"Given Scrimgeour's stubborn, unyielding nature, the time we arranged with him was a little later than the one with you..." Bones glanced at the pocket watch on him, adjusted his Monocle again, and said apologetically, "We thought communicating with you first... would be more conducive to how things develop."
Hermione looked a little displeased when she heard that. He was clearly the one who had made a mistake and wanted to beg for mercy, yet somehow it had turned into them being the ones begging. Allen, however, remained fairly calm. During the waiting time that followed, they chatted idly about some news in the Magical World. The topics were all relatively light, and no one brought up the controversy over the Ministry of Magic's earlier actions again.
Just as Dumbledore's bottle of Mead reached the bottom, bright green flames suddenly sprang up in the empty fireplace grate beneath the Marble Fireplace in Grindelwald's home. They watched as Scrimgeour appeared in the middle of the fire, spinning rapidly like a top. A few seconds later, Scrimgeour stepped over the fireplace grate. His tawny hair and thick eyebrows were dusted with soot. As he stood on the exquisite carpet in the living room, a feather duster automatically flew over and brushed the soot from the sleeve of his Blue-black Cloak.
When Scrimgeour raised his face, Allen realized he looked much older than the last time they had met. His grizzled hair was somewhat disheveled, and he was thin and haggard, but his expression was stern. His sharp, prey-stalking gaze swept over everyone one by one before finally settling on the empty wineglass and bottle.
The atmosphere in the room instantly froze. Flint felt a little uneasy and instinctively shifted closer to Bones.
"So the discussion is already over? Have you reached a