While Professor Lupin was teaching his class of young witches and wizards...
Far away in Austria.
Geralt was somewhat at a loss. It was his first time tracking someone like this—without activating his Witcher senses, without painstakingly searching for footprints, scents, or lost items, and without needing to hide himself at all. He simply followed, openly and brazenly, right behind the person he was supposed to track.
No matter the sound he made, or how close he got, the person ahead acted as though he were invisible. And if he fell behind, that person would even pause to wait for him.
"Geralt?" Dumbledore, picking through a pile of cockroach clusters, offered cheerfully. Without Harry or Fawkes around, he could freely enjoy the sweets he'd just purchased from the candy shop. "Would you like one?"
He grabbed a handful.
The dark, jointed creatures crawled around in his palm.
"No, thank you." Geralt shook his head.
Dumbledore pressed on. "Really? They're quite delicious. Don't be fooled by how they look."
"No, thank you," Geralt replied again without hesitation. Delaying even a second would have been disrespectful to the habits he'd developed in this world.
Dumbledore sighed in slight regret. "You and Harry are alike."
"Sometimes I think so too," Geralt responded softly.
Their conversation was, for Dumbledore, a rather curious experience.
Geralt looked very young, seemingly around Lupin's age, and was handsome enough to rival Sirius. Dumbledore often forgot how old he truly was.
Whenever he spoke with the air of an elder, offering well-meaning advice, Geralt would nod and say things like, "I think so too," or "I saw the same in my youth."
That gave Dumbledore a peculiar sense of temporal confusion—he'd have to pause for a moment and recall that the Witcher before him was roughly the same age as himself.
It made him all the more wistful.
Time hadn't changed Geralt much. His strong, youthful body allowed him to keep a young heart.
Not like himself.
Under time's erosion, his body was half a step into the grave, and so was his soul.
Still, more than anything, he felt grateful and comforted.
Time could change many things. Ninety years ago, Dumbledore never imagined he would spend the rest of his life at Hogwarts. He wouldn't have wanted to. He feared that—feared being bound here. And he worried, too, that Harry might change someday. Though he was so reliable now, who could say what the future held?
But Geralt was a good example.
They were of the same kind. And kindred spirits seldom changed much.
Dumbledore enjoyed talking to Geralt, much as he enjoyed talking to Harry.
There was a subtle and unexpected joy in it.
Their conversation was lively when suddenly Snape stopped and motioned for them to halt with a gesture.
They were close.
Dumbledore cast Disillusionment Charms over himself and Geralt, tightly sealing away every trace of magic or aura—something he never used to consider. At most, he might have concealed his magical energy. But after meeting Harry, his worldview had broadened. There were people in the world whose senses were so sharp they could tell what you had for breakfast just by your breath.
Snape had signaled, but they still walked for over an hour before reaching a stretch of forest.
Snape stepped in without hesitation, swallowed almost instantly by the dense darkness of the trees.
The two of them paused.
There was no doubt—Voldemort wouldn't store all his remaining Horcruxes in the same place.
In fact, it was very likely there was no Horcrux here at all.
Snape's identity hadn't yet been compromised. He was needed to steal what had been hidden in the deepest corners.
Dumbledore scanned the woods. He detected no trace of magical presence. A gentle wave of his wand revealed no soul, not even the faintest whisper of one. Just as he prepared to step forward—
He heard a soft rustle beside him and turned.
He could see through the Disillusionment Charm—after all, he'd cast it himself.
Geralt reached into a pocket and pulled out a steel sword.
"What is it?" Dumbledore's face turned serious.
"Snakes. Lots of snakes," Geralt murmured, holding his sword, cautiously moving forward.
Snakes?
In this forest, there were many serpents not native to the ecosystem.
When Snape had stepped into the woods, he'd immediately felt a chill. Dense swarms of snakes surged from all directions, tongues flicking like steel forks, cold vertical pupils fixed upon him.
A sleek, black-scaled snake slithered over, raised its head, and hissed.
Snape couldn't speak Parseltongue. He stared at it coldly.
Dumbledore, standing behind, muttered something under his breath, but no sound escaped.
The black snake hissed again.
"I don't understand you," Snape said flatly. "I'm here on behalf of Barty Crouch Jr."
The black snake grew impatient.
It hissed down at Snape's feet.
A small green snake slithered up his shoe, climbed his robes, and entered his clothes, sliding along his body.
Snape resisted his instinctive flinch.
Slytherin had long ties with serpents, and Voldemort—its most notorious heir—had made snakes his symbol.
He calmly faced the horde.
Perhaps when Crouch said "they," he hadn't meant people, but snakes?
The small snake reached Snape's left arm, paused, and poked its head out of his collar, hissing twice.
Snape understood.
It was confirming the presence of the Dark Mark.
The black snake's demeanor eased slightly. Its hiss was no longer as sharp, though the natural chill of its kind remained.
Snape grabbed the small snake at its midsection and tossed it aside. "Take me to your master."
The black snake didn't budge, tongue flicking.
Snape stared it down.
A long pause.
The snake showed no sign of leading. Instead, it flicked its tail impatiently.
Snape said nothing and took out a letter, levitating it with his wand. It floated gently down before the snake.
The black snake bit it, slithered into the forest, and disappeared.
Snape moved to follow.
But the other snakes surged forward to block him.
Dumbledore silently reinforced Geralt's spell and followed quietly.
Snape sighed and stepped back, waiting.
Moments later, the black snake returned and flicked its tail lazily.
Dismissal.
Snape turned, glanced deeply into the woods, and Apparated away.
—
Evening.
At Hogwarts, in the Headmaster's office.
Harry stepped in after his last class and saw Geralt chatting with Godric Gryffindor.
"Geralt, you look like you've gained weight," Harry said.
"Probably," Geralt replied, pinching his cheek. "Too much good food, nearly half a month in that inn."
This easy life was spoiling him.
"Back already? No trouble?" Harry asked Snape.
Snape turned his head away, his aura heavier than ever.
"Crouch sent Snape to meet a group of snakes," Dumbledore explained softly.
Snakes?
That word gave Harry pause. He frowned, glancing toward the mirror on the wall and the faint reflection of his own silhouette. "One of Voldemort's remaining Horcruxes... is a snake?"
Dumbledore nodded. "Yes. That's the only bit of good news."
"But... I didn't get much more information."
Dumbledore sighed. "I know a little Parseltongue, but I'm not a true Parselmouth. The black snake took the letter, tore it open with the others, and then..."
His voice paused, wistful.
"A massive python came forward..."
He paused again, sorrow heavy in his tone.
"She read the letter aloud, then a swarm of snakes—hundreds—scattered in all directions. I have no idea where they went."
"I couldn't follow them."
Geralt shrugged. "I could have, but not that many at once."
"You knew that snake?" Harry stared at Dumbledore.
Dumbledore didn't reply. His eyes averted.
"She wasn't just a snake?" Harry pressed.
Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, Harry, I knew her. I never expected to see her again, especially not now."
"A woman? She used to be human? An old flame before Grindelwald?" Harry asked, watching Dumbledore's face.
Before Dumbledore could answer, Harry shook his head.
"No—related to the other Dumbledores?"
Dumbledore looked away again.
"So that's it." Harry nodded. "Aberforth's lover?"
Dumbledore sighed.
"No romantic entanglement with Aberforth?" Harry raised a brow, surprised.
Dumbledore shook his head. "No, and nothing to do with Ariana either. Apart from me, the other Dumbledores are all normal. She's related to... Aberforth's child. I once promised her something, but I failed. I didn't even take proper care of her. It's one of the great regrets of my youth."
Harry searched his memory. "Aberforth had a child?"
Dumbledore chuckled lightly. "Why wouldn't he?"
"He doesn't seem the type," Harry said, conjuring chairs for them all. "But this concerns the mission you gave me. I need the full truth—it could really help."
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Powerstones?
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