Isaac cleared his throat, flawlessly mimicking the tone and demeanor Grindelwald had used just moments before , and addressed Albus Dumbledore: “Albus, you look so much older.”
“Gellert…” Albus Dumbledore’s eyes flickered with emotion.
Then, drawing his wand from his robes, he said , “Isaac, I am terribly sorry, but I would like to check this house first.
May I?”
“Of course, please do as you wish,” Isaac replied with a casual shrug.
He did not mind in the slightest.
After all, this place was the very haven Grindelwald had prepared for himself and Albus Dumbledore in the past.
Strictly speaking, the property belonged to Grindelwald , and Grindelwald undoubtedly recognized Albus Dumbledore as its co-owner.
He, Isaac Valdore, was merely a penniless student borrowing the space and living off the generosity of the “master of the house.” Now that the actual owner of the residence wished to perform a thorough, albeit accelerated, sweep of the premises, how could he possibly refuse?
As Albus Dumbledore began to cast his spells, Isaac finally witnessed firsthand how the most towering figure in the wizarding world wielded magic.
Dumbledore barely moved; with a simple flick of his wand, a vast torrent of shimmering silver dust gushed from the tip.
The sparkling mist rolled and swept through every corner of the house.
Once he had confirmed that there was absolutely no magical feedback within the building—or, to put it plainly, no lingering trace of Grindelwald—Albus Dumbledore lowered his wand.
“Is he still in Nurmengard?” Dumbledore asked suddenly, his gaze fixing on Isaac.
“Of course,” Isaac explained.
“What appeared here just now was merely a phantom that only I could perceive.
It is a byproduct of a Seer developing their prophetic talents, completely undetectable to anyone else.” Isaac then made a polite, welcoming gesture toward the dining room.
“Now, would you care to join me for dinner, Professor Dumbledore?”
“I would be delighted,” Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling.
“I caught the scent of the beef stew and apple strudel just moments ago, and I was wondering how I might subtly manage to mooch a meal.”
“You’re joking, Professor.
This was prepared specifically to welcome you,” Isaac laughed.
As they walked, Isaac noticed that the staff in the kitchen and dining room completely ignored Dumbledore’s presence.
It was not the disciplined composure born of professional training; rather, it was as though they literally could not see him.
It was obvious that while performing his sweep of the house, Dumbledore had casually woven a spell to shield himself from their sight.
Once the final dessert was served, Anthony followed Isaac’s prior instructions, settling the accounts with the temporary chef and maid teams before politely showing them out.
Having outsiders present would only hinder Isaac from speaking freely with Dumbledore.
“Are they all Muggles?” Dumbledore asked, though it felt like a rhetorical question.
Isaac nodded naturally.
“Of course.
I live here, and my neighbors are, predictably, ordinary people.
Muggles, as you call them, Professor.
Before receiving my Hogwarts acceptance letter, I attended a Muggle school.
Anthony is a Muggle as well ; hosting a proper dinner party certainly requires an extra pair of hands .” Isaac smiled faintly.
“Fortunately, the account Anthony manages is quite substantial, so there is no need for me to dip into the modest savings I accumulated by helping locals experience a bit of prophecy.”
In front of Albus Dumbledore, Isaac felt no need to hide anything, nor was there any point in doing so.
He was merely an eleven-year-old child; even if he misspoke, Merlin would surely forgive him.
“Ah, yes.
Professor McGonagall mentioned that you made a rather distinct prophecy for a young witch who has yet to enroll.
Is that correct?”
“To be perfectly honest, that hardly qualifies as a proper prophecy,” Isaac admitted, sharing a light chuckle with Dumbledore.
At the time, he had simply foreseen that Professor McGonagall would visit Hermione Granger’s home the following day.
Given that the Deputy Headmistress was making the trip in person, and knowing that Hermione was destined to be one of the “Golden Trio,” her parents’ doubts would inevitably vanish after the visit.
It was a tiny flash of prophecy combined with basic deduction, wrapped in ambiguous phrasing and well-wishes.
That was the secret behind the tremendous success of Isaac’s stall in the Barnet area.
In short, to his regular clients, Isaac was not viewed as an infallible seer whose every word was a decree of fate; he was simply seen as an incredibly lucky, charming young man.
To many, prophecy was a superstitious nonsense best avoided, but when faced with an endearing, fortunate boy, who wouldn’t want to listen to a few pleasant words and catch a bit of good luck?
Business, after all, was not about forcing your own ideas onto a client, but about providing exactly what they needed.
Listening to Isaac’s pragmatic business philosophy, Albus Dumbledore laughed heartily.
Yet, reflecting on their shared gift, Dumbledore couldn’t help but remember that when Grindelwald was Isaac’s age, he was already analyzing the world with the sweeping perspective of a future Supreme Mugwump.
Dumbledore could not entirely fault Grindelwald’s past motives; in an era of rapid technological advancement, Muggles were developing at a terrifying pace while wizards remained stagnant.
For a Seer of Grindelwald’s conviction, witnessing that future was agonizing.
Isaac’s upbringing and his years spent living in an affluent Muggle neighborhood meant he would likely never align with Grindelwald’s extreme ideology.
Even so, Dumbledore was well aware of his old friend’s terrifying talent for manipulation.
Isaac was fundamentally a good child, and before he grew up, Dumbledore felt a profound duty to ensure the boy was not corrupted by Grindelwald’s radical philosophies.
Amused by his thoughts, Dumbledore gestured for Isaac to continue enjoying the feast before them.
Of all the dishes filling the table, Isaac’s clear favorites were the German roasted pork knuckle and the sauerkraut.
Indulging in them allowed him to recapture a fleeting sense of home.
In his previous life, Isaac had been a native of Northeast China, and this meal resonated with those distant memories.
As Isaac was thoroughly enjoying the pork knuckle, Dumbledore casually spoke up, his tone deceptively light: “Isaac, do you happen to know when Gellert intends to leave Nurmengard?”
Hearing the question, Isaac shook his head without the slightest hesitation.
“To be frank, Professor, I have attempted to peer into Nurmengard’s future numerous times,” Isaac confessed.
“Unfortunately, I have never been able to directly perceive the place or Gellert himself.
Unless I travel to Nurmengard in person, I have no way of finding him; he has to be the one to initiate contact, much like what occurred earlier today.”
Isaac found nothing surprising about this limitation.
More than a century ago, Gellert Grindelwald had already established himself as a powerful Seer.
After being defeated and confined to Nurmengard by Albus Dumbledore, he had spent decades in complete isolation.
In a wizarding world where age often equated to terrifying, monstrous magical power, Isaac wouldn’t find it strange no matter how much Grindelwald’s prophetic abilities had matured.
Nor did he feel any sense of frustration over it.
After all, Grindelwald was the ruthless tyrant who had once brought the entire European wizarding world to its knees, treating multiple Ministers for Magic like errant schoolchildren.
Isaac was currently a mere eleven-year-old child; it was entirely natural that he could not match a wizard of that caliber.
Thus far, Isaac had not discovered any sort of shortcut or magical artifact that allowed him to instantly upgrade his powers.
At eleven years old, he was simply a young wizard blessed with exceptional magical aptitude and a few extraordinary talents.