It was hard for Eda to believe that the Hog's Head actually had such a clean little room hidden inside it.
She had come here once before with the twins, and compared to that shabby, slovenly wizard, Eda much preferred Madam Rosmerta—at least that beautiful madam of The Three Broomsticks was someone who cared about cleanliness.
While Eda was looking around the little room, Dumbledore was looking at Eda. He felt quite troubled by how she had acted today. He should have foreseen how serious his words had been, and he should have anticipated the consequences.
This girl, who always seemed indifferent to what others said about her, was in fact very sensitive inside. His words had struck a nerve deep in her heart, keeping her from getting involved in Hagrid's dragon incident as she usually would have—and today, they led her to handle things in the most irrational way possible.
Dumbledore's gaze fell on Eda's right arm. From the moment they left the Headmaster's office, the girl's right hand had stayed tucked in her robe pocket. Dumbledore didn't need to ask to know that her right hand must be gripping her wand tightly.
It was because of a single sentence that such a deep rift had formed between them, making Eda trust him so little. This was something Dumbledore had not anticipated at all.
When Eda noticed Dumbledore watching her right hand, she didn't shy away at all, nor did she show any intention of taking her hand out. Even when the Hog's Head barman brought over food, Eda still didn't take out her right hand—she stubbornly ate using only her left.
Through this childish act, Eda was telling Dumbledore clearly: she did not trust him. Every word he spoke now was unworthy of her trust.
Only by gripping her wand in her hand could Eda feel the slightest bit of security when facing this unknown journey.
After serving the food, the barman of the Hog's Head didn't leave. Instead, he sat down on a chair behind Dumbledore. He said, "Little girl, I've seen you before."
"Yes, sir, I came to your pub a year ago," Eda replied, still eating with her left hand. Luckily, the barman had prepared sandwiches and a bowl of soup—easy enough to manage one-handed.
"A year ago, you were only a second-year. The school doesn't allow second-year students to come to Hogsmeade," Dumbledore tried to make conversation. He didn't ask who Eda had come with—he already knew it must have been the twins—and he didn't ask how she'd gotten here, because even if he did, Eda wouldn't tell him now.
"Little girl, if you want to stay alive, you'd best keep far away from him—as far as you can," the barman said. "Just like you did today—always stay on guard against this kindly looking Headmaster."
Eda lifted her head to look at the barman, then quickly glanced at Dumbledore. She suddenly noticed that the barman's eyes and brows looked a little like Dumbledore's.
"You're still the same as ever," Dumbledore said helplessly. "Couldn't you at least leave me a shred of dignity in front of my student?"
"If it weren't for this girl, you wouldn't even be able to step into this pub," the barman said. "Where are you taking her? Azkaban? St. Mungo's? To be a prisoner—or spend her life being poked and prodded by those lunatics at the hospital?"
Both Dumbledore and the barman were looking at Eda, as if seeing memories of the past reflected in her.
Dumbledore said slowly, "I won't send her to Azkaban, and I won't send her to St. Mungo's either. I'm only taking her to see someone—someone who can help her grow, someone who can give her more choices."
The barman let out a scornful laugh and continued, "Did you even ask her who she wants to see—or whether she wants to see anyone at all? You're still the same as ever—never once wondering if you might be wrong."
"It's exactly because I realized my mistake that I made this decision," Dumbledore said, shifting his gaze back to Eda's right hand. "This is the last decision I will ever make for her life."
The two of them were discussing Eda's life right in front of her. After exchanging a few more words, they both fell silent again, and the hidden room returned to its heavy quiet.
Out in the yard behind the Hog's Head, Dumbledore prepared to leave with Eda, who had rested for a while. He said, "Where we're going is a bit far—it would be best if you came with me."
Seeing Dumbledore offer his left arm, Eda didn't move. Instead, she stepped to his right side and grabbed his right arm—this way, her right hand stayed in her pocket, still gripping her wand.
Watching Eda's actions, the barman said, "That's how it should be. Don't trust him—don't be fooled by his words."
Dumbledore smiled at the barman and said, "I hope that when I return, we can finally have dinner together again."
With that, Dumbledore and Eda's figures vanished from the spot. After a moment of dizzying spinning, Eda found herself standing by the sea. Seabirds wheeled overhead, waves crashed against the cliffs, and the air was filled with the salty scent of the ocean.
"This is the White Cliffs of Dover—a midpoint in our journey," Dumbledore said. "He's not here yet—we may have to wait a while."
The White Cliffs of Dover sit at Beachy Head on the English Channel. From the European mainland, the most striking sight when gazing at Britain is this beautiful stretch of white cliffs beneath Eda's feet.
Across this sea lay romantic France—Louis XIV's France, Napoleon's France, the France of baguettes.
After they'd stood in the sea breeze for about ten minutes, a hunched old man in ragged clothes walked over, carrying a rusty bucket in his hand. He set the bucket down beside Dumbledore and Eda.
The hunched old man said, "Two minutes left."
Dumbledore nodded. He didn't offer his left arm again but instead placed his right hand firmly on Eda's shoulder.
When the old man's countdown ended, Dumbledore stepped into the rusty bucket with one foot.
Eda felt herself shoot forward like a gust of wind. Everything in front of her blurred together. That unremarkable bucket seemed to have a magnetic pull, keeping her locked close around it.
When Eda's feet finally touched solid ground again, she could no longer hear the sound of the sea, nor smell its salty tang. She greedily sucked in the dry air—honestly, there was no such thing as a normal means of travel in the wizarding world.
She'd only just gotten used to Floo Powder and Apparition, and now there was a Portkey. Wizards really ought to ride an airplane once in their lives—maybe then they'd think about improving their ways of getting around.
"Where are we?" Eda asked. It was the first time she'd spoken to Dumbledore of her own accord that day.
She looked up. They were surrounded by layers upon layers of snowy mountains. Atop a cliff stood a forbidding, pitch-black castle, cold and towering. Near the edge of the precipice rose an especially tall tower.
"Inland Europe—Austria," Dumbledore replied.
What comes to mind when you think of Austria?
Is it Vienna's Golden Hall, the Habsburg dynasty, the romance between Empress Sisi and Crown Prince Franz, or the young man with a little mustache wandering the streets of Vienna chasing his artistic dreams?
What Eda thought of was Gellert Grindelwald.
After this Dark Lord was defeated by Dumbledore, he was imprisoned here in Austria, at Nurmengard.
Ironically, Nurmengard was built by Grindelwald himself, originally to imprison his opponents—only for it to become his own prison once he fell.
Eda followed behind Dumbledore, treading the rugged, treacherous mountain path. The towering walls in the distance crushed any notion of escape. The lofty castle looked dark and menacing, even in broad daylight.
They walked for a long time before they finally reached a platform forged from massive stones. This must be the castle's entrance, but Eda saw no gate—it must have been concealed by magic.
"There are no guards here—because no one in this world could guard him," Dumbledore said.
He raised his wand and began chanting a long and complex incantation. As the spell spilled from his lips, the castle's gate slowly revealed itself. The grand fortress spoke silently of its master's past glory, while the weathered wooden door whispered stories lost to the wind.
Eda tilted her head back and looked above the castle's gate. There, carved into the stone, was a single line of words: For the Greater Good.
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