The brown-haired girl flitted out of the Room of Requirement like a lively skylark. The door silently closed behind her, sealing off the faint sounds of laughter from the corridor outside. Inside, it returned to silence, with only the gentle crackling of the wood in the fireplace breaking the tranquility.
Don't ask why we have to light a fireplace in almost June—it's a Hogwarts tradition.
William sat at the table, his fingers gently stroking the cold metallic edge of the silver pocket watch. The simple embossing on the watch cover flowed with a soft warmth in the firelight.
But soon, the slight smile on his lips slowly faded, the warmth in his eyes gradually replaced by a profound calm.
As if prepared in advance, the heavy stone door of the Room of Requirement did not open with a push or any harsh sound; it simply slid open to the inside as naturally as a curtain being drawn open on a stage.
William stood up, not immediately putting the pocket watch into his pocket, but letting it rest quietly in his palm, feeling its heavy weight. Then he turned around to look at the uninvited Old Bee, while in the kitchen, Dobby also paused, smartly vanishing into the air without reminding William.
Albus Dumbledore stood there, not wearing his usual flamboyant, vintage wizard robes, but rather a dramatically plain deep blue dressing gown, almost blending with the wall beside the door frame. Sparse moonlight streamed through the high window above, barely outlining the old man's silver hair and beard, making his eyes behind the half-moon glasses appear even more profound.
"Good evening, William."
Dumbledore's voice broke the silence, gentle as always, like a bowl of perfectly salted tofu pudding on a winter night market, carrying a comforting warmth. "I hope I'm not interrupting... a little celebration among young people." His gaze quickly glanced over the pocket watch in William's hand without lingering, though it contained an unspoken understanding.
"...Are you here to catch a premature romance?"
"?"
The conversational atmosphere Dumbledore tried to maintain shattered with William's comment, and the old man's expression broke for a moment before he chuckled and shook his head. "I... even Minerva wouldn't deliberately interfere with the interactions between young people—aah, I do rather miss that kind of youth..."
"You could go on a two-year honeymoon with old Gellert, and I could approve his leave—"
As the current boss of a former Dark Lord, William indicated he wouldn't mind giving his "excellent employee," Grindelwald, a "marriage leave."
"..."
"I could even reimburse your travel expenses. You know, I'm not fond of money."
William put on the guise of a foul capitalist.
A bit thrown off, Dumbledore even momentarily forgot his purpose for coming. The old man first looked around with a puzzled face before finally remembering, "Aren't you going to invite me to sit? An old man's legs aren't as spry as they used to be..."
If you'd said so earlier, I was just about to show you out—
William thought instinctively, but of course, he didn't say it. He simply gestured a "please," and two large, comfortable armchairs appeared on either side of the fireplace. Dumbledore smiled, walking steadily to one of the armchairs and sitting down smoothly, not showing a hint of old age.
After several changes in decoration style over the years, the furnishings here had finally settled down, simple and practical—
The warm yellow fireplace flickered with firelight. Facing the fireplace were two chairs, a small side table piled high with heavy books and scrolls, and a plate of cookies a previous guest hadn't finished.
William seated himself opposite Dumbledore, at just the right distance to clearly see the subtle changes in each other's expressions.
The old man probably sensed something...
Silence once again blanketed the room, but only momentarily. William met Dumbledore's penetrating light blue eyes unflinchingly, reading the same hint in the old man's gaze.
Just last night, the Death Eaters had "migrated en masse," and today old Dumbledore came looking—and he didn't even bring a gift. This British old man really lacks manners...
"I almost forgot—happy birthday, William."
It was as if Dumbledore had read William's jumbled thoughts as he flipped his wrist like a magician, revealing a beautifully wrapped gift box in his hand.
"I hope it's not socks, or candy—"
William accepted the package, and in his hand appeared a crystal ball. Thanks to magic, the white snowflakes floated gently in every corner of the crystal ball without needing a shake. Inside the crystal ball, a young wizard held a magic wand, accompanied by various magical creatures. William smiled, "Thank you."
Thus, this matter was put to rest, and Dumbledore finally spoke again, "I just... visited Mr. Krum." The old man's voice was calm, as if discussing something as ordinary as today's weather—
He lifted his head, his sharp gaze piercing through the firelight to land on William's face. "The Curse Damage Department, the situation is severe, he can't even utter a complete sentence—"
"..."
William didn't speak; instead, he continued to look at Dumbledore, seemingly lost in thought.
"Then, I checked on his injuries, William."
Dumbledore continued, not minding William's gaze, "Just as I don't think Mr. Krum, after escaping from the Dark Wizard's lair from a thousand years ago, would... be conveniently captured by a poacher camp, then conveniently tortured into madness—"
"Serious accusations, Dumbledore. I need evidence—"
"This isn't an accusation, William."
Shaking his head, Dumbledore stuffed a cookie into his mouth, which he had somehow picked up, "Clearly, I have no intention of bringing those 'poachers' to justice. I only want to know if that poor boy can... recover?"
"...If not, he wouldn't have survived until today."
William shrugged nonchalantly. As Karkaroff's closest student, Krum knew too much of what he should and shouldn't know, and to ensure the Durmstrang headmaster's covert environment remained safe, Krum either had to leave England, or...
William didn't like involving innocents in his plans, but sometimes necessary sacrifices had to be weighed, and after consideration, Krum was the best solution. After all, William couldn't guarantee that this yet-to-graduate Durmstrang student wouldn't be approached by Voldemort or whether he could conceal his identity from him—
"...Patience is a good virtue, William. Some things don't need to be rushed."
Dumbledore sighed, seemingly with relief, clearly as helpless as the other healers regarding Krum's injuries, "The lurking venomous insect in the dark may not pose any threat—but if you let the tiger return to the mountain..."
"Then you can blow up the entirety of Jingyang Ridge along with it."
William crossed his legs, folding his hands on his knee, "To eradicate the stubborn illness, a short-term pain is necessary, Dumbledore." The flames in the fireplace flickered briefly, "Peaceful, slow solutions only exist in fantasies. If you can't quickly uproot that venomous insect, the number of innocents it poisons could only increase—"
"..."
Dumbledore fell silent. Although he knew very well Voldemort's nature, at this moment, the old man hadn't yet touched the damned Gaunt Family's ring (Resurrection Stone). He still felt... old but strong; a wizard's age only affects their physical strength, yet wizards don't compete physically, so while he was no longer in his prime, he remained confident—
Moreover, he had William as a "successor."
"Besides, if we don't offer him a glimpse of hope, that fellow might just burrow into a rat's nest like his 'predecessor'..."
William continued, "Dumbledore, you're well aware that lunatic is, in a sense, immortal, even capable of 'eternal life.' If we drag this out, even you, combined with me, and even Harry—prophecy, you told me."
"...Does that boy know his part?"
Dumbledore's figure hunched a bit, and he finally sighed softly, asking.
"Him? He can't know."
...
"...That couldn't have been just a dream, Ron. I clearly saw those people; they broke out of Azkaban, and I was 'right there' at the time! I..."
"..."
"Ron?"
"...Huu~"
Harry turned his head to look at the red-haired boy already asleep in bed. He had to stop his two-hour-long muttering, turning for the forty-sixth time to pick up the copy of the "Prophet Daily," almost worn out by him today, trying to spot any words about "Azkaban" or "escape."
"Perhaps, I really should go and tell..."
The boy thought instinctively, but immediately, a surge of anger nearly broke his all-day-maintained "sage mode."
His breathing involuntarily grew rapid, with intense emotional turmoil stirring in his mind—
Meanwhile, on the other side of Great Britain, a certain noseless creature was "reuniting" with his Death Eater servants, savoring the breath of freedom. Suddenly, he paused, and then, as if realizing something, he smiled "gleefully."