"Let's go. I still need to visit my brother Aberforth. We agreed to have dinner together tonight," Dumbledore said, putting on his coat and walking toward the door with measured steps.
"If you need anything, go find Minerva."
"Dumbledore has a brother?" Lally asked with obvious surprise.
Several people looked at her and pursed their lips knowingly, saying nothing.
That evening, the group gathered at the Hog's Head Inn, the warm fire crackling in the hearth. Professor McGonagall sat behind Aiden, rubbing his face with obvious delight, her fingers gentle against his scales.
"Such a nice feeling. I hope I can have a child like you someday," Professor McGonagall said, smiling with genuine happiness.
"Professor..." Aiden wanted to warn her, but in what capacity should he do so? The weight of future knowledge pressed against his tongue.
"What's wrong?" Professor McGonagall asked, slightly curious at his hesitation.
"You know I'm a seer. If you believe in my third eye... please stay away from Venomous Tentacula on the day happiness arrives."
Originally Aiden wanted to directly warn her about her husband's fate, but the Dreamweaver's eyes saw through the collective unconscious sea with terrible clarity. He saw the storm that would arrive because of his words—how prophecy itself would twist and reshape reality around his warning.
If Aiden spoke of future events now, they would inevitably become self-fulfilling prophecies. Facing the expectation of the collective unconscious sea, Aiden forcibly swallowed the words about to escape his lips, tasting bitter regret.
He also understood why those prophets who could foretell the future were always so frustratingly vague.
"I will," Professor McGonagall said. By her expression, she didn't seem to take it to heart, dismissing it as youthful fancy.
Letting her continue rubbing his head affectionately, Aiden felt a mixture of conflicting emotions churning inside him.
On the other side of the room, Dumbledore's group were still exchanging pleasantries near the bar.
"Miss Barebone, I trust my brother hasn't been inhospitable?" Dumbledore asked, taking off his coat and hanging it carefully on the rack.
"No, he was very warm," Bunty said, placing her hands politely in front of her and answering with serious sincerity.
"That's good. Accommodation has been arranged for you in Hogsmeade, and Aberforth will prepare a delicious dinner for you."
Dumbledore patted Aberforth's shoulder and turned to walk upstairs.
Bang! Aberforth pulled out a pot of gruel and slapped it harshly onto everyone's plates with a heavy spoon, the sound echoing through the inn.
Theseus picked it up cautiously and tasted it. "I've never tasted such ugly-looking food," he said diplomatically.
Aiden had already scrounged a proper meal from Hogwarts's dining hall before coming, so he spent his time chasing the Qilin around playfully, his tail swishing with obvious enjoyment.
The Qilin, thoroughly harassed by Aiden's persistent attention, had no choice but to run to Jacob for protection.
"Whoa, little guy, can you let me eat in peace?" Jacob said. Faced with the Qilin's endearing behaviour, he had to reach out his hand to gently block it.
"She's a Qilin, Jacob. She only shows her friendliness to those pure of heart, so she's very popular in the wizarding world," Newt explained patiently.
"Pure of heart, huh," Jacob said, looking pointedly at Aiden and raising his eyebrows. "But how does she know if someone's heart is pure?"
"She bows to the pure of heart. But no matter who someone is, their heart will contain some darkness. Therefore, for a very long time, we used the Qilin to choose leaders," Lally explained to Jacob thoughtfully.
"Actually, for a very long time, Eastern wizarding traditions held precedence in international magical affairs. They'd established the first comprehensive magical systems, so Western wizards largely deferred to their frameworks," Theseus said, still cleaning the unappetising food from his plate and complaining casually.
"What about now?" Jacob asked, crouching down to share his food with the Qilin.
"That unified system collapsed—civil strife and ideological divisions—allowing European magical communities to assert their own approaches. Both traditions began competing for primacy. This ideological conflict spread from wizards' collective consciousness—the Mirror of Erised—into reality, spawning figures like Grindelwald and Dumbledore," Aiden explained with unusual gravity.
And from behind, he reached out and caught the Qilin, which immediately began trembling in his grasp.
"Wait, what do you mean by 'spawned'?" Newt asked, suddenly feeling chills run down his spine.
"This relates to an Eastern secret. I can't tell you everything. But at least seventy percent of the responsibility for how powerful the things at the very bottom beneath the Mirror have become is ours. The Eastern people are responsible for dealing with another one, which is hard enough as it is."
Aiden sighed deeply. His golden pupil glanced at Newt, and with a flash of otherworldly light, Newt suddenly saw the rioting situation in the fifth and sixth layers of the Deep Realm—chaos incarnate.
"Damn it, we must stop them immediately!"
The Deep Realm King rampaging through New York, wizards being decomposed into particles before his horrified eyes—those nightmarish memories were still painfully vivid.
Newt jumped up and rushed toward the loft stairs. On the way, he caught sight of words formed by swirling mist on the mirror hanging on the wall.
"What's wrong with him?" Theseus asked, thoroughly confused.
"Who knows? Maybe he saw something disturbing," the dragon said, smiling mysteriously.
"So mysterious," Jacob muttered, continuing to tease the Qilin and complaining good-naturedly.
In the loft, Newt heard the muffled conversation between Dumbledore and Aberforth through the thin walls.
Aberforth stood up abruptly, pushed open the door, and walked downstairs with heavy footsteps. Newt stood hesitantly at the doorway.
"Albus, that boy, Credence—he's a Dumbledore?" Newt asked carefully.
"Yes. On the night Gellert and I broke up, they said a girl was pregnant. Aberforth sent her away for her safety. It's a pity. Credence should have grown up surrounded by the Dumbledore family's love. With him, our lives would have been so different."
Dumbledore sadly lowered his gaze, and Newt felt himself infected by the profound sorrow radiating from the older wizard.
"Now he's dying. The phoenix came to find him. The feathers it left turned to ash, showing his time is terribly limited," Dumbledore said, walking to the portrait of his sister with slow, measured steps.
"Just like our sister, Ariana. She was an Obscurial. Like Credence, she never learnt to control her magic properly."
"What happened to her in the end, Dumbledore?" Newt asked gently.
"That night, Gellert and I were preparing to leave. Aberforth disagreed strongly. We had an argument and raised our wands in anger. I don't know if it was my spell that—"
Dumbledore gripped the space between his brows forcefully, overcome with raw sorrow that seemed to age him decades.
"Dumbledore, I don't know if this can comfort you, but perhaps it spared her some suffering," Newt said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Oh, Newt, there's no need for kind lies. Don't disappoint me. Honesty is your greatest quality, even if it can sometimes be heartbreaking," Dumbledore said with a faint, sad smile.
"By the way, Dumbledore, Aiden said the Deep Realm is—" Newt started to speak when Dumbledore immediately stopped him with a raised hand.
He waved his wand with practised precision, and the loft door automatically closed. Multiple Silencing Charms layered themselves over the entire second floor like invisible walls.
"What did he say exactly?"
"Nothing with words. He directly showed me a memory. The fifth and sixth layers of the Deep Realm are rioting violently," Newt said, looking deeply troubled.
"Dumbledore, will we have to face those things again?"
"It's already inevitable. Gellert has already obtained part of the Deep Realm King's power. If we're to stop him, we'll definitely encounter those entities again," Dumbledore said, his voice heavy with resignation.
He also felt the crushing weight of conflicted emotions—duty warring with ancient affection.
"Forget it, let's not talk about this now. Our friends downstairs are also tired from their journey. You should go keep them company."
Dumbledore patted Newt's shoulder with fatherly affection and sent him out, closing the door softly behind him. Alone in the loft, Dumbledore stared at his sister's portrait, lost in memories of choices made and prices paid.