Dumbledore sat on a stone like a forlorn child, tears rolling down his face, his entire body exuding a sense of despondency.
If an outsider saw this, they would be at a loss for words, astonished by the sight of Albus Dumbledore, with countless achievements and considered a living legend, showing such a demeanor.
Amorto's face was calm, although he had just been horribly injured by Dumbledore.
There are always regrets that will cause a lifetime of regret.
Amorto was aware of Dumbledore's past, and he was not surprised by the weakness that Dumbledore was showing now.
With a wave of his wand, a low-lying tricycle and wooden table pushed aside the lush weeds, and Amorto slowly sat down.
The cork of an old bottle of wine on the wooden table popped out, forming a trickle that flowed into the crystal cup, and the wine reflected as moonlight, with the fragrance of wine spreading in all directions.
"This is the firewhisky from Aberforth..."
Dumbledore moved his crooked nose.
"That's right..."
Amorto nodded.
"We need some fiery wine to warm ourselves up."
Speaking, he took a sip of the blood-red liquid, the spicy and mellow taste made him sigh comfortably.
Dumbledore silently lifted his glass and took a sip.
"I think I should apologize to you, Amorto. I almost messed everything up."
Dumbledore mumbled unclearly.
"I accept your apology."
Amorto said.
Amorto's powerful magic endowed him with a physique far stronger than the average person, but the increasingly biting cold wind still made him slightly uncomfortable despite his ability to withstand cold and heat.
He had no desire for conversation, just sipping the wine from mouth to mouth, watching the dilapidated Gaunt mansion.
The bloodline of the Slytherin family still exists in the magical world, but the bloodline of Salazar Slytherin himself will face extinction after a millennium.
"Do you need me to explain anything, Amorto?"
Dumbledore said, his voice still thick with a heavy nasal quality.
"If what you want to share with me is your story with your younger brother and sister, as well as your relationship with Grindelwald, I think it's unnecessary--"
Amorto said calmly.
"Oh, I forgot, you got to know about my past so well--"
Dumbledore lowered his head and took another sip of wine.
"That's not the case--"
Amorto said straightforwardly.
"But the magic community is not short of rumors about your past, Headmaster Dumbledore. I just happened to overhear some of them, combined with my own speculation, and I can roughly imagine what that story might have been like."
"I suppose you must think I'm a fool for making such a mistake."
Dumbledore's eyes shone with crystal-like brilliance, his expression melancholic.
"We all have a time when we are young and reckless, and think we are heroes who will save the world, Headmaster Dumbledore."
Especially for geniuses who are rare and extraordinary, they are more likely to lose themselves in people's praise, lose their respect for the world, and thus make mistakes."
"But you have not, have you?"
Dumbledore wiped his eyes, looking at Amorto and showing a smile mixed with a touch of childishness.
"Please forgive me, I have seriously regarded you as similar to young Gellert and Tom, of course, and myself."
"I have compared us, both of us were haunted by mistakes made in our youth, but Amorto, you have never had such a burden. Until now, I still feel curious, a young person with outstanding talents, yet willingly covering up his brilliance and keeping himself obscure, controlling his life with cold and ruthless rationality."
Dumbledore curiously looked at Amorto,
"How have you managed all this?"
Amorto could certainly tell a joke.
For instance, he wouldn't have gone to such lengths to appear ordinary if it wasn't for you as a dangerous figure at Hogwarts.
But at this moment, the genuine confusion in the weathered old man's words, stripped of his facade, still touched him.
"I am different from all of you, Headmaster Dumbledore --"
Amorto said in a melancholy tone.
He was a person without a naive childhood; from the first day he was born into this world, the frail body of that infant contained the soul of an adult.
This enabled him to always maintain a peaceful attitude towards the talent he possessed.
"Not the same--"
Dumbledore chewed over that phrase, the half-moon spectacles reflecting a strange light, his expression slightly peculiar. However, he did not continue to press further.
The two of them didn't say anything more, but instead, they drank the remaining wine in the bottle as they faced the piercing wind.
tak--
Amorto gently placed the ring he had been holding between his fingers in front of Dumbledore.
"I think you must be aware, Headmaster Dumbledore, there is nothing that can bring people back to life."
Gazing dazedly at the ring, Dumbledore's eyes grew misty again. His emaciated frame shivered uncontrollably, looking frail and near death, waiting for the final moment to come.
"I have regretted what happened that afternoon for all my life, Amorto--"
Dumbledore's voice grew hoarse again.
Amorto had nothing to say; he merely gently patted Dumbledore's shoulder. As his arm fell, he casually took the old wand that Dumbledore had stuck in his pocket.
"I will temporarily keep your wand for you, Headmaster Dumbledore--"
Amorto said.
"to prevent you from doing anything dangerous when you're emotional."
Dumbledore was stunned into silence. His fingers struggled to reach the cold ring.
As Amorto did, he held the ring with its gemstone, lifting it to his eyes, and gazed at the Resurrection Stone embedded in the ring.
Amorto dropped his head, his palm brushing over the old wand that had been associated with death and blood, and Amorto's heart gave a slight thud.
Like when he first saw the wand of the two serpents, it was seduced by a desire for power that arose from his heart, this old wand was also communicating something to Amorto, stirring his emotions.
However, in a blink of an eye, Amorto's eyes were completely clear.
Grindelwald, who once possessed the old wand, still lost to Dumbledore. Every previous owner of the wand had been stripped of it by their successor.
For a great magical mind like Amorto, the wand was more of a burden than a help.
Compared to the identity of the death-sick wand of the three Holy Treasures, Amorto's interest in it was more because it was one of the coordinates.
Looking up, seeing that Dumbledore was still gazing dazedly at the ring, Amorto stuffed the wand into his pocket and stepped back a pace.
"Do you know how to use it, Headmaster Dumbledore?"
Dumbledore lifted his hand, his long fingers covering the Resurrection Stone, and rubbed it three times.
Amorto's vertical lines on his forehead appeared instantly, and he moved his gaze away, looking around with caution.
A force manifested, out of nowhere, like some sort of interference from a higher dimension into the lower one.
The clear air was quickly filled with gray mist, which made Amorto's eyes even sharper.
The scent of death.
Like the gray mist that corrodes the island of Avignon, but unlike the evil aura it evokes in others, it doesn't affect Amorto.
Does that mean the Resurrection Stone can really pull the deceased back from the past?！
Amorto's eyes were filled with suspicion.
His understanding of this is far from thorough.
In the thin gray mist, a black shadow appeared.
"Ariana."
Dumbledore shed two tears of clear liquid, he opened his arms wide, stumbling towards the black shadow.
The girl was slender, her long hair fluttered, and she had a delicate face with an air of neighborliness. Her eyes were a bright blue, the hallmark of the Dumbledore family, clear and unblemished. Just like the girl in the portrait hanging in Pig's Head pub.
"Ariana."
Dumbledore wept profusely, calling out the golden-haired girl who was coming closer in a dreamlike voice.
"Can you forgive me, Ariana"
Ariana smiled but said nothing, stopping short of a certain distance and looking at Dumbledore tenderly.
Amorto's eyelids were almost closed into a slit, and his forehead was furrowed.
Who is Dumbledore talking to?
A manifestation of his inner projection?
Amorto originally thought so, but
Amorto clenched his lips tightly, what was that vague, faint, weak but genuine fluctuation of the soul?!
