Chapter 386 - Voluntary death
The Dumbledore in the card nodded, and looked firmly at his real self.
"Yes, that's right. If he shows up there, that's his choice. I believe he has gone through countless mental struggles before making the decision."
"He's for Devereux—"
"For him? Haha..."
The real Dumbledore suddenly sneered, his tone revealing a hint of indifference and a hint of indescribable complex emotions.
He raised his head and looked at himself in the card, with an imperceptible emotional fluctuation in his eyes.
"Okay, I got it."
His tone was calm, even a little cold, as if he didn't want to continue the topic.
Then he took a deep breath, and his eyes regained that unquestionable firmness.
"I will take Harry Potter."
His voice was low and decisive, without the slightest hesitation.
Dumbledore on the card looked quietly at himself in reality, his eyes deep, as if hiding countless unspoken emotions.
He didn't say anything more, but left a gentle but heavy sentence -
"Severus, the bravest of us all."
As soon as he finished speaking, the Chocolate Frog card began to tremble slightly, and then as if decomposed by invisible magic, it shattered into fine golden powder, slipped from Dumbledore's fingertips, floated in the air, and finally disappeared silently.
Dumbledore looked at his empty palms and remained silent for a long time.
The words echoed in his mind, like a dull blow to his heart, leaving him speechless for a moment.
He closed his eyes slightly and let out a long breath, as if he was suppressing some emotion, then he walked out of the store and returned to the street.
The streets were already in chaos, but in the midst of this chaos, Lupin was still busy directing the evacuation. He was holding a large bucket of Floo powder in his hand, and he quickly guided people one by one to the fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron.
You can see Ron, Hermione, and quite a few foreign wizards from the Extraordinary Apothecary Guild. They look terrified, but are still running desperately.
But Tonks was nowhere to be seen.
Dumbledore's eyes sank slightly, but he did not stop. He glanced across the street and saw Sirius carrying an unconscious child on his back, running steadily and quickly towards the Leaky Cauldron.
But Dumbledore ignored them.
He kept walking, his expression was determined, and his eyes were fixed on the front - the direction of Gringotts.
——
Nurmengard shrouded in night looks like a dead city sleeping at the end of the world.
The black mountains crouch silently on the horizon like giant beasts, and the mountains are filled with mist that lingers all year round, making the whole land feel creepy and cold.
The sky was heavy and gloomy, without a single star to adorn it. Only faint thunder was rolling low in the distant sky, like some unknown existence whispering in the darkness.
Nurmengard was originally a prison built to imprison the Dark Lord. It is isolated from the world, far away from the hustle and bustle of the human world. Now it is more like a forgotten cursed land.
The wind whistled and whistled among the abandoned towers, and the walls were covered with ancient magical runes.
Occasionally, a faint light flickers in the dark night, as if reminding the world that a name that once dominated the magic world is still imprisoned here.
Passing through the desolate land outside, the interior of the prison is even more gloomy.
The stone walls were cold and damp, the air was filled with a musty smell, the long-unattended ground was covered with dust, and occasionally the shadow of a mouse would quickly pass by the corner.
In this dead silence, only a faint magical flame danced in the iron brackets on the wall, casting distorted shadows.
Dumbledore stood in the shadows. He slowly put down the dimmed Chocolate Frog card in his hand and let out a long breath.
He hadn't appeared in this posture for a long time—his right eye and left arm were gone, and he looked like a ghost crawling out of the abyss.
This look was exactly the same as the moment he defeated Voldemort in Deveroyne.
At this moment, a low and hoarse voice sounded faintly from the cell next to him, breaking the silence of the prison.
"Are you done?"
Dumbledore raised his head and looked deeper into the cell.
Behind the iron bars, a haggard and frail old man sat there quietly.
His face has aged and his cheeks are sunken, but his eyes are still the same, sharp as before, as if they can pierce through people's hearts. Grindelwald - the first Dark Lord.
"not yet."
Dumbledore shook his head slowly, his voice low and steady.
"The situation is more complicated than expected. The Priory has set up a divine domain in London."
Upon hearing this, Grindelwald raised the corners of his mouth slightly, revealing an ambiguous smile.
"After all these years, you still haven't been able to deal with them?"
He scoffed, a hint of sarcasm in his tone.
"To fight against gods with a mortal body... the final outcome is always failure."
Dumbledore remained unmoved, staring at Grindelwald with deep and firm eyes, as if he was looking at a fire that had not yet been completely extinguished.
"That's why I need you to do me this favor."
He said, his tone as steady as an unshakable beacon.
"Let us get a head start."
When Grindelwald heard this, his expression suddenly changed.
He slowly took a step back, his eyes became sharper, and the smile on the corners of his mouth gradually deepened, carrying a certain dangerous meaning.
“Okay…Okay…”
He echoed softly, but his eyes were fixed on Dumbledore, never moving away for a moment.
The air seemed to become even colder, and a feeling of oppression quietly spread in this small cell.
Then, he suddenly asked a completely unexpected question in a low and cold tone:
"Then why—why did you sell yourself to that nigger?"
Dumbledore didn't seem surprised that Grindelwald knew this. He just looked at him quietly with a deep gaze, as if he was reading a book with a predetermined ending.
"I am dying."
His voice was steady and calm, as if he was stating an insignificant fact.
When Grindelwald heard this, he was silent for a moment, as if he had heard an extremely ridiculous joke, and then he laughed softly.
The laughter was cold and piercing, echoing in the damp and dark cell, like metal rubbing against a stone wall, with an indescribable eerie meaning.
"Our greatest white wizard, the most respected headmaster of Hogwarts, would actually be troubled by 'death'?"
Dumbledore continued to look at him calmly, without any rebuttal or any unnecessary expression.
The dim light from the prison's fire illuminated his mutilated body, making him look more like a crumbling statue than the wizarding legend he once was.
Grindelwald gradually put away his smile, his eyes lingered on his face for a moment, and suddenly whispered:
“Death is never scary. What’s scary is who your soul belongs to after you die.”
"Do you want my soul?"
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