met free Chapter 105, Section 104: Halloween and the Mystery of Grindelwald
Chapter 105, Section 104: Halloween and the Mystery of Grindelwald
Chapter 105, Section 104: Halloween and the Mystery of Grindelwald
On the way back.
Grindelwald fell completely silent, not uttering a word, and pressed Ian's shoulder to activate the door key. He had seen and heard many strange things in his life, but now it seemed that he was still quite inexperienced.
We don't have any major grudges!
How could anyone dig up someone else's ancestral grave? With the activation of the key, Grindelwald, with mixed feelings, and Ian, with an elated expression, disappeared into the quiet wilderness.
It was still that feeling of riding an invisible train; the two of them seemed to be pulled by an invisible force, and the surrounding scenery flashed by like images in a kaleidoscope.
As the strange experience subsided, they returned to the warm office, free from the cold and dampness of the dense forest, with only the faint aroma of tea in the air.
"What exactly do you want to do?" Grindelwald finally couldn't help but ask after returning to Hogwarts. He even noticed that Ian's basket had been enchanted with an expansion charm and a levitation charm to reduce its weight. Even so, Ian still felt it was heavy, which showed just how many skeletons that had suffered unjust calamities were inside.
"Of course, it's to prevent Voldemort from needing them." Ian's main purpose was certainly not that, but he did indeed go to the dilapidated village next door.
The village has been uninhabited for a long time.
However, the cemetery from many years ago is still there. Since old Tom's grave is indeed hard to find, Ian showed his fairness there, a fairness that did not favor one over the other.
There's a reason he made Grindelwald wait for almost an hour.
After all, using magic to temporarily act as a tomb raider is extremely efficient, enough to render even generations of professional tomb raiders like Wu Xie and Hu Bayi unemployed.
If it weren't for the presence of piled stones or even sealed graves blocking the way when the skeletons reappear, Ian wouldn't have needed various shovels, hoes, or other tools to help them.
"Your father's bones, if given unintentionally, can awaken your son; your servant's flesh, if given voluntarily, can bring your master back to life; your enemy's blood, if given under duress, can resurrect your foe—" Grindelwald murmured softly, his gaze toward Ian still carrying a strange feeling.
"It seems you've already finished studying that book, 'Unveiling the Secrets of Cutting-Edge Black Magic,' even trying to guard against such an incredibly demanding ritual. Our Dark Lord's entire family is truly unlucky to have encountered you." At this moment, Grindelwald secretly resolved that after he died, he would make sure others buried him deep.
Ideally, someone no one can find.
Ok.
Having a blood relative does seem to have some significance. He began to consider whether he should treat Aurora better, and also to guard against the possibility that Aurora might tell Ian about the area where he and Dumbledore were buried together. After all, that kid's heart is truly filthy, and who knows if his peace in the afterlife will be disturbed by him.
"I'm counting on you two, please hold off the enemy for me."
Just imagining that such a scene could very well happen, and that his and Dumbledore's bodies would slowly crawl out of the grave, made Grindelwald feel a chill run down his spine and his vision go black.
Why would I give "The Secrets of Cutting-Edge Black Magic" to this guy?
The inner torment caused Grindelwald to lose control of his expression.
"What's wrong, Professor?"
Ian proactively showed his concern, and he was also a little curious, "Logically speaking, you should be able to consider this more than I am. You even know exactly where the Resurrection Stone Ring is. Logically, you should be able to anticipate factors that might cause problems in the future, right?"
The only subject Ian had never truly mastered was divination and prophecy, even though he had once impersonated a diviner.
However, since enrolling, he has not even been able to develop panel-recognized skills in this subject.
"That's because the Resurrection Stone ring concerns our headmaster. Even the most powerful prophet can't see the whole script. The more you want to see, the easier it is for fate to play tricks on you." Grindelwald shook his head and walked to the sink to clean. He seemed to have some kind of obsessive-compulsive disorder when it came to cleanliness.
"I've been reminding you, Ian, that prophecy comes at a price, and the more you know, the greater the price. And you can't gain the right to spy just by paying the price," the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor earnestly reminded Ian about the subject of prophecy.
Ian seemed to be deep in thought.
"I remember that Professor Sybil Trelawney, who taught the divination class, would make dozens of predictions every day. Although many of them were false, sometimes her predictions were surprisingly accurate."
"In The Wizarding Shadows: The Mystery of the Mysterious Man, it was even mentioned that she predicted the death of the Mysterious Man. Such a prediction must have had a great impact on the wizarding world, right?"
D
"But I see Professor Sybil Trelawney still eating everything with great relish, and she hasn't even broken a leg. Last time, she even stole my hot pot from the elf's kitchen." Ian asked, voicing his doubts and the information about the prophet, which was difficult to obtain from the books in the Hogwarts library.
Even in the restricted book section, there weren't many relevant books. What he could find were mostly the personal opinions of many authors, and there were even contradictions between different books.
This is a mysterious group.
Its level of mystery is second only to that so-called Mysterious Affairs Department.
"You truly have a wide range of learning opportunities." Grindelwald gave Ian an approving look, wiping his hands, which he had washed several times, with a towel. He didn't answer Ian's question directly, but instead remarked to Ian, "Our headmaster, Mr. Albus Dumbledore, turned Hogwarts into a charity. That's a kind of generosity and kindness that I can never achieve. That's why he was great and I am different from him."
"Greatness is not just a respectful praise, but a glorious title. It has power, and the protection of the great is enough to shield others from misfortune and certain costs."
"A half-giant with a criminal record, a former Death Eater who turned against me halfway, a neurotic old Squirrel, and me, this good-for-nothing conman." Grindelwald gestured with his hands from top to bottom, clearly indicating that the conman he was referring to was Gilderoy Lockhart, whom he was impersonating.
"The same goes for the homeless women whose fates were predicted by fortune tellers. These people all live under Albus's protection, so their fates will be changed in a different way as a result."
"Remember that question you asked me before? That's also why a prophet needs the involvement of a great being to fulfill a prophecy that doesn't exist."
Grindelwald's response was a boon to Ian.
but.
The explanation from this influential figure continued: "Of course, even with the protection of a great being, frequent prophecies like Trelawney's would not be without cost. Her vision and mind were confined to the West Tower of Hogwarts for many years, and she never grew. This is a punishment from fate for her."
"And she herself will never realize it." Grindelwald's words were full of philosophical depth. He had only been at Hogwarts for a short time, yet he already had a detailed understanding and opinions of each of his colleagues.
"Maybe this isn't so bad?"
Ian sensed more of Dumbledore's influence from Grindelwald's words.
"Of course, scaring a little wizard or divining about everyday things isn't a big deal." Grindelwald walked back to his desk.
"As for what you said about Tom Riddle's prophecy—in fact, I have a different view on it." His words immediately caught Ian's attention.
What's your opinion?
Ian temporarily unloaded the basket from his back and sat down opposite Grindelwald. He hesitated for a moment, looking at the cup of bitter tea he hadn't finished earlier.
immediately.
I picked it up again and took another sip—it was still so bitter it made my teeth ache. But that's how humans are sometimes; this kind of tea really does have a kind of addictive flavor.
"This is just my personal opinion, and even our principal might not agree," Grindelwald said softly, offering a brief explanation before looking out the window towards the west tower.
"We all know that Sybil Trelawney's ancestor was Cassandra Trelawney, who came from the very famous priestess in Greek mythology."
"Cassandra Trelawney offended Apollo, which caused her and her descendants' prophecies to come true every time, yet no one believed them."
Grindelwald stated a common-sense statement that everyone knew, and after Ian nodded, he continued, "However, such legends are just legends. Being able to predict the future with perfect accuracy is not a punishment. No prophet can possess such powerful prophetic abilities."
"Even if it is a gift from God, humans cannot bear it - of course, I believe Trelawney is indeed cursed, but in my opinion, this family's prophetic abilities are not that outstanding."
"The difference between this family and most prophetic families is that they have an ancestor who was a priest, and their priestly bloodline is far superior to their prophetic bloodline."
Grindelwald's words startled Ian slightly.
You mean to say—
His eyes widened, his expression one of utter disbelief, clearly having guessed what Grindelwald meant. Grindelwald then gave a slightly frivolous smile.
"Yes, that's right. It wasn't our Professor Trelawney who made that prophecy, but her ancestor. That's why she's still alive and kicking, and hasn't been affected by the fragments that were supposed to be crushed in the prophecy." Grindelwald stated his point of view and judgment to Ian in a way that was sure to shock people.
Simultaneously.
He then whispered something earnestly to Ian.
"Some prophecies cannot be spoken aloud, and all prophets should understand this."
This felt like a profound reminder, or perhaps a reflection on his past. Ian was still reeling from the shock of Grindelwald's somewhat insane remarks.
"Spiritual communication? Isn't that crossing the line between life and death?"
Ian didn't think that crossing the line between life and death should be his exclusive privilege; he just hadn't expected that Professor Trelawney's family would have such a special ability, in Grindelwald's view.
However, upon reflection, it does make sense. Every time Professor Trelawney makes a remarkable prediction, he seems to become a different person and doesn't remember anything afterward.
The charlatan's behavior is also very much in line with the stereotype of spiritual mediums.
"The souls of priests are different from ours, and they go to different places after death. This can be considered a blessing for their descendants." Grindelwald indeed possessed very profound knowledge.
He was probably right about one thing: spending decades in a quiet place reading and thinking day after day, he would certainly have more knowledge than Dumbledore to some extent.
"Descendants will benefit from this, but the ancestors will suffer." Ian could picture it: Sybil Trelawney would bother her own ancestors every now and then. Cassandra Trelawney seemed to have a good temper, managing not to kill her own descendants.
"Hahaha, your perspective on this issue is quite interesting." Grindelwald laughed heartily, but then he immediately reminded Ian of the King of Change's unpredictable mood swings.
"I'm a little sleepy. Do you want to stay here all night?" It was obvious that she was trying to get rid of him, and there was no trace of the pleasant conversation she had just had with Ian.
Ian assumed that even old men go through menopause, so he quickly picked up his basket again, the skeletons inside making a rustling sound.
Grindelwald's eyelids twitched violently as he watched.
"Are you planning to sleep with these weird things tonight? Aren't you afraid of scaring your roommate?" He escorted Ian to the front door of the Defense Against the Dark Arts office.
"It's Halloween today, Professor."
Ian blinked, gave him a goodbye gesture, and then ran towards the spiral staircase. When he turned back, the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts office was already closed.
The lights inside were still on.
Grindelwald was clearly fooling the child when he said he was going to sleep.
"I'm free now, and I've learned a lot. I'm going to stay up all night in the Room of Requirement!" Ian said, carrying the heavy skeleton on his back as he ran down the stairs.
His heart was filled with excitement—the remains of the Slytherin descendants!
If the knowledge recorded in "Origins of the Bloodline" is not too wrong, he might be able to glimpse the secrets of the Basilisk and learn the mysterious language that allows him to communicate with the precious Basilisk.
God knows how much time Ian wasted in the library trying to learn Parsley; this ability hidden in one's bloodline does indeed require some special methods to learn.
"I will make you speak to me, descendants of the Four Greats!" Ian, his heart pounding with excitement, carried a basket of skeletons on his back and sprinted towards the eighth floor where the House of Requirement was located, his long legs moving like they were on full throttle.
only.
He had just arrived on the fourth floor when he was hit by several speeding ghosts. At this time, the ghosts floating in mid-air did indeed have the right to use the school, but today's ghosts were different from the ones Ian had encountered in the past. The ghosts were all dressed in fine clothes and smiling happily.
"It's because he never sleeps at night, he'll never grow tall!" A chubby ghost blocked Ian's path, grabbing him as if he were "drunk".
"He's the kid who'll meet us! He's definitely qualified for our party! Yes! That's it!" the fat ghost suggested to the other ghosts around him.
Without even asking Ian whether he agreed or not—this ghost's name was Edmund Grubb, and the cause of death was eating a poisoned plum and passing out directly at the restaurant's entrance.
He was a rather eccentric character, and he would even frequently stop students from eating at mealtimes. It was unclear whether he was jealous that the students could eat or afraid that they would end up eating something poisonous like him.
"He must have been ready to come to our party a long time ago! Look! He even brought the Skull Band!" The ghost Edmund Grubb, who was perched on the back of Ian's basket, was even fatter.
He was the resident ghost fat monk of Hufflepuff School, who was executed for allegedly using his wand to cure farmers of smallpox and for conjuring rabbits from the chalice to amuse everyone.
"No, I didn't!" Ian hurriedly explained, but the ghosts, who were clearly already hyped up, didn't care about that and simply lifted him up and flew towards the underground classroom.
These ghosts even chose to take the right path to avoid Ian being blocked by walls and bricks along the way, which was very considerate, but this was clearly not the kind of "ghost carrying a person" experience that Ian wanted.
Being able to come into contact with ghosts is obviously not without its drawbacks.
"The banquet continues! We welcome the little wizard alive!" A group of ghosts put Ian down in the underground classroom. The spacious classroom was decorated with colorful lights and dim candlelight. The candles were all tiny and black, burning with a bluish glow, which gave Ian's young face an eerie feeling.
Ian felt as if he had suddenly stumbled into the frontier of hell, with polluting heavy metal music blaring in his ears, unbearably irritating, like hundreds of vampires rubbing their claws against a blackboard—a sound that made his teeth ache.
Ian got goosebumps too, feeling like he was about to shout "Long live Cthulhu!" any minute now.
The pollution is really severe!
"Welcome, welcome!" Nick, who was almost headless, immediately came forward. He was draped in a black velvet drape and dressed very formally.
"I'm so happy to have a little wizard come." The man took off his hat adorned with feathers.
He bowed to Ian with a more refined and respectful gesture.
The feeling of taking it so seriously made Ian unable to utter the words "I didn't want to come," which were already on the tip of his tongue. He could now clearly feel how others felt when he used "the spirit of craftsmanship."
"Happy holidays, ladies and gentlemen." Ian could only grit his teeth and accept reality. He looked around and saw more than a hundred ghosts celebrating Halloween in the classroom.
A group of jubilant nuns were even swaying in the dance floor, while a soul in chains and shackles sat alone on the ground, sighing dejectedly. A ghost with an arrow stuck in its forehead began chatting with the fat monk and his companions, and the emaciated Slytherin ghost, Blood Man Barrow, was also sullen.
Since Ian couldn't see Mrs. Ravenclaw here, he naturally couldn't continue his persuasion work, and the atmosphere in the extremely cold classroom was very lively.
The table was covered with golden plates, but they were all covered with rotten meat, fruits and vegetables. It was only thanks to the low temperature in the underground classroom that it would have been stinking. In fact, it was already stinking now, with large chunks of beef crawling with maggots and cheese covered in green mold placed together.
With burnt bread and meat patties oozing foul liquid, Ian couldn't find anything to eat. On the long table, he also saw a huge, tombstone-shaped gray cake.
This was probably the only thing that was somewhat normal, with densely packed words written on it in icing: Sir Nicholas de Minsey-Poppinton.
Died on: October 31, 1492.
This cake clearly belongs to Nick Fury, who almost died. Today is not only to celebrate Halloween, but also the day Nick Fury died.
Happy Death Anniversary, Sir.
Ian felt that his blessing was a little strange, but fortunately the ghosts didn't seem to care much. Nick, who was almost headless, even bowed to Ian again in gratitude.
"Few young wizards are willing to attend our banquet, because we belong neither to the human world nor to the other side. Your presence is the happiest thing for me tonight."
This was a very polite, kind-hearted, and helpful ghost, which is why Ian was once again silenced when faced with his words.
He really wanted to get to the secrets of the Gaunt family as soon as possible!
It's awful!
want to cry!
"I hope you have fun here." The nearly headless Nick extended his hand to Ian, who forced a smile and shook the ghost's cold hand.
"As expected, you are so special, making me feel touch again."
Nick, who almost lost his head?
Somewhat distracted, he quickly apologized and released Ian's hand after a moment.
He hurried to greet the new ghosts as they arrived. Just then, Helena Ravenclaw walked in and immediately spotted Ian, brightly colored, among the ghosts.
"I didn't expect you to come to the ghosts' party, little Ian." Helena Ravenclaw floated over curiously, sniffing loudly at the table in front of Ian.
"Can you really taste the food like this?" Ian finally couldn't help but ask the question that had been bothering him, having finally met a ghost he was very familiar with.
"A little bit is better than nothing." Helena Ravenclaw maintained her ladylike composure, unlike the fat monk not far away who had stuffed his head into a pile of rotten flesh.
"Ghosts don't have much entertainment, nor do they have the same senses they had when they were alive. Yet we still have memories, which is actually a punishment for many ghosts who chose to escape." Helena Ravenclaw looked at the stage, where a ghost singer was displaying her true artistic talent.
A wail, similar to the scream of the banshee witch in Left 4 Dead, echoed through the auditorium.
"There's always a choice, as long as you can truly look forward." Ian was still thinking about his promise to the Ravenclaw women. He covered his ears and moved closer to Helena Ravenclaw.
"I know you mean well, but look at the ghosts here. They've been increasing over the years. Sometimes what you think we can do might not be the path we have to choose." Helena Ravenclaw had responded to Ian's advice in this way more than once, while Ian had more than once wondered how to invite Helena Ravenclaw to come see him on a suitable night.
"Are you free tomorrow night?" Ian checked the time; it was already past midnight. After calculating the time, he finally spoke, but his voice sounded somewhat embarrassed.
"Hmm?" Helena Ravenclaw gave Ian a strange look, clearly having misunderstood something. "Little Ian, you actually want to go on a date with a ghost that's hundreds of years old?"
"Your thoughts are far too impure." With that, Helena Ravenclaw patted Ian on the head with a smile, then drifted toward the ghost she was familiar with.
Ian hadn't expected to fail so quickly. Perhaps he should confess? But ghosts are not good at keeping secrets, and he didn't want the whole school to know that he could travel between the two worlds.
"She doesn't like you, but I do—" "-Little guy, you can really encounter ghosts, my god, what an amazing ability." The witch ghost floated over after finishing her song.
She seemed to be a ghost specially invited by the ghosts. She didn't usually live at Hogwarts, but after hearing about Ian, she floated over and touched Ian's arm.
Ghosts are indeed hard to keep secrets.
"They all call me the Crying Widow, perhaps we can talk? Little one, don't be shy, I'm really interested in your ability to touch ghosts."
A ghost dressed in flamboyant attire chased Ian all over the classroom.
He ran.
She chased after him.
He really wanted to sprout wings and fly.
"I think you'd be better off finding a ghost just like yourself!" Ian pulled out his wand and sent the widow ghost flying, but unexpectedly, another cheer erupted in the classroom.
"It's magic! Magic struck the ghost! His name is Ian! Ian who brought us the Skeleton Musician!" Edmund Grubb, who had previously suggested bringing Ian here, started shouting again.
"They're not skeleton musicians!" Ian said, quickly protecting his basket as the ghosts crowded around him, but they didn't believe him.
"Isn't this the Skull Band? One, two, three, four, five—I can't even count them all."
"Definitely! The band Dumbledore invited yesterday looked just like that—white, fleshless, with clearly defined bones. What else could they be but skeleton musicians?"
"Quick! Wake them up! Let them put on a show!"
"It must be that little Ian wants us to reward him, so he's been denying bringing the Skull Band. Quickly, send Bloody Barrow to get Peeves to bring Ian a Butterbeer!"
The ghosts chattered incessantly around Ian.
Ian had intended to explain that this was merely a research specimen, but after hearing the fat monk's cheerful words, he swallowed back what he wanted to say for the third time today.
"Can you get your hands on butterbeer?" This was the only food Ian couldn't obtain in the Hogwarts kitchens; the elves hadn't made any exceptions for him in this regard.
The age limit is third grade.
As for the non-alcoholic version... can that still be called beer?
"Of course, it contains alcohol!"
The fat monk lowered his voice, leaned closer, and revealed a sly expression. For the ghosts, who were having too much fun...
Some rules don't seem to be that important.
"It's not that kind, is it?" Ian swallowed hard, still a little uneasy, and asked. He had already seen what the ghosts' food was like.
"Of course not! It was something a professor gave us last night. We originally wanted to let it sit for a while before enjoying it, but it seems you're not exactly an honest little wizard either, hehehe~" Another ghost floated over, reassuring Ian, who looked towards the front door.
"Can you find Peeves? Or should I go get it myself?" Ian was eager to try. He really craved something he had been longing for since entering the wizarding world but had never been able to enjoy.
"Of course! It's a holiday today! Drink as much as you want! It's a celebration! You have to do it wholeheartedly!" A ghost's cheer struck a chord with Ian.
A short while later.
really.
Reluctantly, Pikachu brought in a lot of butterbeer. Upon seeing Ian, it immediately put on a show of great effort, then, after putting down its load, it turned and scurried away like a greased rag doll. It was as if it feared that if it stayed even a minute longer, Ian would set it on fire to entertain the other ghosts.
"Great! It really is butterbeer!" Ian quickly poured himself a glass, smelled it first to make sure it hadn't gone bad, and then took a sip.
The taste is indeed very good.
Ian even wanted to eat it with beer and fried chicken.
Perhaps out of anticipation for the Skull Band, a ghost immediately went to inform the elves, and soon Ian received the fresh midnight snack he wanted.
Although the room still smelled of rotten food, it didn't stop Ian from enjoying his midnight snack after getting rid of the smell. He even used magic to add ice to his butterbeer.
"It has a unique charm!"
Butterbeer doesn't actually have a high alcohol content, but some people choose to add extra alcohol. The one Ian drank clearly had extra alcohol in it.
After only a few beers...
He was already getting a bit carried away.
I never touched alcohol when I was a top student in my past life.
He's really met his match in this lifetime.
"Is it good?"
A ghost approached with envy and curiosity. He had likely died before butterbeer was invented, so he couldn't imagine the taste of many foods from later generations.
"It tastes much better than the non-alcoholic version. You can even blow bubbles when you drink it. Look at how I drink it." Ian gulped down another large glass in front of the ghost.
He remembered that this was one of the wretched ghosts who had carried him to this banquet. "It's so delicious, so satisfying, and it even has a cool feeling in your stomach."
I drank another glass.
Ian munched on a chicken leg, making an exaggerated expression of enjoyment. This was the little wizard's cunning, and it certainly made the ghosts' eyes practically pop out with envy.
"It's so good to be alive."
A gluttonous ghost was sighing.
"It's alright, I'll eat and drink more for you, as if you've eaten too." Ian looked at the sighing ghost, then immediately drank another glass and ate a few bites of chicken leg.
This ghost was the same ghost that had carried him to the banquet before.
And what's more, it's his face that's being lifted up.
Yes.
Ian was carried to the banquet face down.
"He's still a child—"—you mustn't corrupt him." Helena Ravenclaw floated over at that moment, looking at Ian who was fiddling with a skeleton.
"Oh well, if they insist on seeing a certain band, then let them come."
With his rosy cheeks, Ian revealed who-knows-what Voldemort's grandfather or grandmother, or perhaps cousins, and pulled out his wand, thus creating the Gauntlet band on the spot.
"Skeletal remains have reappeared!"
Ian's magic worked perfectly, and Tom Riddle's family members immediately gathered together and began to dance for real at the ghosts' feast.
"Get hyped! This is what music and dance are all about!" Ian may have then resurrected Voldemort's extended family, and a group of skeletons, under his control, began imitating Michael Jackson.
Helena Ravenclaw stared at the resurrected skeletons, her expression complex. She knew she was clearly overthinking things. It wasn't the ghosts potentially corrupting the young wizards; she should be worried about the young wizards corrupting the ghosts! Who learns the Corpse Charm to this extent in their first year?
Dozens of skeletons!
Is this a plan to form an army of undead after graduation?
The moon was obscured by dark clouds.
There was a unique song and dance performance going on at Hogwarts.
On the other side...
The dilapidated Gaunt mansion once again welcomed two visitors: a bearded man and a long-haired woman. They walked along the overgrown mountain path toward the house where Ian and Grindelwald had left. Along the way, several Muggles who had been reset to factory settings had regained consciousness, but they were all wailing and crying like babies in the cold wind.
Several beams of green light shot out, and the Muggles who harbored ill intentions towards the wizard fell to the ground. After a period of rejuvenation, they truly attained a peaceful, infant-like slumber.
The two wizards didn't even glance at the Muggles' bodies, and walked straight to the entrance of Gaunt's old house. When they discovered that all the protective magic had failed, their expressions changed drastically.
"Master's treasure! The treasure that Master sent us to check, has it really been stolen?" The woman rushed in, her voice filled with anger and fear.
"Are the items still there?"
The bearded man stood guard at the door.
He loudly questioned his two companions who had entered the house.
His voice also sounded very uneasy.
"It's gone!"
The woman searched the entire room, and in a fit of impotent rage, she forcefully overturned a table. Undeterred, she searched again for a while, but still found nothing in the not-so-large house.
"We're looking for a ring! It must be very small!" The bearded man couldn't help but strode into the house. He looked around at the decaying furniture and began to destructively search for it.
"You damn idiot from the Ministry of Magic! Of course I know what we're looking for! Can't you see it? It's gone! The Master will definitely be furious with us for this!"
The woman's voice was filled with fear and rage, "Who is this person! How dare they! How dare they steal from the Dark Lord! I'll catch this guy and kill him!"
Compared to the woman who became hysterical out of fear, the bearded man, although also filled with fear, at least managed to maintain basic rationality.
"Don't panic. The master sent us to find his things because he must have known something beforehand. The fact that we didn't find them doesn't mean we did anything wrong that caused the items to go missing."
The bearded man provided a reasonable analysis.
However, the woman sneered, "Do you think our master cares if we've made mistakes? Don't forget who he is! He's the incomparably powerful Dark Lord! If we disappoint him, we'll be punished! Have you forgotten the high standards he's placed on us all these years?"
These words were spoken.
The bearded man fell silent.
The only sound in the quiet atmosphere was the chirping of insects outside.
"It must be Dumbledore! Or one of Dumbledore's lackeys!" the woman muttered through gritted teeth, clearly hating the person she was referring to.
"We can't fight Dumbledore. Even if the item is with him, we can't take it back." The bearded man sighed, and his female companion beside him was clearly aware of this as well.
"Our master needs what he needs, and we must help him find it." The woman couldn't come up with a solution herself.
But she still spoke to the man in a firm tone.
"Of course I know that—and I think the master knows it too." As if realizing something, the bearded man pulled out a special pamphlet from his pocket.
"Something went missing from Gringotts today, supposedly something from what those saints did when they broke in years ago."
Dumbledore had recently reported to the Ministry of Magic that he was the one who lost the item.
The bearded man seemed to be analyzing the situation.
"What do you mean?"
The woman was puzzled.
"Dumbledore is not without enemies, nor is he without anyone who can stand against him. His nemesis Grindelwald has made his move, clearly unwilling to remain trapped in prison indefinitely."
"Perhaps what Dumbledore lost was some kind of contract he used to trap Grindelwald? If the Saints find that contract for their leader..." The bearded man looked out the window. Visibility was low in the foggy night, but he wasn't really looking out the window.
"As expected of the master, he had all the information under control long ago." The bearded man's exclamation puzzled the woman, and in response to her gaze, he took out a door key.
"This is the second task my master assigned me."
The bearded man looked down at the somewhat sinister metal statue in his hand.
"What mission?"
The woman frowned.
"If you don't know, then your master doesn't trust you enough. Hah—stay here and wait for me." He said.
The bearded man then activated the door key in his hand.
His figure disappeared from the Gaunt old house.
Austria.
Nurmengard.
The bearded man donned a black cloak and cautiously broke through layer after layer of protective magic, only to be surprised by how simple these protective spells were.
He arrived at the cell where people lived.
"interesting."
The person inside was reading, but he seemed a bit pretentious. He looked up at the bearded man outside the gate, his eyes revealing a hint of displeasure.
"Didn't you know this was Gellert Grindelwald's secluded retreat? How dare you disturb my peace! It seems this era has forgotten just how terrifying the name of the First Dark Lord truly was!"
The momentum was indeed fierce.
The bearded man was also somewhat frightened.
but.
After looking around, he stuffed something directly into the room.
"My master asked me to convey his greetings to you."
It was a brand new magic wand.