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Chapter 408: He Connotates Him!!
Darren spent the summer at Nicolas Flamel's house.
Nicolas was usually strict toward everyone.
Yet whenever Darren was around, his mood mysteriously improved.
No one else noticed this.
But every time Nicolas took Darren out, people looked at Darren with deep sympathy.
Each time was the same.
This time, Nicolas escorted him to Diagon Alley and said that Dumbledore would be coming to meet him.
And sure enough—
All along the way, Darren was pitied by strangers.
Anyone who knew Nicolas believed Darren was "suffering terribly" under his care.
Fortunately, Nicolas didn't like being outside either.
When he saw Dumbledore approaching, he immediately slipped away.
Dumbledore was wearing a sky-blue robe patterned with flowers.
When he saw Darren, his face lit up warmly.
"Come, my child. Let us go. Take my hand."
Dumbledore reached out.
Darren hesitated, visibly troubled.
He would rather hold a girl's hand than an old man's.
After a brief internal struggle, he endured it.
Then—
In the next moment, they appeared in a distant valley.
At first glance, there stood nothing more than an ordinary house.
But as Darren drew closer, he realized—
It was anything but ordinary.
The entire structure was built from materials used to create Philosopher's Stones.
Absurdly rare.
Absurdly expensive.
Yet on the outside, it looked humble and unremarkable.
Without the system, no one would ever know.
Darren clicked his tongue inwardly.
This old wizard just keeps getting wealthier with age.
Even Malfoy couldn't compare.
On the surface, however, Darren only smiled.
"I like this house, Headmaster. It feels… peaceful."
Dumbledore chuckled.
"If you like it… I'll pass it on to you when I'm old."
Darren froze.
Why did this old man always talk about death so casually?
Then he realized—
Dumbledore was joking.
But also…
Not joking.
He truly meant it.
Inheritance just happened to be a word he used jokingly.
Darren did not joke in return.
Instead—
Without warning—
He stepped in front of Dumbledore.
As if sensing danger.
Dumbledore laughed from the heart.
"Oh, child… I'm only teasing. Don't underestimate me. I'm still rather capable."
He gently led Darren inside.
Then Darren realized something shocking—
Without Dumbledore leading him, the house could never be entered.
It looked close…
Yet it was infinitely far away.
Dumbledore did not hide it.
"This is the Master Possession Spell."
"A ritual from thousands of years ago."
"Only the owner may enter freely. Others may enter only if invited."
"The dormitory spell you use is only a weaker version."
"With a gesture, location is folded. With thought, entry is approved."
Dumbledore flicked his wand.
A foreign piece of magic appeared directly inside Darren's mind.
A spell too simple to decipher—
Impossible to write—
Only transferable soul-to-soul.
A true ancient art.
"All right. We're here."
Dumbledore smiled and released him.
Then—
He embraced a tall blond man.
Grindelwald.
"Darren," Grindelwald said calmly, his wand resting over his heart.
"Thank you… for taking in my followers."
"They've lived difficult lives. Sometimes… I regret leading them to that road."
Though aged, his presence remained overwhelming.
But Darren merely snorted.
"You're lying."
"You're not grateful at all."
"You're lying to a child."
Grindelwald burst into laughter.
"See, Albus? You can't fool him."
"I told you—every time I speak, he sees through me."
"This must be… his Father's intuition he inherited."
He deliberately twisted the phrase—
"Father-son connection."
Darren stared at him in confusion.
Grindelwald laughed again.
"All right. I admit it."
"I am unhappy that you took Rozier."
"When I got out, I wanted to do something grand."
"But I discovered… they were all yours now."
"And none of them wanted to return to my world."
"That… made me feel lonely."
Dumbledore shot him a look.
Grindelwald shrugged dramatically.
"What? I've imprisoned myself half my life."
"When I finally come out, I want to cause a little trouble."
"And earn some gold for my descendants."
"My estates were ruined long ago."
"I hear my descendants are so poor they don't even have spare robes."
Darren's mouth twitched.
This was clearly aimed at him.
He glanced secretly at his own clothes.
Patchy—
But designed patchy.
A custom "beggar aesthetic."
Grindelwald clearly misunderstood.
Darren didn't debate.
As a holy little father—
Obedient and naive—
He pulled something from his robe.
A golden account crystal.
Rozier's funds.
He extended it toward Grindelwald.
Grindelwald froze.
"Keep it," Darren said seriously.
"Rozier earned it for you in the past."
Grindelwald's eyes widened.
"You idiot… the shop is mine."
"I only asked them to settle down and retire."
"All that money… is for you."
"I don't want you committing acts that shake the world."
"The world needs peace."
"If you lack gold… just ask."
"I have more than enough."
[Ding, Father Value +100]
[Ding, Father Value +100]
Grindelwald stared at Darren.
"…Even if I ask for everything you own?"
"You'd give it?"
Darren nodded firmly.
"Yes."
"As long as you remain peaceful… you can have everything I own."
(Preferably the debt too, he silently added.)
If Grindelwald personally paid off his loans—
The goblins would either cry…
Or faint.