That Dream

"Professor, do you believe in fate?"

Leaning forward slightly, Klein's expression was utterly serious.

"I thought that was the kind of dialogue you only saw in novels. Alright, I believe in fate."

Unable to help but chuckle, the old man's eyes carried a relaxed air, but as if sensing that was inappropriate, he quickly corrected himself and followed Klein's lead.

"On a cold winter, I was cast out of the Grindelwald family estate. Back then, I was still a six-year-old child who knew nothing."

A look of reminiscence crossed his face as Klein, playing the part of Grindelwald, spoke slowly.

"Aside from the thin clothes on my back, the only things I had were a nearly broken ownerless wand and a tattered spellbook no one wanted. That night, I curled up on a street corner, clutching the wand and spellbook, leaning against the wall as I drifted off into a daze."

He toyed with the purple sandalwood wand, his gaze seeming to pierce through endless years.

"I had a dream—a very real dream.

In the dream, I scraped by on the streets of Berlin for a few years, and at eleven years old, I received an admission invitation from Durmstrang. After enrolling smoothly, my magical talent gradually revealed itself. In class, I was always the first to raise my hand and answer questions, and the professors took a liking to me. My abilities were further developed, and I even earned the title of 'Most Talented Wizard in Durmstrang History.'

But good times don't last—my background was exposed.

'Grindelwald'—that surname was an unforgettable nightmare for them. As expected, I faced persecution: first from classmates, then the school, and finally the entire magical world. In my sixth year, I was expelled without reason and returned to the streets of Berlin."

It was a long story, but Dumbledore listened intently. He could clearly sense the myriad emotions Klein experienced while recounting his dream.

Excitement, pride, loss, confusion, resentment.

The old man felt as though he had witnessed firsthand the fall of a favored child from grace into the mortal world.

"Right after being expelled, I still clung to a naive fantasy, trying to use my intellect to reverse the impression of 'Grindelwald' in the magical world. So I kept inventing and improving spells, exploring alchemy formulas—I did everything I could think of to contribute to the magical world.

But what I didn't expect was that the more I did, the more tense the outside world became. They enjoyed the conveniences brought by innovation without a second thought, yet feared me—this 'monster' who only shut himself in a room to study magic.

In the end, an anonymous vote threw me into prison."

Klein paused, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He was laughing at how utterly naive he had been back then.

"So I killed my keepers and turned them into inferi—those people were right, I am a dangerous one. Hah, someone raised on the streets is anything but harmless.

The inferi and the dead broke through the prison, and I resolved to exact revenge. To breach the German Ministry of Magic, I even summoned demons.

Everyone—everyone who dared stand in my way—died."

His sapphire-like eyes held no ripple of emotion, and Klein's tone remained as flat as ever.

Dumbledore sighed, subtly furrowing his brow.

"After that, my power grew and grew. Countless wizards chose to follow me. In less than three years, I became the first emperor of the Magic Empire."

Under normal circumstances, an eleven-year-old claiming to have become an emperor in just three years would be laughed out of the room.

But Dumbledore didn't laugh; his expression was instead very serious.

No one understood the nature of wizards better than he did. Wizards who preferred seclusion might exist, but the ambitious were far from rare—otherwise, Gellert and Tom wouldn't have had so many fanatical followers.

If there truly was a wizard capable of crushing everything in his path, even if he himself was unwilling, the ambitious would find ways to push him onto the throne.

"Without any accidents, the empire would soon transition from the magic world to the real world, waging war against ordinary people.

Ha, pistols, missiles, even nuclear bombs—their destructive power is indeed formidable. But silently controlling the heads of state only takes a simple spell. In the end, the empire would rule the whole world—that's beyond doubt."

Dumbledore remained silent as Klein continued.

"And as the empire's emperor, I could use things like the 'Philosopher's Stone' and the 'Elixir of Life' to extend my life indefinitely. Even if rebellion occurred, the contingencies I'd hidden all over the world would ensure I wasn't annihilated. After a century of recovery, there would always be a chance to make a comeback.

But I knew—"

He suddenly raised his tone.

"This isn't what I wanted!"

Dumbledore and the portraits of the headmasters on the wall were startled. After a second's pause, Klein went on.

"Later, I woke up. I was still curled up on the streets of Berlin. No empire, no emperor—but my mind had gained a lot of things."

"So you had a 'prophetic dream,' in which you acquired a great deal of knowledge and experience?"

Stroking his graying beard, Dumbledore was silent for a long time before suddenly smiling.

"Perhaps 'a powerful evil wizard took over a young body' is more reasonable—far more credible than some 'prophetic dream.' What do you think?"

"Fate, Professor. This is fate. Fate gave me a warning!"

Klein ignored Dumbledore's remark and reiterated his point.

"If I were some evil wizard, I might be able to fabricate such a lie. But what about the events that are bound to happen along the destiny trajectory? Could I fabricate those too?

Before I became emperor, many major events would occur in the European magic world. Two of them are your death and Voldemort's resurrection."

Voldemort?!

Dumbledore's pupils contracted. The vague foreboding that had lingered in his heart suddenly magnified countless times. But he said nothing, still listening quietly.

"Voldemort—that guy called the 'Second-Generation Dark Lord.' I don't know much about him, but I've heard of him. You die, he resurrects, and in the end, he's defeated by Harry Potter. That's all I know."

After the initial shock, the old man quickly calmed down.

"This doesn't prove anything. Perhaps you're spouting nonsense."

"I knew you wouldn't believe me."

Klein shrugged and directly played the "King's Bomb."

"Severus Snape, our Head of House, is the spy you left behind Voldemort's side, isn't he?"

Hiss!

Dumbledore sucked in a cold breath inwardly, his facial expression unchanged.

"After Voldemort was defeated, Potter explained everything in the newspaper. Now, you should believe me, right?"

With a wink at Dumbledore, Klein jumped off the desk and stood quietly in the center of the office.

"It seems I have no choice."

A bitter smile curling at the corner of his mouth, Dumbledore stroked his graying beard.

He needed a moment to steady his heart.