The Old Ones of Hogwarts

Chapter 529, Section 538: Believers in Deep Space 3

At the top of the ancient stone tower, the air seemed to have frozen for a thousand years.

The cool, crystalline glow wasn't enough to dispel the corner's depth, but it clearly outlined the stone table, the ancient scrolls, and the figure draped in a dark gray cloak. Steam rose, mingling with the ethereal light emanating from the book, seemingly from the depths of time's dust. The cloaked figure—Gellert Grindelwald—even imprisoned, even with the years etched deeper marks on him than on ordinary people, still possessed the unique aura of the former Dark Lord, the Great Prophet.

It remains like an iceberg submerged in the deep sea, vast yet restrained, silently permeating this quiet space.

He was not bound by shackles. This tower was less a prison and more a custom-made, incredibly sturdy, and isolated cage, constructed from his own partially "voluntary" promise, the fear of the International Wizarding Federation, and the will of a particular individual. Grindelwald of this era had long been accustomed to this absolute solitude, even savoring a transcendent tranquility within it for reflection, and... observation.

Observe the filtered fragments of messages that flow into the tower through special means.

He was also observing the world outside the tower, a world he had once tried to reshape according to his own will, but which now seemed to be sliding into another chaotic abyss after his "failure".

"This era... I really miss it." Just as his fingertips unconsciously touched the oil paper wrapping, feeling the warmth and fragrance that did not belong to the coldness inside the tower but to the mortal world.

Outside the stone gate.

"Da da da~"

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps, deliberately lightened yet unable to conceal their tension, could be heard. These were not the usual numb, silent guards delivering basic supplies; the footsteps carried a clear hesitation and reverence.

A moment later, the stone door was knocked on, the sound echoing in the empty tower top.

"Mr. Grindelwald."

A middle-aged wizard's voice came through, trying to remain calm but with a slight, almost imperceptible tremor, "Headmaster Albus Dumbledore... has arrived."

Inside the tower, Grindelwald's lips, hidden beneath his hood, curved upwards almost imperceptibly, a smile carrying a sense of having anticipated it, even waited for it for a long time. He didn't turn around, but calmly responded in his voice, honed by years, slightly hoarse yet still clear, "Let him in."

There was a moment of silence outside the door, as if someone felt a little uncomfortable with the taken-for-granted "Let him in" and the implied tone that made it seem as if he was still the master of the place.

But soon, the sorcerer respectfully replied, "Yes."

immediately.

The sound of footsteps cautiously retreating gradually faded into the distance, as if escaping some terrifying pressure field.

guard?

No, not for the tower and its inhabitants, especially for many of the Ministry of Magic personnel assigned there, particularly those who lived through that era or were deeply influenced by their families.

They were less guards and more "attendants" or "watchers" with mixed feelings.

Fear remained, but with the passage of time, a distorted reverence, and even in some secret circles, an unspeakable remnant of loyalty, blurred the lines of "guardianship." Grindelwald was well aware of this, but he had long since lost the will, or rather, the ability, to exploit it. At least, that was the outward appearance.

"Ta-da~"

After a brief silence, new footsteps echoed on the stone steps outside the door. These footsteps were steady and rhythmic, unhurried and deliberate, a stark contrast to the tension of the previous Ministry of Magic official. Each step seemed to tread on a point in time, carrying a composure and unwavering strength born of experience. "Clang~"

The stone door was pushed open again, without any harsh scraping sound, clearly well-maintained, or perhaps enchanted. A tall, imposing figure appeared.

He wore a deep purple robe embroidered with stars and the moon, and his long, silvery-white hair and beard cascaded down like a waterfall. Behind his crescent-shaped glasses were a pair of bright blue eyes.

Sharp and intelligent.

At this moment, the old man seemed to pierce through the dust of decades, looking directly at the figure behind the stone table, whose back was to him and who was wrapped in a dark gray cloak.

"Good evening."

Albus Dumbledore stood in the doorway, not immediately coming in.

His gaze swept across the almost ascetic environment atop the tower, finally settling on that figure from behind. His eyes were complex, containing concern, scrutiny, a hint of weariness, and something else... a complexity that Dumbledore himself in this era might not have fully realized, yet which was keenly observed by the prisoner in the tower.

It was a profound longing, weathered by time and countless responsibilities. This longing was not directed at the specific, imprisoned Grindelwald before them.

Instead, it was a golden phantom that had long since vanished into the summer valley breeze and the daydreams of youth.

Good evening, Albus.

Grindelwald seemed to sense the weight of that gaze, and slowly, with an elegance reminiscent of old-time aristocrats, he turned the high-backed chair beneath him.

The shadow of the hood shifted slightly with the movement, revealing the lower half of his face—Grindelwald's jawline was still clearly defined, but his skin was covered with deep wrinkles.

His lips were thin and pale, like the cracks of a dried-up riverbed. However, when his gaze met Dumbledore's, his heterochromatic eyes, sharp as a hawk's even in the shadows and seemingly burning with cold flames, instantly illuminated his aged face, bringing a chilling, age-defying penetrating power.

In Grindelwald's eyes.

The image of Dumbledore was also reflected in the eyes of the person in the photo, but the emotions in their gaze were more complex, more direct, and more...meaningful than the longing in Dumbledore's eyes.

The two looked at each other.

Only the crystal-clear light flowed from the top of the tower, along with the increasingly faint warmth emanating from the pie.

In the end, Dumbledore spoke first, his voice gentle but carrying a businesslike distance, as if he were receiving a difficult visitor in the Hogwarts Headmaster's office.

"Gellert. The guard informed me you requested a meeting. What is it?" He stepped into the tower, gently closing the stone door behind him, separating the inside from the outside. The action was so natural, as if he were the master of this place.

Grindelwald's lips curved upwards again, this time with a more pronounced arc. He didn't answer immediately, but instead pointed to a simple stone bench opposite the stone table—it was usually empty.

What kind of visitors does the Dark Lord usually have?

"Sit down, Albus. Tea?"

His tone was casual, as if old friends were catching up, rather than a meeting between prisoners and guards.

Dumbledore did not refuse, and walked to the stone bench and sat down, his posture upright. He watched as Grindelwald raised his hand and gently tapped the empty space on the stone table with his wrinkled but steady fingers.

A simple yet clean white porcelain tea set appeared out of thin air, and the teapot tilted automatically, pouring steaming, clear amber liquid into the cup.

Then the teacup flew smoothly to Dumbledore's side.

"Ceylon tea, I remember you liked it."

Grindelwald said he also picked up a glass, moving slowly.

"Your magic still seems as sharp as ever." Dumbledore looked at the teacup in front of him, then at Grindelwald, without immediately touching it. He was testing the waters.

"One should always make their life more convenient."

Grindelwald answered without hesitation.

"Thanks."

Dumbledore nodded, speaking calmly, his gaze still probing. Silence fell between them again, broken only by the rising steam from their tea.

The silence wasn't entirely awkward, but it was filled with decades of estrangement, unresolved issues, and the unknown purpose behind this meeting. Grindelwald seemed to enjoy the silence, sipping his tea and glancing between Dumbledore's face and the open ancient book, or... the now-cold pie beside him.

Dumbledore finally ran out of patience, or rather, he was no longer willing to play this silent game. He put down his teacup, the ceramic clinking lightly against the stone table.

"Gellert".

He spoke again, his voice lower, "I have limited time. There are many things to do at Hogwarts, and you know the situation in the wizarding world. Just tell me, what do you want from me?"

Voldemort was very active at this time.

Dumbledore was indeed exhausted.

Grindelwald also put down his teacup, placing his hands folded on his knees, a posture reminiscent of a monarch about to begin negotiations, despite being imprisoned. He raised his eyes, looking directly at Dumbledore, his heterochromatic pupils appearing exceptionally deep in the dim light.

I want to go out for a bit.

He said it in a flat tone, as if he were saying, "I'd like another cup of tea."

"Hmm?" Dumbledore's brows furrowed instantly, and the gentleness in his azure eyes was replaced by sharpness.

"Get out?" His voice remained steady, but its unwavering authority was like a rock. "Gellert, you should know your situation. Nurmengard... or rather, this tower, is your chosen destiny, a forbidden zone jointly secured by the International Wizarding Federation and myself." "Until the end of your life. This decision will not change."

Dumbledore appeared resolute.

“Until the end of my life…” Grindelwald repeated the phrase with amusement, a slightly sarcastic smile playing on his lips. “What a long yet short timeframe, Albus. But you misunderstand. I’m not referring to my main body wanting to leave this rather charming ‘Tower.’” He shrugged, gesturing around. “I just want to… use a small, harmless clone spell to get some fresh air. I can assure you, that clone carries no magic, merely an illusion, an extension of my senses, to see the sky and the streets as they are now.” “To breathe… not the stale air here, but ‘fresh air’.”

Grindelwald seemed very sincere.

Dumbledore stared intently at him, trying to find any trace of conspiracy or lie in that wrinkled yet still alluring face. "A doppelganger spell? Without magic?" He slowly shook his head, his tone filled with deep disbelief and wariness. "Gellert, after all these years, you still haven't... given up?"

"What are you plotting now? Do you think you can fool me with this excuse?" Clearly, Dumbledore didn't trust his old friend much. But faced with Dumbledore's questioning, Grindelwald wasn't angry. Even the sarcastic smile on his face faded, replaced by a strange yet almost calm gaze.

He stared at Dumbledore for several seconds before slowly speaking, his voice carrying an unusually calm tone.

"Albus, I really just... want to see the world as it is now. To take a walk, watch the clouds, watch the crowds, smell the freshly baked bread from the bakery, listen to the noise of the streets... these things have been too long ago for me."

He paused, his gaze seemingly drifting into the distance, "So long ago that I've almost forgotten what it feels like to have rain on my face, forgotten the sound of autumn leaves under my feet."

These words, rather than being an explanation, sound more like a sigh tinged with weariness.

Dumbledore remained silent, his sharp gaze undiminished, but something deep within seemed to have been touched. He knew Grindelwald was skilled with words, adept at manipulating people, but the genuine longing for the most ordinary things in the other's voice at this moment didn't seem like pure acting. Especially considering the other's aged appearance and the reality of being trapped in a predicament…

Seeing Dumbledore remain silent, Grindelwald suddenly changed the subject, adopting a perfectly timed tone, almost one of melancholy, quite different from his usual demeanor: "Besides... Albus, we're both old. I'm here, living in darkness for years, my magic dormant... I know my own body."

"I'm afraid my time is really running out." He coughed softly, his voice unusually clear in the silent tower top. "Perhaps this is the last time I'll have the chance to 'see' outside the tower."

These words, which were almost like "playing the victim," did indeed cause a very subtle ripple in Dumbledore's cold, hard eyes. He knew Grindelwald, and knew that the other was too proud to show weakness easily, but the reason of "not having much time left" combined with the fact that the other's age was indeed far beyond that of an ordinary person and that the long-term imprisonment might have caused damage to his vitality.

It's not entirely impossible.

More importantly, deep down, Dumbledore harbored a complex and inseparable affection for the person before him. It was an imprint of his youth, a resonance of colliding talents, and also the root of immense pain and regret. This emotion prevented him from remaining completely unmoved by such a plea and from looking away.

He glanced at the half-cold tea, his voice lower and weary: "You didn't need to inform me at all, Gellert. The guards here..."

Dumbledore didn't finish his sentence, but the meaning was clear.

Over the years, he was well aware that many in the tower's "guardian" system harbored ulterior motives and even secretly held a distorted loyalty or awe towards Grindelwald.

all of these.

How could Dumbledore not know?

There are too many remaining saints or those influenced by his ideas. If Grindelwald really wanted to use some covert means to create a clone to go out and take a look, he might not be unable to do so silently.

Or.

It could certainly be done silently. Thinking of the man before him, and then of the Dark Lord he was currently dealing with, Dumbledore couldn't help but feel the difference was truly immense.

One relies on violence.

One relies on personal charisma.

A world of difference.

"What?" Grindelwald pretended not to understand the deeper meaning in his words, only shaking his head slightly, his tone becoming more serious again: "No, Albus. I'm doing this out of respect for you. Respect for our... agreement, and respect for you as one of the most important maintainers of order in the magical world." "I don't want this little thing to further damage the pitiful, remaining trust between us." Grindelwald's gaze was filled with sincerity.

perhaps.

It's also a deep affection in the eyes of female fans of BL (Boys' Love).