The Old Ones of Hogwarts

Chapter 538-547: The Prelude to Destruction 3

Just as Voldemort, on a deserted island in the North Atlantic, was using the Deep Space Crystal and Mad Echoes to forcibly break through the Legendary barrier and immerse himself in the dark illusion of conquering the world.

London city center.

A family with a long history.

Inside the elegantly decorated but not particularly expensive long-established restaurant "Oak & Moonlight," the atmosphere presents a completely different, subtle, and tense one.

The restaurant is located on a relatively quiet street corner. Warm yellow lights shine through the polished glass windows, casting a cozy glow in the damp night.

The interior is decorated mainly with dark oak, and the walls are adorned with oil paintings depicting the Scottish Highlands or ancient magical creatures. The tables and chairs are spacious, and the tablecloths are pristine white.

It was the tail end of the dinner rush, and there weren't too many customers. Most of them were local regulars or diners who valued the atmosphere, chatting quietly, with the clinking of knives and forks against the plates creating a soft, pleasant sound.

And it was in such a harmonious environment.

Two striking elderly people sat at a two-person table by the window.

"Ah!" Albus Dumbledore, dressed in his deep purple robe embroidered with stars and the moon, his silver hair and beard meticulously combed, his azure eyes behind his crescent-shaped spectacles appearing even deeper than usual, carrying an imperceptible scrutiny and helplessness. On the plate in front of him was a plate of roasted lamb chops with Yorkshire pudding and pea puree, which he had only touched a few times.

He held a glass of red wine in his hand, but only took occasional sips. His gaze was mostly fixed on the hazy night outside the window, or... across from him. Across from him, Gellert Grindelwald was enjoying his dinner with a manner quite incongruous with his age and past status—an almost pious concentration.

The first Dark Lord has changed into a simpler dark gray travel robe, but the collar still shows subtle embroidered patterns in the style of his former luxury.

He ordered a complete set meal.

A set meal that includes an appetizer, soup, main course and dessert.

"Don't rush, Dumbledore." At this moment, he was cutting the main course—a meticulously prepared Wellington steak—with elegant but slightly slow movements. The crust was golden, and the filet mignon inside was a perfect pink, paired with delicate foie gras and black truffle mushroom filling. "It won't matter if I eat something from outside, will it?" Grindelwald chewed each bite carefully, as if savoring a delicacy he had lost and then regained.

It also seemed like some kind of ritual was being performed.

His heterochromatic eyes were lowered, long silver eyelashes casting soft shadows under the light. His face showed no exaggerated expression, but the slight narrowing of his eyes and the occasional pauses, as if savoring the moment, revealed a pure, immersive enjoyment. This was his second main course. He had finished every last drop of the French onion soup appetizer, even carefully eating the crispy cheese topping. The cream of mushroom soup earlier had received the same treatment. And now, this rather large Wellington steak was steadily disappearing into his not-so-particularly muscular frame.

Dumbledore had been sitting there for almost an hour. According to their original "plan"—if Grindelwald's story could be called a plan—they should have used this precious time on parole to quickly track down "Raven" or at least that Ministry of Magic employee, Jorgins. But as soon as Grindelwald left the tower and stepped onto the streets of London, breathing in the air of "freedom," his first request was to "have a proper meal."

"Albus, it's been almost half a century." Grindelwald stood on the slightly noisy street, smelling the aroma of food wafting in the air, and said in a calm but undeniable tone, "The food in the Tower... is just for survival. Taste? Texture? Those are long forgotten concepts."

"I need a little time for my old body and numb taste buds to readjust... to the feeling of 'being alive.' It won't take too long, and besides, you need to be well-fed to have the energy to 'observe,' right?" This was obviously a plea for sympathy, but Grindelwald knew that old Dumbledore was all for it.

as predicted.

Dumbledore frowned. He strongly suspected that this was just Grindelwald's excuse to stall for time and enjoy his "freedom," or even that he might be secretly plotting something.

But looking at the other man's unusually aged and...isolated face under the streetlights, and remembering that he had indeed been imprisoned for a long time, the phrase "ready to get back to life" inexplicably touched a complex chord deep within him. Moreover, based on his understanding of Grindelwald, if the other man truly wanted to cause trouble, a short meal wouldn't be enough to stop him.

Finally, under Grindelwald's calm yet persistent gaze, Dumbledore relented and chose the restaurant, which looked decent and wasn't too crowded. He had expected it to be just a simple meal, but he hadn't anticipated Grindelwald's...serious, deliberate manner. The wait was agonizing.

This is especially true when you know time is precious, your rivals or collaborators are enjoying themselves, while you are worried about unknown threats and the responsibilities on your shoulders.

"You'd better hurry."

Dumbledore tried to maintain a calm exterior, but his heart was in turmoil.

He pondered Grindelwald's startling speculation about the "Raven," the veracity of the doomsday prophecy, Voldemort's increasingly rampant activities in Britain, and the fragile balance of the wizarding world… Every passing minute made him feel an impending crisis. He tried to use Legilimency to perceive Grindelwald's true thoughts, but the other's mental barrier was like an ancient city wall, forged through countless trials. Strict and unyielding.

Even when focused on eating, they subconsciously remain on guard.

Therefore, he only captured some vague, pleasurable sensations about the taste of food, and a profound, indescribable complexity of emotions. It wasn't purely the enjoyment of freedom, but more like a strange state... a mixture of nostalgia, reflection, irony, and a certain unwavering purpose. "I'm already very fast."

Grindelwald finally finished the last bite of his Wellington steak and wiped his mouth very carefully with a clean white napkin.

He looked up, meeting Dumbledore's suppressed impatience and scrutiny, his heterochromatic eyes appearing unfathomable in the restaurant's warm yellow light. "The chef here is quite skilled," Grindelwald commented calmly. "While it may not compare to the ones in Vienna back in the day, it's still quite good in London these days."

He seemed completely oblivious to Dumbledore's anxiety, or rather, he was aware of it but didn't care.

"Would you like some dessert?" Dumbledore asked, trying to keep his voice calm. The menu included apple pie and toffee pudding. Grindelwald shook his head, his gaze drifting out the window. "No, thank you. My taste buds are pretty much awake."

He paused, then turned to look at Dumbledore, a smile playing on his lips—a smile that was both sincere and mocking. "Thank you, Albus. For this meal, and for... your patience."

Dumbledore didn't respond to the thanks. He set down his glass, leaned forward slightly, and said in a low but undeniably serious voice, "Gellert, we've finished eating. Time is running out. We need to get down to business. You said you could find clues through Jorgins. Now, where is he? How can we approach him 'naturally'?"

Upon hearing this...

The slight relaxation on Grindelwald's face gradually faded, replaced by his usual profound, all-knowing expression. He closed his eyes slightly, as if sensing something.

She opened her eyes again a few seconds later.

"He's still moving. He hasn't gone home, nor has he gone to the Ministry of Magic," Grindelwald said slowly. "He's emotionally stable, without any violent fluctuations of fear or excitement... It seems the reassurance left by our 'Raven' friend is working well. His current location... is approaching the Riverside District, moving slowly, as if he's taking a stroll or hesitating."

He looked at Dumbledore: "Going straight to him would be too abrupt. We need a more... plausible reason. For example, an old wizard who happens to be passing by, curious about the 'minor magical disturbance' that happened in the nearby streets this afternoon, and stumbles upon a shaken Ministry of Magic employee who might know something about it?"

Grindelwald revealed the plan.

Dumbledore immediately understood his meaning: to orchestrate a "chance encounter." Given his status as Dumbledore, it was perfectly reasonable for him to concern himself with unusual magical events occurring on the streets of London.

Having just experienced a fright and been rescued by the "Raven," Jorkins, facing the Hogwarts headmaster's "concern," might reveal some information, and might even subconsciously seek the protection or advice of "authority," which would naturally lead him to the heart of the matter. "Do you know his specific route?" Dumbledore asked.

"My 'little birds' always like to hover around interesting souls." Grindelwald didn't answer directly, but he clearly had a way of tracking. "He'll probably be passing by a riverside promenade near the Black Monk's Bridge in about twenty minutes. It's not crowded there at night, and the view is open, perfect for 'chance encounters,' and also for... observing if there's any particular 'attention' around."

Dumbledore pondered for a moment, then nodded. This was indeed safer than blindly searching or forcibly contacting them.

"Well then, we should get going." Dumbledore stood up and called for a waiter to settle the bill.

Grindelwald slowly stood up, glanced once more at the London night view outside the window, and took a deep breath, as if to firmly remember the "human touch" brought by this dinner.

Then he turned to Dumbledore, and the gentleness and sentimentality he had shown during the meal had vanished from his heterochromatic eyes, replaced by a calm, sharp, and hunter-like focus.

"Let's go, Albus," he said in a low voice. "Let's go see what kind of...surprise that 'raven' that has stirred up our destiny has in store for us."

The two left the warm restaurant and stepped into the chilly London autumn night. One was concerned for the common people, burdened with heavy responsibilities and anxieties about the unknown; the other harbored ulterior motives, concealing prophecies, secrets, and unfathomable purposes. They walked towards the Thames River, toward the Blackfriars Bridge, preparing for a carefully orchestrated "chance encounter."

Meanwhile, on the riverside promenade not far away, Jorgins, who had just experienced a brush with death, was carrying a mysterious pebble, feeling uneasy yet vaguely protected, and was strolling along obliviously, completely unaware that two legendary figures in the magical world were about to be brought together by him and the even more mysterious "Raven".

This creates the first indirect intersection.

Meanwhile, the Dark Lord Voldemort is also stirring. The London night becomes even more enigmatic and turbulent due to different ambitions, secrets, and pursuits.

The heavy stone piers of the Blackfriars Bridge stand silently in the dark waters of the Thames.

Traffic flowed continuously on the bridge.

The lights trailed flowing ribbons of light in the night. The riverside path under the bridge was much quieter, with only a few joggers, strolling couples, and homeless people. The dim yellow glow of the streetlights intermittently spilled onto the damp brick pavement, reflecting the blurry lights on the opposite bank. "Is it here?"

Dumbledore and Grindelwald stood side by side in the shade of a bare old tree beside the trail, maintaining a distance that was neither too close nor too far from the riverbank railing.

Are you sure you're here?

Dumbledore had removed his overly conspicuous star-patterned robes, donning instead a simple dark blue traveling cloak. His hood was pulled low, partially obscuring his beard and hair, but his sharp blue eyes, peering through his glasses, still scanned the path with alertness and focus. "Of course, why would I lie to you, Albus?" Grindelwald, still in his dark gray robes, stood quietly in the shadows, his heterochromatic eyes half-open, as if meditating, or perhaps sensing something. The evening breeze, carrying the dampness of the river, ruffled their clothes. A moment later...

"He's here."

Grindelwald suddenly spoke in a low voice, almost inaudibly.

Dumbledore immediately focused his gaze. At the other end of the path, a middle-aged wizard, thin and with hesitant steps, wearing a slightly worn, dark green robe, was slowly walking towards them. He had his head down, hands in his robe pockets, and shoulders slightly hunched. It was Joggins.

Even in the dim light, you could see the fatigue and lingering fear on his face, but he was much more stable than he had been in that completely broken state that afternoon.

It was clearly Ian's protection that gave them the confidence.

Dumbledore and Grindelwald exchanged a glance. Grindelwald took a small half-step back, blending deeper into the shadows of the trees, like an old man simply lost in thought by the river.

Dumbledore adjusted his breathing, and his face instantly adopted a gentle and slightly concerned expression, like an elder who happened to be taking a walk here and noticed the strangeness of his companion.

He took a few steps forward in the direction Jorgins was coming from, stopping precisely at the edge of a streetlamp's glow, pretending to be captivated by the night view across the river. As Jorgins, head bowed and lost in thought, was about to pass by him, Dumbledore turned around just then, as if he had only just noticed him.

Then.

The principal, an Oscar-winning actor, spoke up.

"Good evening, Jorgins. It's so late, taking a walk alone? The river can be calming, but it's cool at night, so you should probably head home early."

His tone was natural, carrying the concern of an elder, and not at all abrupt.

Jorgins was startled by the sudden sound and looked up to see an old wizard whose face was mostly covered by a cloak and hood, but whose demeanor was gentle and refined.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

Old Deng still held a significant place in his heart.

After all, he is the embodiment of justice.