In the dimly lit bar, Aberforth was wiping a glass with a filthy rag—though the glass itself wasn't all that dirty.
At least compared to the rag, whose original color was long lost, the glass looked downright clean.
Perhaps it was because Hogwarts was on holiday, but the usually lively Hog's Head was unusually quiet today. Only two patrons sat inside.
"Are you sure about this?"
After a long silence, Aberforth finally succeeded in rubbing the glass into a dull gray and looked up.
"You, of all people, should know how dangerous that bloody bastard is…"
Sitting across from him—or rather, floating slightly above the stool—was someone who looked remarkably similar to him.
"If you're talking about Gellert… yes, I'm well aware," Dumbledore said with a nod, eyeing the glass with a conflicted expression.
"Honestly, I should've taken the professors' advice and brought my own cup."
"Don't change the subject. I wouldn't let you use something this clean anyway," Aberforth snapped, glaring at him. "Answer me. Why are you letting that bastard run loose?!"
"I'm not letting him, Aberforth." Dumbledore raised an arm and let his hand pass clean through the bar counter.
"As you can see, I'm just a ghost now."
He pulled his hand back out and shrugged. "I can't even hold a wand. How could I possibly stop him from leaving Nurmengard?"
"You..." Aberforth's mouth twitched.
Brotherly instinct told him Dumbledore wasn't being entirely honest—but there was no proof to challenge him.
Because, physically, Dumbledore couldn't hold a wand anymore.
Aside from being a bit more colorful, he was no different from the other ghosts in the castle now.
No magic. Floating steps. Unable to touch a thing...
"I believe they'll be able to handle this, even without me," Dumbledore said again, glancing in the direction of the castle.
"You trust those professors that much?"
"No. I trust Kyle."
"What do you mean?" Aberforth frowned.
He wouldn't deny that the boy named Kyle was the most gifted wizard he'd ever seen—maybe even more so than Albus in his youth.
But to say he could handle Grindelwald? That was pushing it.
Sure, Grindelwald had been imprisoned in Nurmengard for nearly seventy years, but that didn't mean he'd grown weaker.
Quite the opposite. With no contact with the outside world and no distractions, it was entirely possible Grindelwald had spent every moment honing his magic.
If that were the case, he might now be even stronger than Dumbledore had been at his peak.
And Kyle—still not even twenty—was supposed to deal with a monster like that?
Don't be ridiculous!
"No, brother, you're misunderstanding." Another voice spoke up just then.
It was the first time Dumbledore had ever seen someone change expressions so fast. Wasn't Aberforth usually the one scowling and telling him to get lost?
But who was this cheerful, beaming old man who now smiled so warmly, like sunshine after a long winter?
"Ariana, another glass?" Aberforth asked gently.
No one knew what spell he had used, but a brand-new, sparkling-clean wine glass suddenly appeared on the bar.
"No thank you. I didn't bring much money today."
"What's that got to do with anything?" Aberforth said loudly. "Just put it on Dumbledore's tab. Everyone else does."
Dumbledore blinked.
Wasn't Aberforth supposed to say it was free? Why was it going on his tab?
Ariana just smiled and said nothing.
She wasn't interested in drinking—she just enjoyed the warmth of the moment.
She couldn't even remember the last time she'd seen her two brothers argue like this… but it must have been a very, very long time ago.
Seeing her decline, Aberforth didn't press the matter, but he still made another drink anyway—
A glass of violet sparkling soda, with half a bottle of honey stirred in.
"You said I misunderstood. What did you mean?" Aberforth glanced at Dumbledore. "Don't tell me he made some kind of deal with that bastard?"
"You could say that… but strictly speaking, not exactly." Dumbledore stared at the untouched glass of violet soda on the table.
"What are you looking at? It's not like you can drink it."
"You're so heartless..." Dumbledore made a show of wiping his eyes.
Aberforth twitched at the sight, looking like he might actually throw up.
Dumbledore acted as if he hadn't heard and let out a faint sigh. "All right, you're right—I really can't drink it. I'm starting to understand why ghosts like food that's rotting and foul."
"Then I'll leave it to rot and bring it to you!" Aberforth grumbled irritably. "But right now, I don't have time to play riddles with you…"
"All right, all right, I get it." Dumbledore raised a hand. "You really don't need to be so worked up."
"Gellert's getting on in years too. People our age would much rather sit back in a garden chair and enjoy the sun than stir up chaos in the wizarding world."
Aberforth let out a cold snort.
He didn't know whether to call Dumbledore naïve or just plain stupid.
Sure, maybe Dumbledore liked basking in the sun—but Grindelwald? That man would never stop causing trouble, no matter how old he got. Over a hundred years old, and that twisted hobby of his hadn't changed one bit.
Aberforth swore, Dumbledore was probably the only person in the wizarding world who thought Grindelwald preferred sunbathing.
Dumbledore, for his part, had no idea what his brother was thinking.
He didn't seem interested in continuing the argument and changed the subject instead.
"Do you know what kind of state I'm in right now?"
"Of course," Aberforth said offhandedly. "You're some sort of special ghost made up of memories. You've said it more than once. I remember."
"Then do you know how I maintain this state?" Dumbledore asked again.
This time, Aberforth didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
In the wizarding world, ghosts weren't exactly rare—in fact, they were a fairly common type of magical being.
But all of them were translucent, pearl-white humanoid figures.
He had only ever seen one colorful ghost: Dumbledore.
He'd found it strange at first, but since it was Dumbledore, he hadn't thought much of it. He just assumed his brother had learned some odd, obscure bit of magic.
It made perfect sense. Dumbledore knowing magic no one else did? That was practically expected.
"I'm a coward…" Dumbledore suddenly said.
"Obvious," Aberforth replied instinctively, without hesitation.
But the two of them were used to it by now—neither found the comment strange.
"I was afraid of losing Ariana again, so I sought help from a master of magic," Dumbledore continued.
"Rowena Ravenclaw. You might think I'm spouting nonsense, but she really was in the castle not long ago."
Aberforth's face remained blank as he stared at him.
"She used the Diadem's power to preserve my memory completely, so I could spend as much time as possible with Ariana—even if it's in this weak and cowardly form."
"Oh, and with you too, Aberforth," Dumbledore added.
But judging by Aberforth's expression, that didn't seem to bring him much joy.
If he had a choice, he'd rather spend time with Ariana alone—without this unnecessary third wheel.
"What's your point in telling me this?"
"My point is, anyone who holds the Diadem can erase me completely at any time," Dumbledore said casually. "And that Diadem now belongs to Kyle."
Aberforth still didn't quite follow, but Dumbledore didn't explain any further.
If Aberforth were as sharp as Ariana, he'd understand: if Grindelwald wanted Dumbledore to continue existing, he'd have no choice but to start enjoying the sunshine.
Kyle wasn't like other wizards. Dumbledore believed that if Kyle put his mind to it, he'd find a way to make Grindelwald fall in love with something as simple as sunbathing.
Yes, it was manipulative. It played on Grindelwald's feelings. Maybe even a little despicable.
But Dumbledore had no other choice.
He was no longer the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, no longer Headmaster of Hogwarts. Now, he was just a powerless, cowardly ghost.
Cowardly or not, despicable or not—it didn't matter anymore.
Dumbledore drifted gently, swaying in midair.
Don't get him wrong—becoming a ghost and shedding everything unnecessary had actually made him feel lighter. And slowly, he was even starting to enjoy it.
No agendas, no obligations, no burdens. Just simple, quiet companionship.
Dumbledore gave himself a little twirl in midair.
That was when he suddenly noticed a golden toad sitting in a glass on the bar—though he had no idea when it got there.
It looked as if it had appeared out of thin air.
"Bloody hell!" Aberforth had spotted it too. "What is that thing? I swear the bottle I used this time had real wine in it."
Dumbledore and Ariana turned to look at him simultaneously.
"All right, it's got nothing to do with the wine—it's from Nicolas," Dumbledore said.
"Who?"
"Nicolas Flamel," Dumbledore explained. "Little trinket of his from two centuries ago. I've seen them before."
He leaned in toward the golden toad, which was about the size of a Snitch.
Whatever Dumbledore did, the toad's mouth suddenly opened, and using the wine in the glass, it spelled out a line of words on the bar surface.
"Kyle's wedding!"
Dumbledore gaped in astonishment, eyes filled with disbelief.
"Well, that's… unexpected…"
And yet, a moment later, it also felt completely natural.
Contradictory, yes—but that was honestly how Dumbledore felt.
"Looks like I'd better go find a gift. Anyone heading to London?"
"I'll come with you," Ariana said, rising to her feet. Something seemed to strike her, and she let out a small laugh.
"Do you think Diana just found out about it too, same as us?"
"I'd guess… yes," Dumbledore said, his eyes lighting up.
"Hurry up—I can't wait to get to London."
The two of them moved toward the door in unspoken agreement, and stopped in unison at the threshold.
Dumbledore turned to glance back at Aberforth, who was still lingering behind the bar.
"You're not seriously waiting for customers, are you?"
"What kind of nonsense is that," Aberforth muttered.
But he tossed the rag aside and stepped out from behind the bar.
"Just so we're clear, I'm only coming for Ariana. This has nothing to do with you."
"Ah, yes, of course. I know," Dumbledore said with a smile.
Ariana, leading the way, smiled as well and gently pushed open the door.
Sunlight spilled in from outside, and suddenly, The Hog's Head didn't seem quite so dark anymore.