted his old friend not to harm him. Hesitantly, he took a sip, then brought the teacup closer to his crooked nose to sniff it carefully. He looked at Bathilda Bashat curiously and asked, "Bathilda, what potion is this?"

"Potion? Hahaha, my dear Albus, this is not a potion."

As if hearing the funniest joke in the world, the plump old lady burst into laughter. Her voice was as hoarse as an old cat's, but she spoke to Dumbledore with familiarity.

"Alright, it seems that in the face of the unknown, even the great Albus Dumbledore is just an apprentice."

After she finished laughing, she also took the teacup served by the house-elf, took a gentle sip, and then explained to him with a look of comfort.

"This is tea, or rather, herbal tea. The child I mentioned in my letter brought it back from the distant East. To be honest, this tea tastes best when it's cooled, but you know, I'm an old-fashioned fellow and prefer to see the steam rising from the teacup."

Thinking of the child's face, the historian of magic, Bathilda Bashat, author of A History of Magic, couldn't help but show a look of pride and affection.

"Bathilda."

Several flavors intertwined on his tongue, just like Dumbledore's mood. He seemed to want to say something, but as the words reached his lips, he suddenly changed his mind.

"Let me meet the child. There are some things I want to say to him face to face."

"Rocco, go and call the Young Master down."

Bathilda Bashat nodded and instructed the house-elf who stood by attentively.

"Yes."

The little creature with a head as big as a bucket bowed slightly and disappeared with a "pop," vanishing instantly. Not long after, a young man carrying a book slowly walked down the stairs and entered the living room where Dumbledore and Bathilda were.

He wore a decent light-colored linen hunting suit and impeccably polished Kachin leather boots. His light golden hair was casually tied into a short ponytail at the back. His eyes were clear and bright, like stars twinkling in the sky, or like sapphires soaked in a cold spring. His thin lips were pressed together, revealing the seriousness and caution characteristic of Germans.

Dumbledore was slightly stunned.

"Klein, this is..."

Unaware of his old friend's anomaly, Bathilda Bashat smiled and began to speak, but before she could finish, the young man, who looked like he had stepped out of a fresco from St. Peter's Basilica, abruptly interrupted his distant aunt.

"I know. The famous Albus Dumbledore."

He paused, then bowed slightly, his etiquette impeccable.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dumbledore. I am Klein, Klein Grindelwald."

The nostalgic surname reached his ears. Dumbledore's expression remained unchanged, but a hint of complexity flashed in his eyes beneath his half-moon spectacles.

He narrowed his eyes and said in a gentle yet witty tone, "Hello, Klein. It's a great honor to meet you. I've heard a lot about you. Meeting young people with your adventurous spirit always reminds me of my younger self. However, using the Confundus Charm and Obliviate on Muggles is not a good idea. They deserve a certain respect."

Halfway through his sentence, Dumbledore suddenly changed his tone. The old man wore a kind smile, as if advising an old friend of many years.

"I did it cleanly. No one found out. Even the Ministry of Magic doesn't know how I traveled to the Far East or how I got here."

Klein's expression did not change in the slightest.

"Hmm."

Dumbledore was momentarily speechless. He hadn't expected the other party's attitude to be so nonchalant.

This young man felt both strange and familiar to him.

The old man fell silent, his brow furrowing unconsciously.

"Mr. Dumbledore, what are you thinking about? Imprisoning me? I mean, like my great-uncle."

Dumbledore remained silent, but a provocative smile flickered across Klein's lips.

Gellert Grindelwald.

Klein's great-uncle, the most outstanding figure in the Grindelwald family, and the root of the Grindelwald family's decline. The "Dark Lord" who left a deep mark in history was defeated by the great wizard before him.

"Klein!"

Hearing this, Bathilda Bashat's expression changed.

But Klein ignored her and continued speaking to himself.

"Great Mr. Dumbledore, you may not know, but when I was bullied by others under the name of a Grindelwald family remnant, no one helped me; when I watched those people take away one item after another that belonged to me from the manor, no one helped me; when I was finally kicked out of my home by the German Ministry of Magic with only a burnt spellbook and a nearly broken, masterless wand, no one helped me; when I was homeless and could only huddle on the streets of Berlin, no one helped me.

So..."

Klein was smiling, but his eyes were cold.

"Mr. Dumbledore, are you going to send me to the final destination for all Grindelwald clansmen because I cast a spell on a Muggle? I know, that tower is called 'Nurmengard'."

As he spoke, the atmosphere became heavy, as if frozen.

Albus Dumbledore, the great wizard as wise as the vast sea, opened his mouth, but in the end, he couldn't utter a single word. His feelings hadn't been this complicated in a long time. The boy's almost undisguised hostility nearly swallowed him whole.

He couldn't refute it; he was indeed the "culprit" who caused all of that.

"Or, would you prefer I shout that slogan? What was it again, oh, right..."

A hint of playfulness flashed in Klein's eyes.

"For the greater good."

"Alright, Mr. Klein."

Dumbledore gently interrupted Klein.

Suppressing the complex emotions in his heart, he took a deep breath, his expression gradually returning to its original calm and gentle demeanor.

"Your outstanding eloquence has left an extremely deep impression on me. I'm even a little envious of your travels around the world; that must have been very interesting.

However...

Life is never a solo journey. Friends are the most precious treasure. Come to Hogwarts, Mr. Klein. It will become your home."

Only Hogwarts, or rather, only Hogwarts, could melt the ice in a young boy's closed heart.

He believed this with all his heart.