Harry Potter and the Great Old Ones

Chapter 347 Gellert Grindelwald

At midnight, the eccentric sisters stopped playing, walked to the front of the stage, bowed to the audience to express their gratitude, and received a final round of enthusiastic applause before heading towards the foyer.

But many people were reluctant to end this wonderful night so soon, so quite a few stayed in the auditorium. Even without music, they held hands and whispered to each other under the dim lights and the magnificent ceiling decorations.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the Great Hall with the majority of the crowd, while Tyella remained inside.

“So, he wants your help to figure out what that golden egg means!” Ron’s somewhat angry voice came from the foyer outside the Great Hall. “I imagine you two met in the warm, cozy library, your heads practically touching—”

“I never helped him study that golden egg!” Hermione’s furious voice rang out before Ron could finish. “Never! How could you say such a thing—I always wanted Harry and Tyella to win the competition!”

“Your behavior is rather strange,” Ron scoffed. “You’re treasonous!”

"Treasonous bastard!" Hermione couldn't help but curse. The whole tournament was just about getting everyone to befriend foreign wizards and build relationships with them!

"No, that's not it!" Ron shouted. "It's about winning the game!"

“Ron,” Harry said quietly, “I don’t think it matters much if Hermione and Krum are together—”

But Ron ignored Harry's words.

“Why don’t you go find Weke? He’ll be worried if he can’t find you,” Ron said.

"Don't call him Waikiki!"

Hermione leaped to her feet, stormed across the dance floor, and disappeared into the crowd. Ron watched her retreating figure, a mixture of resentment and anger on his face.

Tiera heard the entire argument outside from inside the hall, so she didn't go out and remained inside.

There weren't many people left in the Great Hall now, just a few young lovers and Dumbledore, slightly tipsy, leaning against the dining table.

Tyrell smiled and walked toward Dumbledore.

“Respected Headmaster Dumbledore.” Tyrell stopped in front of Dumbledore, bowed slightly, extended her right hand, and asked politely—

"Would I have the honor of inviting you to dance with me?"

"No, thank you." Dumbledore took another sip of fruit wine and said with a hint of drunkenness, "Go have fun. I'll go to sleep after I finish this drink. Go find your friends and enjoy this rare, carefree night. I'm sure that even after this banquet is over, there will be another banquet waiting for you in the Gryffindor common room. Don't worry about this old geezer."

“Albus.” Tiera’s voice seemed to change suddenly, becoming more mature, more assertive, more—

"Albus, would you like to dance with me?" The voice rang out again. Dumbledore felt the voice was familiar and warm, as if he had heard it somewhere before, as if...
Suddenly, Dumbledore looked up in shock as a long-buried memory awakened, leaping out from the shackles deep within his mind and rampaging through his mind.

Tyrell stood before Dumbledore—

No, it is no longer, it is no longer Tyella, or rather, it is no longer Tyella.

Dumbledore's sudden glance upwards seemed to pull him back to that summer when he was sixteen, back to Godric's Hollow, back to that barn.

Standing before Dumbledore was no longer the black-haired, black-eyed Tyella who was shorter than Harry, but a tall young man over 1.8 meters tall with heterochromatic eyes. His long golden hair cascaded over his shoulders, radiating a sun-like glow and warmth under the lights of the entire dome. His handsome face was filled with the same unbridled, confident, and radiant smile that Dumbledore had when they first met.

"Albus, I don't know if I still have the honor of inviting you to dance again," the handsome young man in front of him said again in a sexy voice, his colleague's right hand reaching out once more.

Dumbledore stared at him, blankly staring—

Light rose from Dumbledore's eyes, and a tingling sensation gradually crept into his heart, which had been dormant for fifty years.

Tears began to well up silently in Dumbledore's eyes, and then—

Dumbledore felt that he must have lost his mind, or gone mad, under the influence of the atmosphere and alcohol that evening, to have done something so bold and inappropriate:

An old hand rested on Thiers' outstretched right hand.

A century later, the aging hero Dumbledore once again took Grindelwald's hand. The cold Christmas night was instantly imbued with the scent of midsummer.

Tyrell, or rather "Grindelwald," smiled even more wildly and arrogantly. With a little effort, she pulled Dumbledore, who was sitting on a stool and was somewhat drunk, up and led him to the center of the stage.

Grindelwald grabbed Dumbledore's hand and swayed it from side to side.

It was past midnight, and the Eccentric Sisters had already closed up shop. There was no music around, only the strange looks from the Hogwarts students who were still whispering to each other, and the hushed chatter that could be heard between them.

Tierra and Dumbledore—

Or rather, Grindelwald and Dumbledore's dance doesn't need music.

Dumbledore had experienced those strange looks and rumors countless times before, and he didn't care.

These are merely the whetstones of his past experiences, the shadows cast upon his crown as the greatest white demon king in the world.

This does not diminish his greatness.

The only thing he cared about was—

Grindelwald is still so young and so dazzling, even though in reality, a new Grindelwald has begun to grow, while he himself is old and frail.

Grindelwald and Dumbledore danced in the center of the stage, a stage belonging to the greatest Dark Lord and the greatest White Lord in history.

Dumbledore set aside his prejudices and defenses, briefly forgetting his mission and responsibilities. Now he was Albus Dumbledore, the sixteen-year-old boy from Godric's Hollow—

Dumbledore was exhausted; the responsibilities and missions accumulated over decades nearly overwhelmed him.

He desperately needs rest; he desperately needs a safe haven.

Dumbledore thought that perhaps he was neither insane nor had he lost his mind.

As long as that dazzling young man, like a golden bird, is willing to reach out his hand, no matter when, where, or under what circumstances, Dumbledore is willing to grasp that hand—

How could he possibly refuse?

He could never refuse Gellert Grindelwald.

Dumbledore preferred to believe that the person holding his hand and dancing openly with him at that moment was Gellert Grindelwald.

Dumbledore pulled Tyella and danced for a long time, until everyone left, until the lonely, messy and desolate Great Hall was left with only the two of them.

They were like a desolate island, a piece of plaster peeled off a wall, drifting towards an unknown abyss.

As dawn approached, Dumbledore finally stopped, and every wrinkle on his face held a deep sorrow.

Dance finished.

Grindelwald released Dumbledore's hand, took a step back, and bowed slightly like a gentleman.

The light on Grindelwald dissipated like smoke, gradually falling away.

The proud Grindelwald, as radiant as the sun, slowly vanished, leaving behind Tiera, the black-haired, black-eyed woman.

“Merry Christmas, Headmaster.” Tierra gave a slight bow.

Thank you

Autumn winds, frost, and red leaves – vote for January!
Cast your vote in the Silent Era (January)
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(End of this chapter)