Eda's purpose in coming to Nurmengard this time was really just to visit Grindelwald. Other than repaying kindness with gratitude, she had no other thoughts.
Perhaps in Grindelwald's eyes, he had merely done a trivial little thing, said a few words at most. But to Eda, those words had been like a sudden enlightenment, words that cleared away the fog and opened her mind.
The one who corrects even a single word can be a teacher; Grindelwald had said an entire basketful of words, more than enough to be respectfully called a teacher. It was just that Eda couldn't quite bring herself to say it, and Grindelwald wouldn't acknowledge it either.
And so, an awkward atmosphere settled over Nurmengard Castle. Clearly, both of them wanted to ask after the other's recent situation, to show some concern, yet neither could open their mouth or swallow their pride. In the end, they could only sit there staring at each other.
Grindelwald probably never imagined in his life that there would come a day when he, too, would be tongue-tied—and in front of a girl nearly a hundred years younger than himself.
As for Eda, when facing Snape, she had already understood that she was tongue-tied. In other words, she was used to it by now. Dumbledore or Grindelwald, they were all old foxes. Losing in words to them wasn't embarrassing, and being argued into speechlessness wasn't embarrassing either.
The important part was the art of spiritual victory. It didn't matter if she couldn't out-argue them—as long as she didn't get brainwashed, that was her victory. As long as she felt she had won, then she hadn't lost!
But Eda had improved by now. It wasn't as if she had no chance of winning at all; she just needed to drag them into a field she excelled in, then use her familiarity and experience in that field to defeat them.
And so, on the second night at Nurmengard, Grindelwald and Eda launched into an extremely heated debate over when Muggle productivity had surpassed that of wizards.
At first, the two of them argued back and forth evenly, but the scales of victory slowly began to tip toward Eda.
Though Eda hadn't lived to be over a hundred years old, she still relied on her understanding of Muggles, along with knowledge points she had once memorized by rote, to argue Grindelwald into speechlessness.
For every sentence Grindelwald said, Eda had ten waiting for him. The Industrial Revolution, the steam engine, the spinning jenny, the technological revolution, new energy sources—she dumped it all in front of Grindelwald in one overwhelming flood.
Especially now that things like computers were gradually entering ordinary households, it became the final straw that broke the camel's back.
Though it was hardly a fair victory, Eda didn't mind in the slightest that her win wasn't particularly glorious. After tossing out the line, "Magic is the last fig leaf of wizards," she swaggered off, leaving Grindelwald behind in deep thought.
On the morning of the third day at Nurmengard, after agonizing over it all night, Grindelwald finally came up with a way to refute Eda, so he hurried excitedly to her room.
Grindelwald knocked on the door, but there was no response. He called Eda's name from outside, but still there was no response. Left with no choice, Grindelwald pushed the door open himself—only to find no sign of Eda inside.
Not just in the room; there was no sign of Eda anywhere in all of Nurmengard.
Yes. After finally winning once, and in order to prevent Grindelwald from staging a comeback from the brink, Eda had run away before dawn even broke.
It was also the first time in all these years that Eda had successfully slipped away without saying goodbye to someone.
Eda had left Grindelwald a gift in the room: a photo of herself and Vinda. But after having just finished eating up a huge piece of magical-world gossip, Eda now understood that what the first Dark Lord probably needed more was a photo of Dumbledore.
Or perhaps the next time she came to Nurmengard, she should just bring Grindelwald a whole box of Chocolate Frogs?
...
The Burrow was especially lively today, because in the morning the Weasley family welcomed three guests: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Harry Potter.
Harry had just celebrated his birthday, and Sirius and Lupin had appeared at the door of Number Four, Privet Drive. That scared the Dursley family quite badly.
Just think about it—in the middle of the night, two strange wizards come knocking on your door, and one of them is even a "murderer." How could the Dursleys not be frightened?
This summer holiday, Harry had an even happier time than he did last year. He went on vacation to a tropical island with Sirius and Lupin, drinking coconut juice while enjoying the sunshine, beaches, and waves there.
The tropical sunbathing seemed to have a very healing effect. Although all three of them were obviously a little tanner, they looked much healthier.
After several months of recuperation, Sirius had recovered some of the charm that had once captivated countless girls. And unlike when he was younger, he now carried the added appeal of a mature handsome uncle. Most importantly, he had no belly.
Remus Lupin as well—after shedding his old robes covered in patch upon patch, Professor Lupin looked much younger, with an added touch of scholarly elegance. He, too, fit the kind of handsome older-man type girls liked.
With the Quidditch World Cup final approaching, the duo of charming middle-aged uncles brought along their tagalong Harry to the Burrow, preparing to go watch the World Cup in person with everyone.
At noon, Bill and Charlie were setting up the dining tables in the yard, but the eldest and second eldest sons of the Weasley family showed not the slightest bit of elder-brother dignity.
The two of them pulled out their wands and sent two battered old tables flying over the lawn, smashing into each other, each one trying to knock the other out of the air.
Fred and George cheered on from the side, Ginny laughed out loud, and Hermione paced by the hedge, looking as if she thought it was fun but was also nervous, unsure of what to do.
The one who put a stop to this horseplay was not Mrs. Weasley, but the Weasley family's third son, Percy.
Percy, who had just started working, was even more irritable than when he had been preparing for his N.E.W.T.s. This summer, he would even lose his temper if someone spoke too loudly in the Burrow.
But whether it was Bill and Charlie, who were older than Percy, or the twins, Ginny, and Ron, who were younger, none of them took Percy's temper seriously. They all continued doing as they pleased—playing when they wanted to play, making noise when they wanted to make noise.
A little after eleven, the two tables were groaning with exhaustion under the heavy burden of dish after delicious dish conjured by Mrs. Weasley's skillful hands. The nine members of the Weasley family, along with Harry and Hermione, all sat down, as well as the duo of charming middle-aged uncles freeloading a meal.
Just as everyone was about to enjoy lunch, a voice very familiar to them came from outside the Burrow.
"So I've really fallen this low in status in this family now? You're eating without even waiting for me!"
Everyone turned toward the sound and saw Eda standing outside the garden gate, putting on a wounded, aggrieved expression as she looked at them.
Mrs. Weasley rose from her seat, walked over to Eda, and gave the girl who would forever be a little girl in her eyes a big hug. The first time Mrs. Weasley had met Eda, she had been a thin, small little girl. Now she was much taller than Mrs. Weasley.
"Mom, don't pay any attention to her!" Fred shouted loudly. "Miss Twist has betrayed us even further!"
Charlie asked curiously, "In the years since I graduated, did something happen that I don't know about?"
Before Eda could speak, George answered for her directly.
"It's this woman—this woman actually got the Head Girl position! Has Dumbledore gone senile?!"
"My dear, that's wonderful!" Mrs. Weasley suddenly gave Eda another hug. "There are already three Head Boys and Head Girls in this family!"
Everyone in the Weasley family turned to look at the twins. Harry and Hermione also looked at the pair of brothers. Their expressions seemed to say: In together, out together, advance and retreat together—Eda is already Head Girl, so what about you two?
Sirius and Lupin exchanged a glance. The duo of charming middle-aged uncles seemed to recall the old days—back then, Sirius had been the troublemaker, Lupin had been Gryffindor's prefect, and James had been Head Boy.
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