In the dim room, the bar owner, Aberforth, was wiping a glass that looked... not quite as dirty with a grimy rag.
At least compared to that colorless cloth, the glass was actually pretty clean.
Perhaps because Hogwarts was on break, the usually lively Hog's Head Inn was unusually quiet. There were only two customers.
"Is this really a good idea?"
After who knew how long, Aberforth finally managed to wipe the glass gray. He looked up and asked:
"You should know better than anyone how dangerous that damn bastard is..."
Across from him sat—or, more accurately, floated above a stool—a man who looked about seventy percent like him.
"If you mean Gellert... yes, I know very well." Dumbledore nodded. He looked at the glass, his expression conflicted.
"Honestly, I feel like I should have listened to the professors and brought my own cup."
"Don't change the subject. I'm not giving you a glass this clean." Aberforth shot him an annoyed look. "Answer me. Why are you letting that bastard wander around wherever he pleases?"
"It isn't that I'm letting him, Aberforth." Dumbledore raised his arm and plunged his entire hand straight through the counter in front of him.
"You see? I'm just a ghost now."
He pulled his hand back and shrugged. "I can't even hold a wand, so how could I stop him from leaving Nurmengard?"
"You..." Aberforth's mouth twitched.
Out of sheer instinct, as Dumbledore's brother, he knew Dumbledore wasn't telling the truth. But he couldn't find any proof.
Because Dumbledore really couldn't hold a wand.
Aside from being in color, Dumbledore was exactly like the ghosts in the castle in every other way.
He had no magic, could only float around, and couldn't touch anything...
"I believe they can handle this trouble, even without me." Dumbledore