The afternoon sun bathed the streets of Hogsmeade. The murmur of the village mingled with laughter and greetings; that day seemed livelier than usual.
Albus Dumbledore walked calmly down the main street, his dark blue robe fluttering gently in the breeze. Every few meters, someone recognized him: witches with shopping baskets, young students, and some elderly people who looked at him with pride.
"Headmaster Dumbledore!" greeted a couple of wizards, bowing their heads.
"Albus!" exclaimed an elderly man, raising his hand enthusiastically.
"It's an honor to see you!" added a group of children who had just left Honeydukes.
Dumbledore responded to everyone with kind smiles and courteous gestures, without stopping too long. The warmth of those looks enveloped him, but deep down he knew that this respect carried with it an ever-increasing weight. The weight of the expectations and trust of a world that considered him its bulwark.
"I'm just a man," he thought as he continued on his way.
His destination was clear: the Hog's Head. His brother Aberforth had written him a brief and cryptic message: "Someone wants to see you. Important."
As he approached the inn, his mind replayed the year that had just ended at Hogwarts. The events with the Philosopher's Stone, the specter of Voldemort escaping once again... it was all a reminder that the future remained uncertain, even for him.
The Hog's Head sign appeared at the end of the street, swaying gently in the wind. The place, always discreet, contrasted with the effusiveness of the rest of the town.
Dumbledore sighed, pausing for a moment before walking through the door.
"Let's see who's waiting for me this time."
And with a slight smile on his face, he pushed open the wooden door, letting the muffled murmur of the tavern envelop him.
The interior of the Hog's Head was dimly lit, the smell of old wood and smoke permeating the air. Few customers occupied the tables, among them, in a secluded corner, was an elderly man in a light-colored robe with a serene smile as he calmly leafed through a crumpled newspaper.
Dumbledore paused for a second at the entrance, a sparkle in his eyes.
"Master," he said softly, bowing his head in respect.
Nicolas Flamel looked up, his smile broadening with an amused expression.
"Albus... always so proper. Sit down, boy, sit down."
The headmaster of Hogwarts took a seat across from him, while Aberforth, behind the bar, pretended not to pay attention.
"I must apologize," Dumbledore began, lowering his head with sincere tone. "The Stone... I don't know where it is. I fear it was lost in the chaos of that night."
Flamel looked at him over the newspaper, then burst into a light laugh, almost youthful despite his centuries.
"Oh, Albus, you're so dramatic. Do you really think something like that could keep me awake at night?"
"But, Master..." Albus began, with a hint of concern.
Flamel waved his hand as if dismissing a trivial annoyance.
"There's nothing to worry about. The Stone has already played too many roles in this long life. And thanks to your little 'mistake,'" he smiled enigmatically, closing the newspaper and setting it aside, "I've found something new to focus on."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"Something new?"
Flamel's eyes sparkled behind his dark glasses, his smile widening as he relished the mystery he was about to weave.
He placed the newspaper on the table, calmly interlacing his fingers.
"Don't worry... I got the stone back, Albus."
The headmaster's heart skipped a beat.
"You got it back?" he asked, leaning forward eagerly. "So it didn't fall into the wrong hands?"
"No, he didn't," replied Flamel calmly, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. "The funny thing is, for a while, it was in the hands of a child."
Dumbledore blinked, surprised.
"Could that child be the new thing you're talking about?"
"Exactly," nodded Flamel, his eyes shining behind his dark glasses. "A boy with such intense magic that you wouldn't expect to find in someone so young. It was... fascinating to see... the way he uses Parseltongue is really interesting."
Albus leaned back in his chair, letting out a deep sigh. A spark of joy ran through him as he realized that the power of the stone had not been lost or corrupted.
"Aurelian..." he murmured to himself, his voice heavy with melancholy. "A brilliant child, yes... but an orphan. A harsh fate he did not deserve."
Flamel raised an eyebrow, curious about the tone of his former disciple.
"I feel guilty," Dumbledore continued, with honesty, something unusual for him. "Sometimes I think that if I had treated Tom differently, if I had tried to understand him... maybe everything would have been different. Maybe Aurelian wouldn't have to bear the shadows of such a dark legacy."
Flamel's playful smile disappeared. The old man looked at him seriously, his voice grave, speaking with the weight of one who has seen the comings and goings of centuries.
"The past cannot be changed, Albus."
The silence at the table grew thick.
"The only thing you can do," Flamel continued, with the authority of a teacher speaking from experience, "is to improve day by day. Take every mistake, every regret, and turn it into a reason to be better. Not for yourself, but for those who depend on you."
Albus nodded, recognizing the truth in those words. A spark of sadness lingered in his eyes, but so did a glimmer of resolve.
"You're right, master... As always."
Flamel smiled again.
"It's not a matter of being right, Albus. It's a matter of moving forward. Time waits for no one, not even us."
Dumbledore was silent for a few moments, letting his teacher's words sink in. He exhaled slowly.
"Your teachings are never easy to take in, master," he admitted with a faint smile, somewhere between resignation and respect for the man.
Flamel laughed softly, as if that was just what he expected to hear.
"I know, Albus. Wisdom is not sugar to sweeten the palate... sometimes it's harder to digest."
He leaned back in his chair, changing the tone of the conversation with a playful twinkle in his eyes.
"By the way, I've been investigating the boy we talked about. And I must say... I was pleasantly surprised."
Albus raised an eyebrow again.
"Investigating?"
"Oh, of course," said Flamel with a brief laugh. "I wasn't going to rest easy without knowing more about him."
The alchemist raised a finger, pointing at the ceiling of the establishment.
"GauntCorp. That company of yours is already making waves around the world. Noxum brooms... Ha! What ingenuity. They've conquered almost the entire market in record time."
Dumbledore nodded slowly, already familiar with the information.
"Yes, I know. Their brooms have changed the dynamics of Quidditch matches in more than one country. The players love them."
"Exactly," Flamel laughed, narrowing his eyes. "Isn't it amazing? Such a young boy, already capable of shaking entire industries with one idea. I can't wait to see what else he'll be capable of."
The alchemist's cheerful tone gradually faded. His smile disappeared. Slowly, he picked up the newspaper he had left on the table and slid it toward Dumbledore.
"But it's not all fun and games, Albus. Look."
The headmaster took the paper with some trepidation. His eyes scanned the lines, and as soon as they stopped at the headline pointed out by his teacher, his expression changed to one of surprise, concern, and a hint of alarm.
The glass in his hand trembled slightly.
"This..." he whispered, incredulous. "Is it true?"
Flamel watched him silently.
"More true than you can imagine."
Dumbledore slowly lowered the newspaper, still processing what he had read. The headline was clear and disturbing:
Grindelwald's acolytes sighted in Italy and Germany. Local authorities investigate.
His fingers tightened on the edge of the paper.
"I had no idea about this..." he said in a low voice, surprised. "I thought that after... after Nurmengard, no one would dare to raise that flag again."
Flamel watched him silently for a few seconds, thinking about his words. Then he rested his hands on the table, calmly interlacing his fingers.
"Albus, I know your history with Gellert is complicated. Too complicated. But if those shadows start to stir again... you should be vigilant. And maybe... just maybe... reconcile with Marianne."
The name fell like a deep echo between them.
Dumbledore remained still, his gaze lost in the wood of the table.
"Marianne..." he repeated in a whisper, barely audible.
Flamel nodded gently.
"The three of you were inseparable in your youth. You, Gellert, and her. You dreamed of changing the world, each in your own way."
The old alchemist sighed, his smile now more melancholy than amused.
"Not everything turned out as it should have, of course. But Marianne is still there, Albus. If Grindelwald's old followers resurface, it will involve all three of you... whether you like it or not."
Dumbledore remained silent for a few seconds. Finally, a smile, laden with nostalgia, appeared on his face.
"I remember those days... the summers seemed endless, we had crazy plans. We were... so young. So naive."
"Naive or not," Flamel said softly, "that bond never completely disappeared, did it?"
Albus nodded slowly, his eyes shining with a hint of sadness.
"You're always right, master. Maybe it's time to leave everything behind so we can move on."
Flamel smiled serenely, leaning back in his chair.
"That's always the way, Albus. Remember who we were, so we can decide who we want to be."
The deepest cell in Nurmengard was bathed in a faint light that filtered through a crack in the ceiling, casting golden lines across the cold stone. The silence was absolute.
In the midst of this emptiness, sitting on a simple wooden chair, was Gellert Grindelwald.
He was not an old man consumed by time, as official records suggested. No, the power of his magic kept him young, his posture upright and elegant, his gray eyes sharp as blades. His dark hair fell over his forehead without a single gray hair, and his face retained that disturbing mixture of charisma and menace that characterized him.
In the solitude of his cell, he began to laugh. It was a low laugh that echoed off the walls like an echo that never seemed to fade.
"Everything is moving..." he murmured in his typical tone, letting each word float in the air. "The pieces on the board are beginning to claim their place. The stars... oh, the stars are finally aligning."
He walked toward the narrow window, resting his hand on the rough stone. His eyes rose to the sky, where the last glimmers of twilight tinged the horizon.
"The time will soon come," he continued, his lips curving into a dangerous smile. "And when it does, not even my old friends will be able to stop me."
Light entered his eyes, making them shine with a glow.
"For the brighter a light is... the greater its shadow..."
Grindelwald closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in the heavy air of the prison. Then he laughed again, a sound that, even trapped behind those walls, seemed capable of freezing the blood of the outside world.
In Nurmengard, the darkness had never been so alive. Like an omen of the inevitable.
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