After the first “Dark Lord,” Gellert Grindelwald, was imprisoned in Nurmengard, Albus Dumbledore followed suit and confined himself to Hogwarts.
Perhaps Dumbledore himself knew all too well that when he went astray, he had lost the last person in this world who could have stopped him.
Imprisoning himself within the walls of Hogwarts was the solution he had devised.
His reputation was too towering, his abilities too immense; if he truly wished to take action, the entire wizarding world would undoubtedly follow his lead.
This was evident to some extent later on when he founded the Order of the Phoenix.
For the remainder of his life, this “White Lord” endured a torment akin to ten thousand ants gnawing at his heart, day after day.
The elderly man’s attitude toward death was encapsulated in a phrase he frequently kept on his lips: “Death is but the next great adventure.” Or perhaps, for Dumbledore, death was the only eternal release.
Perhaps the only matter currently weighing on the old man’s mind was his “good student,” Tom, whose whereabouts remained unknown.
Originally, after Dumbledore had finished cultivating “The Savior” and laid a death trap for Tom, he had been fully prepared to meet death calmly.
There was truly nothing left in this world that could move his heart.
Until he heard the “three elements” from Professor McGonagall.
Prophecy, platinum-blonde hair, and heterochromia.
Isaac Valdore could have been a young wizard who possessed the gift of prophecy and a head of platinum-blonde hair; he could have been a young wizard with heterochromia and prophetic talent; or he could have been a young wizard possessing both platinum-blonde hair and heterochromia.
As it turned out, he possessed all three.
These three elements might have meant little to anyone else, but to Dumbledore, they were nothing short of a clap of thunder on a clear day.
“Minerva…
is this true?” For the first time in a long while, the White Lord, who had confined himself to the high tower of Hogwarts, completely lost his composure.
The candy box that originally held Cockroach Clusters was knocked over, and the “cockroaches” scattered and fled in all directions.
Turning a deaf ear to it all, Dumbledore simply stared fixedly at Professor McGonagall.
At this sight, Professor McGonagall felt a sharp pang of heartache.
After working together for so many years, Dumbledore was her closest friend—a true best friend in every sense of the word.
Dumbledore knew of Professor McGonagall’s two great regrets, and Professor McGonagall was equally aware of Dumbledore’s past with Grindelwald.
“Yes, Albus,” Professor McGonagall said softly.
“I can attest that young Isaac Valdore made a remarkably precise prophecy regarding Miss Granger.
Perhaps he even foresaw my arrival in his prophecy.
In any case, I believe it might be time for you to fulfill your duties as Headmaster.”
Professor McGonagall blinked and handed the parchment in her hand to Dumbledore.
To her, it did not matter in the slightest even if Isaac Valdore’s prophetic talent turned out to be a hoax.
As the Deputy Headmistress, she was already busy to the point of utter exhaustion; what was wrong with the Headmaster running a few errands when he had nothing better to do?
In the wizarding world, an elderly wizard over a hundred years old running errands for a “young” witch in her fifties was perfectly acceptable!
This was precisely what one might call Hogwarts-style workplace bullying.
“Very well, Minerva,” Dumbledore murmured, lowering his head.
He traced his fingers over the note bearing Isaac Valdore’s name and address, running his hands over it again and again.
The half-moon spectacles perched on his nose happened to obscure his eyes, and beneath the glare of the lenses, even Professor McGonagall could not discern Dumbledore’s expression at that moment.
Knowing that Dumbledore required some time alone, Professor McGonagall waved her wand to help clean up the scattered Cockroach Clusters, then quietly slipped out of the Headmaster’s office.
Not long after, Dumbledore prepared to set out.
London, Hampstead Garden Suburb, 12 Medway Street.
With a sharp crack, Dumbledore arrived via Apparition.
This was Isaac Valdore’s residence, and simultaneously, one of Grindelwald’s secret, unrecorded properties.
Stepping up to the door of Isaac Valdore’s house, Dumbledore did not rush to knock.
Instead, he stood there, slowly and meticulously examining the small, two-story building before him.
The moment he laid eyes on Isaac Valdore’s house, countless memories from the distant past came rushing back to him.
He remembered those two months of youthful infatuation in Godric’s Hollow.
He remembered the long hours he and Grindelwald had spent debating the intricacies of magic, and the late nights they had discussed the inevitable war between wizards and Muggles.
And, of course, he remembered the Greater Good…
They had even envisioned a future together: once they won the war between wizards and Muggles, they would find a modest, two-story building in London and live out their days in quiet seclusion, just like Nicolas Flamel and his wife.
Now, seeing an object that had once existed only in his most cherished memories suddenly materialize before him in the flesh, Dumbledore could not help but fall into a daze.
As Dumbledore stood lost in thought, the front door of the villa at the end of the garden path slowly swung open.
The elderly butler, Anthony, stepped out with measured strides.
“Greetings, honored guest.
Welcome; the young master has been awaiting your arrival inside the manor.”
Standing at the bottom of the entrance steps, the old butler spoke in a tone that was neither too loud nor too soft, just distinct enough for Dumbledore to hear perfectly.
“Thank you.
Thank you for the warm welcome,” Dumbledore replied, offering a gentle smile and a nod.
He slipped his glasses off the bridge of his nose, wiping them with deliberate care before placing them back on.
Then, he crossed the threshold into the house.
The moment Dumbledore stepped inside, his first impressions were of warmth and vibrant light.
In the living room, a phonograph was playing a melodious, flowing tune.
In the dining area, a chef hired by the old butler was busy preparing one exquisite dish after another, while several maids bustled back and forth between the dining room and the kitchen.
The entire domestic staff, including the chef and the maids, had been temporarily brought in by the old butler.
As for the funds used to secure their services, they naturally came from the vault Grindelwald had left behind.
In a way, this could be considered a banquet hosted by Grindelwald for Dumbledore after decades of separation.
The spread on the dining table was extraordinarily lavish: Wiener Schnitzel, hearty beef stew, and golden apple strudel; rich Hungarian goulash, chicken paprikash, and layered Dobos torte; traditional German roasted pork knuckle, sauerkraut, and a platter of assorted sausages…
Staring at the deeply familiar dishes gracing the table, Dumbledore’s ancient heart, which had remained placid and unmoving for decades, suddenly began to thud uncontrollably against his ribs.
The faint sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears, causing Dumbledore to snap his head around abruptly.
Isaac Valdore stood on the landing of the staircase, offering a slight, respectful bow to Dumbledore down below.
Everything this elderly man had sacrificed for the wizarding world made him entirely worthy of respect.
“Professor Dumbledore, welcome to my home.”
Dumbledore stared blankly at Isaac Valdore, his eyes momentarily losing their focus.
It was as if his gaze were piercing straight through Isaac Valdore’s silhouette, peering deep into the recesses of the distant past.
The striking platinum-blonde hair, the unmistakable heterochromia, and a reception that aligned seamlessly with his arrival time left Dumbledore with absolutely no doubt: the child standing before him truly carried the three defining traits of Gellert Grindelwald.
At this moment, Dumbledore found himself completely paralyzed by a profound sense of trepidation—the overwhelming anxiety one feels when drawing too close to home.
For a long while, he simply did not know what to say to Isaac Valdore.
Isaac Valdore did not seem to mind Dumbledore’s stunned silence.
He descended the stairs with easy grace until he stood directly in front of the Headmaster.
He allowed Dumbledore to study him for a few moments, but then, his gaze unexpectedly shifted to the empty air right beside Dumbledore’s shoulder.
Immediately after, a subtle, knowing smile played across Isaac Valdore’s lips.
“Professor Dumbledore, it appears I must act as a messenger today.
Someone has asked me to pass a word along to you…”