A day at Hogwarts.

Chapter 574 We Must Be On High Alert
A few rays of sunlight streamed into the Pig's Head Bar through a few freshly wiped-clean windows. There were no other customers on the first floor this afternoon, except for Grindelwald, who sat alone in the corner at a creaking wooden table that looked like it might fall apart at any moment. The owner had specially prepared it for him when he arrived.

Today, he was wearing a well-tailored, spotless navy blue suit, which contrasted sharply with the dilapidated and filthy surroundings.

Behind the bar, Aberforth was absentmindedly and unevenly wiping a glass with a chipped rim, using a greasy, blackened rag.

"Coffee." Grindelwald's voice was calm and even.

Without even looking up, Aberforth rudely rummaged under the bar and pulled out a dirty bottle of instant coffee powder, a gift from a wizard some time ago as a novelty.

He forcefully unscrewed the lid, poured the dark brown powder inside into the glass he had just been wiping, then picked up an old, limescale-covered kettle that had been kept warm on the stove over a low flame and casually poured in most of a cup of hot water.

The brown powder was instantly dispersed, and the liquid became thin and cloudy with a pale color.

He slammed the cup down heavily on the table in front of Grindelwald, a few drops of coffee splashing out and landing on the mottled wooden table.

Grindelwald lowered his eyelids, scrutinizing the murky, water-like coffee, and chuckled softly.

He picked up a small spoon, also stained, and slowly stirred the liquid in the glass. The tip of the spoon kept hitting the side of the glass, making a crisp, monotonous "clinking" sound that was particularly jarring in the silence.

“I heard,” Grindelwald finally picked up his cup, but didn’t bring it to his lips, his sharp eyes casting a playful inquiry at Aberforth, “that on the night of the Hogsmeade incident, you bravely saved Lady Partridge?”

"Now the whole neighborhood in Hogsmeade is talking about it with great interest, and that lady seems to have a different opinion of you now?"

He paused deliberately, watching Aberforth's reaction with great interest, and said in an elder-like tone, "Aberforth, you're not young anymore. It's only right that you get married again and have another son."

"Bang!" Aberforth slammed the dirty rag in his hand onto the bar like a rock.

He whirled around, his blue eyes, so similar to his brother Albus's, now brimming with rage and brooding fury, fixed on Grindelwald as if they were spitting fire.

His wand slid into his palm almost instantly, and with a "whoosh," the tip of the wand pointed straight at Grindelwald's nose.

The already stagnant air in the bar seemed to freeze instantly, and even the dust particles floating in the light seemed to linger in mid-air.

“Shut your filthy mouth, Gellert Grindelwald!” Aberforth’s voice was filled with suppressed rage, each word seemingly squeezed out from between his teeth. “If you dare utter another word of nonsense, I’ll make you taste what it’s like to have goat dung smeared on your face! I swear!”

Aberforth had a son who was later exploited by Grindelwald.

Just as tensions were rising, the bar's old, heavy wooden door creaked open.

Albus Dumbledore, invited by Grindelwald, came to the Pillar Bar. When he entered, his face was even more gloomy than the weather that day.

As his gaze swept over the scene behind the bar—his brother's wand pointed at Grindelwald like a serpent, while Grindelwald himself calmly stirred his inedible coffee—a faint, almost fleeting, strangely pleasant glint flashed in his deep blue, lake-like eyes.

The recent string of bad news has been overwhelming him, and he desperately needs some entertainment to relax—like giving Grindelwald a good beating.

“Good afternoon, Aberforth, Gellert.” Old Dumbledore walked calmly to the table, seemingly oblivious to the wand poised to strike, his tone as gentle as if discussing the weather. “It seems the atmosphere here… is quite friendly?”

He turned his gaze to his younger brother, his tone gentle yet clearly questioning: "Do you need me to hold him down? I'd be happy to."

Aberforth said, "Thank you very much!"

Grindelwald seemed oblivious to the glow of Arden's wand and the ill-intentioned look in his eyes, and gave Arden a polite smile.

“Good afternoon, Albus, no need to trouble yourself,” he said casually. “Aberforth and I are just catching up and asking about his love life.”

He put down his spoon and got to the point, his tone becoming serious: "I have gotten Charles back from Voldemort."

Old Deng and Ah Deng's eyes instantly focused on his face like spotlights.

“I agreed to Voldemort’s tiny, insignificant condition,” Grindelwald said casually, waving his hand as if shooing away a fly, “as a kind of exchange. Voldemort may soon begin to regain his physical abilities.”

He discreetly observed the subtle changes in Old Dumbledore's face and continued, "Charles is currently hiding in an absolutely safe place, and he won't return to Hogwarts until the goblin mess is completely resolved."

Old Deng's eyes suddenly sharpened, and he asked in a deep voice, "Conditions? Gellert, what agreement did you reach with him?"

He deliberately emphasized the word "agreement".

“An agreement?” Grindelwald let out a short, sarcastic laugh, picked up the cup of coffee that was hard to swallow, took a symbolic sip, then frowned and quickly put it down, as if holding it for even a second longer was torture. “It’s not an agreement.”

"I'm just using him to kick away the stumbling blocks in my way."

"Those greedy and stubborn demons are just one of those smelly and hard stones that I myself need to exert some effort to move."

Dumbledore remained silent. The attitude towards fairies was not just Grindelwald's opinion, but a consensus among the high-ranking officials of the British Ministry of Magic, and even the high-ranking officials of the International Wizarding Federation.

Seeing that he didn't continue asking about the matter, Grindelwald raised his eyes, looking directly at Old Deng. The playfulness in his eyes had faded, replaced by an unusually serious and profound look. He asked, "Albus, there's something about you that I need to talk to you about."

“Aberforth, don’t go, stay and listen with us.”

“Albus, I learned from an extremely reliable diviner that Voldemort’s greedy obsession with the Elder Wand has never truly died out.”

"He is likely still secretly coveting it and has never given up." "And there is only one way to truly obtain it."

Grindelwald paused for a moment. As the previous owner of the Elder Wand, he was well aware of the wand's cowardly nature.

He locked his gaze into Old Deng's eyes and said, word by word, "This means that Voldemort is very likely to send someone to kill you."

"In order to truly obtain the Elder Wand, he must eliminate you."

Old Deng remained silent for a few seconds, his face showing no sign of surprise or fear, only a deep, almost frozen calm, even hinting at a sense of relief.

“I’m prepared for any possible outcome, Gellert.” His voice was gentle yet firm. “Death is merely the beginning of another magnificent adventure.”

“Adventure?” A barely perceptible urgency crept into Grindelwald’s voice for the first time. “Don’t be naive, Albus!”

"You must be on high alert, make thorough preparations, and completely eliminate all potential threats around you!"

He leaned forward slightly, lowered his voice, and said in a voice that only old Dumbledore and Aberforth at the table could hear: "For example, that prophecy about 'Snape will be the one to kill Dumbledore.'"

These words struck the center of the bar like a bolt of lightning that ripped through the silence!
Old Deng's pupils suddenly contracted to pinpoints, and his usual gentle aura instantly froze, becoming as cold and piercing as Siberian ice.

He stared intently at Grindelwald, as if trying to see right through his soul, and demanded sharply, "Where did you learn of this prophecy?!"

His voice was terrifyingly low at this moment, each word filled with the oppressive force of a mountain, because he had issued the strictest order, forbidding anyone from revealing even the slightest detail.

Aberforth, standing nearby, looked as if he had been struck by real lightning.

He sprang up from his seat, the chair legs scraping against the cold stone floor with a sharp, grating sound.

What?! Snape wants to kill you?!

He was instantly consumed by rage, and roared at Old Deng without restraint, "Albus! Immediately! Right now! Firing him! Arrest him and lock him in the deepest cell in Azkaban! Or let me do it! Let me deal with him myself!"

"I knew he was no good. He overheard the prophecy here that year, and now he wants to kill you!"

His hand had already instinctively reached for his waist again, to grab his wand.

“Shut up, Aberforth!” Old Dumbledore reprimanded his brother sternly, a rare occurrence, but his gaze remained fixed on Grindelwald’s face, not wavering for a second. “Gellert, answer me, who told you that, now!”

Grindelwald leaned back in his creaking chair, his face regaining its detached and calm expression, his lips pressed tightly together, saying nothing.

Clearly, he was determined not to reveal a single word.

“You…” Abu Fusi trembled violently with anger, like a leaf falling in the wind, but his brother’s extremely stern gaze was like an invisible shackle, pinning him to the spot, unable to lash out.

Upstairs, in a narrow, dilapidated guest room.

Sirius Black is sticking dog ears to the wooden door.

He has recently been in charge of the reconstruction of the Dancing Grass restaurant so that Charles can pay back his money and rest in this room.

The sounds of a heated argument coming up from downstairs came intermittently. He hadn't wanted to get involved in the matter between Grindelwald and Arden until Charles was mentioned.

In order to hear more clearly, he transformed into the Animagus form, which had better hearing.

However, just now, a few chilling words—"The one who killed Dumbledore was Snape"—pierced his eardrums and his heart like steel needles!

Blake held his breath instantly, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, almost shattering his ribs!

A suffocating silence suddenly fell downstairs, followed by Old Deng's even sterner and colder voice.

Snape… that insidious, vicious, disgusting snot-nosed man… actually wants to kill Dumbledore?!
This is what Grindelwald said; he wouldn't joke about something like this, and he had no reason to frame Snape.

A surge of overwhelming rage, a mixture of shock, disbelief, and chilling fury, instantly swept through every nerve in Blake's body!
Downstairs, Old Deng took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the turbulent emotions churning within him.

He looked at Grindelwald, who was determined not to speak, then glanced at his younger brother beside him, whose face was contorted with anger and worry, and finally said in a firm and unquestionable tone, "This matter ends here."

"Absolutely not! You mustn't tell anyone! Not a single word is to be revealed to anyone!"

Every word he uttered was heavy and cold.

He then turned his gaze back to Grindelwald, his expression complex and unreadable, and said, "Gellert, keep an eye on Charles. Make sure he's safe, at all costs."

Grindelwald nodded very slightly but with absolute certainty, thinking to himself that he had no idea where he had gone.

Old Deng gave Grindelwald one last, deep look, a gaze that seemed to pierce through time. Then he reached out and patted his brother's shoulder, which was taut with extreme anger, in a reassuring manner. He turned and walked steadily out of the Pig's Head Bar.

(End of this chapter)