<div> Chapter 688: Dumbledore (Extra)
 The pace of development in this era... is dazzling.
 Ever since the Wizarding World began to integrate with the Muggle World, the advancement of magical technology has been like a skyrocketing rocket, soaring into the sky with a series of bangs.
 Various fresh gadgets, either magically enhanced, enchanted, or outright imitated, have started flooding the original wizarding market, like a tidal wave. Automatic cauldrons that hum tunes according to recipes, small mirrors that can record news from ancient times to the present, and new contraptions that can provide navigational guidance for Apparition...
 Even the old train that chug-chugged its way into Hogsmeade Station every year got a streamlined bullet head last year, which made it run faster, but Aberforth always thought it looked ridiculously stupid, like a steel woodpecker caught in a door.
 Change often comes with growing pains.
 It’s foreseeable that many traditional, old-fashioned, or simply displeased pure-blood wizard clans have jumped out, lamenting and accusing in various places, claiming that the Starry Sky Company and its representatives, the "Reformists," are digging a grave for the wizarding world, and that those "bizarre" magical technology products are a desecration of pure witchcraft—
 They also claim that, in the past, the leaders of such "heretical" ventures would be hanged on the stake and burned to ashes.
 However, these intense accusations and declarations mostly disappear without making any meaningful splash, like a stone thrown into a deep pool, with just a gurgle and hardly a ripple before sinking to the bottom.
 However——
 All these chaotic affairs about where the wheels of the era should roll have nothing to do with Aberforth Dumbledore.
 He, along with his Hog’s Head Inn and those goats, clearly have no intention of catching this "fast train of the new century."
 The Hog’s Head Inn stubbornly, quietly remains in Hogsmeade’s corner—
 <div style="margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:10px;text-align:center">
 <div>
 
 </div>
 </div> Oh, correction, it’s now a corner in a so-expanded, shop-lined "Hogsmeade Town" that includes two pedestrian shopping streets and has even incorporated Hogwarts Castle into its boundaries. It might be more central now, but its essence hasn’t changed.
 In the corner of Hogsmeade’s central square, already lined with rows of buildings, the black wooden hut looks out of place.
 The weathered wooden sign swings in the night wind, emitting a creaky sound that grates on the teeth, with the glass window still covered in years of grime and dust, the dim light it diffuses perfectly blocks any curious peeks from mischievous children.
 The metallic door knocker is icy and bone-chilling, with a suspicious stickiness that has remained unchanged for decades. Behind the heavy wooden door, the air filled with years of dust, alcohol, the musky smell of goats, and mold permeates every corner of the bar... Christmas Eve?
 This theoretically has nothing to do with here; the Hog’s Head Inn doesn’t serve spiced mulled wine, nor does it hang mistletoe and holly wreaths, let alone have ghost choirs or little elf choruses. The background noise here is usually silence, or the hushed mutterings of a few old drunks, occasionally interspersed with the bleating of goats.
 But now, Aberforth’s blue eyes, hidden under bushy grey-white eyebrows, couldn’t help but squint a little. He crossed his arms, leaning slightly against the bar, his rough fingers unconsciously tapping his forearm—
 Something’s not right.
 Something’s off; today’s Hog’s Head Inn... is too lively.
 But as previously mentioned, this is clearly not the kind of liveliness people desire for a festive celebration. The air is thick with an unmistakable scent of unrest.
 The heavy wooden door keeps opening and closing, his gaze sweeps around.
 In the shadowy corners sit several folks wrapped tightly in thick cloaks, with glasses in front of them, exchanging glances without saying a word, occasionally looking up, their gaze flitting over everything swiftly, like startled bats.
 At the center table, a few wizards dressed so exquisitely that it clashed completely with the environment were arguing in hushed voices, speaking rapidly, occasionally casting tense glances around.
 There are even a few goblins in the bar, this place being one of the few spots where goblins can appear without disguise, because everyone knows the barkeep here doesn’t care about anything other than cleaning and goat-keeping—at least, that’s how he’s always presented himself over the years.
 <div style="margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:10px;text-align:center">
 <div></div>
 </div> Meanwhile, Aberforth also noticed a guy who usually smuggles magical creatures, now nervously sitting near the back door, his fingers tapping nervously on a bulging package he’s holding.
 The man’s nose twitched slightly.
 These people are not here to celebrate.
 By the bar, a regular old drunk was muttering complaints, "Bloody hell, Aberforth, what day is it today? I can’t even have a quiet drink..."
 Aberforth ignored the guy who’d drunk so much he’d forgotten it was Christmas, just picked up a rag that looked older than the table, slowly wiping a glass that was already quite clean, his gaze lowered, as if all his mind was on the glass...
 More people kept coming in, to the point where some had no place to sit and had to stand by the bar.
 Aberforth frowned, suddenly having a bad premonition—after all, as the owner, he knew full well the drinks here were terrible, that his goats weren’t as appealing as Madam Rosmerta’s... No, that sounded even worse...
 So, he put down the glass, making a soft "thud" sound. Though not loud, it subconsciously made a few nearby folks straighten their backs.
 Aberforth lifted his eyes, their gaze like two blunt knives, slowly sweeping across the entire bar: "Closing time." Aberforth suddenly announced, his voice as rough as gravel rubbing together, "It’s Christmas Eve, I want to rest."
 This sparked a small commotion, the cloaked figures in the shadows didn’t move, the arguing wizards stopped, looking at him with uncertain glances, the goblins’ pointed ears perked up, and that tense smuggler nearly jumped from his seat.
 A wizard who just came in, looking like an ordinary wizard, forced a smile, "Boss, it’s still early? It’s the holidays, let’s stay a bit longer..."
 But Aberforth merely looked at him, silently, the pressure in those blue eyes freezing the wizard’s smile in place.
 "Money on the table." Aberforth looked away from him, starting to clean up the bar, "Five minutes, anyone still here... is on their own."
 <div style="margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:10px;text-align:center">
 <div></div>
 </div> So, under Aberforth’s watchful gaze, people began to move.
 At first, there was the rustling sound of movement, coins and silverware were hastily placed on the tables, followed by the screeching scrape of chairs being pushed back, those cloaked shadows being the first to rise, like amorphous fogs slipping quietly toward the door.
 The wizards exchanging rapid glances also got up, the goblins hissed in displeasure but reluctantly hopped off their high stools, disappearing into the gaps in the crowd, while that smuggler sprinted, clutching his parcel, knocking aside others in his haste, disappearing in the darkness and swirling snow outside in the blink of an eye.
𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎 Then Aberforth heard several curses, followed by many figures quickly speeding up their steps.
 In less than half a minute, the just-crowded and bustling bar turned utterly empty, only the messy mess of cups on the tables remained, and the air’s lingering muddled atmosphere.
 The heavy wooden door automatically shut with a dull thud after the last "customer" left, blocking out the world’s wind, snow, and distant noises. Under the dim light, drifting dust gently settled, and goats in the back room let out soft, uneasy bleats.
 Aberforth didn’t move, remaining where he was, his lake-blue eyes flickering slightly in the shadows.
 Christmas Eve, Hogsmeade, a bunch of sneaky folks.
 His fingers tapped on the greasy bar, making dull thumps, then he reached into the inner pocket of the coat he’d been wearing for at least twenty years, rummaging for a moment, he pulled out not a magic wand or a bottle of wine—but a heavy, glowing brick.
 He clumsily fumbled with the "brick" with a metal casing etched with a string of rune language, soon, melodious music played, and he raised his hand to his ear.
 Then, a long wait...
 "...The number you dialed is powered off, please try again later." A cold mechanical female voice emerged from the glowing brick.</div>
 

<div style="margin-top:10px;margin-bottom:0px;text-align:center">
 <div>
 
 </div>
</div>

Chapter 688: Dumbledore (Extra)

Chapter 688: Dumbledore (Extra) The pace of development in this era... is dazzling. Ever since the Wizarding World began to integrate with the Muggle World, the advancement of magical technology has been like a skyrocketing rocket, soaring into the sky with a series of bangs. Various fresh gadgets, either magically enhanced, enchanted, or outright imitated, have started flooding the original wizarding market, like a tidal wave. Automatic cauldrons that hum tunes according to recipes, small...

Hogwarts: I'm More Than a Dark Lord

Chapter 688: Dumbledore (Extra)

Hogwarts: I'm More Than a Dark Lord - Chapter 688: Dumbledore (Extra)