Dumbledore did not answer.
He couldn't help but turn his head, avoiding Lynch's gaze, and fixed his eyes on the small flame still burning in the fireplace.
The few orange-red flames in the fireplace danced on the firewood, which crackled faintly, and Dumbledore's silver-white long beard was dyed with a warm orange glow under the dancing firelight.
Dumbledore stared at the small flame in a daze, his thoughts drifting somewhere for a moment.
Silence spread through the air.
Watching Dumbledore's averted gaze, Lynch's tightly pressed lips relaxed slightly, and his slender fingers steadily picked up the teacup, taking another small sip, savoring the brief but clear bitterness on his tongue.
But Dumbledore's silence did not last long.
The firewood in the hearth burned to a knot, emitting a sudden crackle, and the flames shot upwards, startling Dumbledore, the firelight illuminating his re-raised face.
He answered Lynch's question, his voice still low, but the soothing tone that usually made people feel like they were bathed in spring breeze was gone, replaced by a rock-hard, undeniable authority.
"I will save that little girl and ensure she suffers no further harm."
"Then I will personally escort those Dark Wizards to the Wizengamot for trial."
"I will ensure the Wizengamot's tribunal gives them the most severe and just judgment, and the cells of Azkaban will be the final destination of their long lives."
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze fixed on Lynch: "And I can assure you, Azkaban is more than just terrible..."
Lynch lowered his eyelids, shielding himself from Dumbledore's blade-like gaze, his eyes fixed on the plain teacup in his hand.
At this moment, there was still more than half a cup of tea left, but the clear liquid had long lost its initial warmth; only a lukewarm coolness was transmitted from the cup wall to his fingertips.
He gazed intently at the surface of the tea, only catching the last few extremely faint, phantom-like wisps of white steam, rising from the tea and then instantly vanishing into the air.
"A just decision, as expected."
Lynch raised his hand and tilted his head back, drinking the remaining cold tea in the cup in one gulp.
The empty cup was gently placed back on the table, emitting an almost inaudible soft sound.
Lynch looked up, his calm and resolute gaze meeting Dumbledore's sharp stare.
"But that is not the path I will take," his calm voice echoed in the room.
The calm words fell into Dumbledore's ears, containing the unshakeable will of their speaker.
Dumbledore painfully closed his eyes; at this moment, he clearly realized: although both were for the justice in their hearts, the paths extending beneath their feet were not the same.
There was an unbridgeable, fundamental divergence between the two of them.
This cold fact broke his heart, but it was not enough to destroy him.
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The President of the International Confederation of Wizards, Grand Sorcerer First Class of the Order of Merlin, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and the greatest Principal Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had ever known—Albus Dumbledore—reopened his eyes.
"Then you will have endless time to walk your path..." He paused slightly, "Right here."
"I hope things develop as you say, and I will spend the rest of my life here."
Lynch's face broke into a smile again.
"But unfortunately, Headmaster Dumbledore, things in this world rarely go as one wishes."
Lynch extended his right hand, palm upward, and a Galleon appeared above his palm, suspended in the air, slowly spinning.
He closed his five fingers, clamping the Galleon between his index and middle fingers, then rotated his wrist inward, his fingers drawing an arc with the Galleon, and at the end of the arc, he released his fingers, flicking the Galleon away.
The moment it was flicked away, the Galleon vanished, leaving only a parchment envelope slowly flying towards Dumbledore in the air.
Dumbledore raised his hand and caught the envelope.
His fingers traced the creases along the edge of the envelope, looking at the blank cover with no sender listed.
"Perhaps I am too old; I do not recall such a letter among those Hagrid handed to you."
"That's thanks to that desk; my friend is a wealthy person, but unlike other rich people who pursue superficiality, he is an anomaly who pursues practical value."
Lynch's elbow rested on the armrest of the sofa, his right hand casually splayed at his side, his five fingers moving slowly and haphazardly, while the Galleon, like a goldfish, deftly weaved through his fingers.
Dumbledore was somewhat puzzled: "You seem very relaxed. Are you so confident about the content of this letter? Do you really believe that after I read its contents, I will set you free?"
Lynch clenched his right hand into a fist, holding the Galleon in his palm.
He looked up at Dumbledore: "I won't say the contents of this letter will make you set me free, but I think it can help us find some common ground and reach a consensus."
Dumbledore's eyes behind his half-moon spectacles narrowed slightly; he tore open the envelope and pulled out a photograph.
The air solidified for an instant, immense pressure filled the Stone house, the flames in the fireplace stopped dancing, and all sounds and activity vanished in that moment.
But it was only that one instant; the continuously flickering flames on the firewood seemed to tell Lynch that everything that had just happened was his hallucination.
"What is this?"
Throwing the photo onto the square table, Dumbledore stared at Lynch and asked.
Although it was a question, there was no hint of inquiry in his tone.
Lynch met Dumbledore's gaze: "You know what this is."
"Where did you get this photo?"
"The Dark Forest of Albania. A friend of mine spent over a year lurking and searching before finding some traces, and then several more months to take this photo. The shooting conditions at the time weren't good, so the photo's content is a bit blurry; I hope Principal, you don't mind."
"A friend? Is it the same friend who gave you the desk?" Dumbledore's tone carried a hint of sarcasm.
"No, it's not the same person; it's another friend of mine," Lynch answered Dumbledore earnestly.
On the photo paper on the table, in a pitch-black forest, a slender white shadow flashed past from a corner; although the white shadow moved very quickly, it was still discernible as a snake.
And behind the snake's head, a slightly ferocious human face abruptly appeared.
Dumbledore sighed softly: "It seems this letter has indeed found common ground for you and me."
"But Mr. Lynch, a mere photo is not enough to secure your freedom. Rumors about Lord Voldemort in the Dark Forest of Albania have always quietly circulated in the magic world; now you have merely confirmed this rumor."
"And confirming this rumor changes nothing; a weakened Lord Voldemort will not threaten anyone."
"Are you sure, Headmaster Dumbledore?" Lynch gestured with an open hand, "Perhaps the back of the photo will make you change your mind."
Dumbledore gently waved his finger, and the photo on the small square table was flipped over by an invisible force, revealing its back.
"It seems you and I do need to reach some consensus, Mr. Lynch."
Dumbledore's voice sounded ethereal, as if from beyond the heavens.
Lynch's face broke into a smile.