In this manner, all the developnts fell into a logical sequence.
Matthew wore a dejected expression and simultaneously shook his head.
After bidding farewell to Madam Rosrta and her husband, he left the Three Broomsticks Bar in a despondent manner.
He then retraced his steps toward the Hogs Head Bar.
The hour was late, and darkness had already descended upon Hogsade Avenue.
A chilling wind whistled through the streets, casting an eerie atmosphere on this midsumr night.
Matthew hastened his pace, passing by the post office on Central Avenue and veering onto a small side street
As he drew closer to the small bar owned by Aberforth Dumbledore, an uneasy feeling washed over him.
Whats happening? he wondered silently. The atmosphere felt distinctly off.
Gazing at the severed Hogs Head depicted on the sign, Matthews anxiety deepened.
His sixth sense had proven invaluable in many crisis monts before.
Summoning his courage, he moved forward and knocked on the door of the Hogs Head Bar
No response ca, as if the room before him were empty, save for sporadic muffled sounds.
Matthew blinked, then rapped harder.
Is Mr. Percival here? he called out loudly.
After waiting for about a minute, the door of the bar creaked open.
Before him stood the peculiar old man once moretall and gaunt, with long gray and white hair and beard.
However, his face bore the most striking feature: over a dozen scars crisscrossed it, rendering his visage grotesque.
To a timid person, it might have been frightening enough to induce fainting.
The old man glanced down at Matthew, a hint of bewildernt in his eyes.
What do you want? he inquired in a low voice.
Id like a butterbeer, sir Matthew cleared his throat and continued, If possible, with extra honey.
Take a seat, the old man nodded, Ill fetch it and we can talk.
He turned towards the stove and began to prepare a butterbeer.
Matthew surreptitiously glanced at the enigmatic old man across from him.
Everything about the situation felt decidedly strange.
Though he hadnt interacted much with Mr. Percival, perhaps only twice in total, he had so sense of the mans character.
Aberforth was gruff in appearance but genuinely gentle. When dealing with others, he typically projected a fearso and aggressive deanor, adopting a rough and stern attitude.
Yet the old man before him, despite his identical appearance, wore an expression far removed from the fierce and impassive countenance Matthew rembered.
Although he appeared to be making an effort to maintain that facade, the disparity between his attire and reality was substantial.
Moreover, Aberforth should have been aware of his arrival.
As Professor Slughorn had ntioned, their presence and the book were crucial elents in their plan.
For the past few days, Matthew had rigorously maintained his nightly exercise routine.
Aside from cultivating a plausible habit, it also served as a signal to Aberforth.
It was his way of indicating that he had been frequenting Hogsade.
Aberforth should have been prepared for his visit.
However, upon entering the Hogs Head Bar, the eccentric bartender had not greeted him warmly or cautiously, as Matthew had anticipated. Instead, he seed to be maintaining a certain distance.
It was all highly peculiar, utterly incongruous with Aberforths usual deanor.
Simultaneously, Matthew surveyed the surrounding environnt.
Soon, he detected a significant anomaly.
The floor was cleaner than expected.
Everyone knew the floor of the Hogs Head Bar to be utterly ssy, often appearing as if compacted mud at first glance.
Only when you stepped on it did you realize it was laden with centuries of accumulated dirt, laid over a stone foundation.
Yet now, although it was still quite dirty, it wasnt as squalid as he rembered.
At the very least, the floor and windows werent stained as dreadfully as he had recalled.
As though soone had magically cleaned it recently.
And so
Sothing was amiss.
There had to be an issue.
Matthews initial impulse was to find a plausible excuse to depart from this problematic setting.
However, he promptly dismissed that idea.
Leaving at this mont would only imply a guilty conscience to the other partyit would be tantamount to self-incrimination.
He had to sit there calmly.
Until a steaming butterbeer was placed before him by Mr. Percival.
The taste was so repugnant that it was nearly vomit-inducing!
It was truly astonishing that an old man who had bartended for fifty or sixty years, as Aberforth had, could concoct sothing so utterly unpalatable.
This further confird Matthews earlier assessnt. Sothing was awry.
Matthew didnt hide his disgust.
He rinsed his mouth swiftly, and as he was contemplating leaving with this excuse
Suddenly, there was a deafening crash.
The door of the Hogs Head Bar was violently flung open.
Four groups of shadows stord into the bar, their wands pointed directly at Matthew, who sat in a guests seat.
This included the imposter Mr. Percival, who also leveled his wand at Matthew.
Matthew was almost petrified.
He hastily clutched his head, cowering in his seat, and yelled frantically, Who are you? What do you want?
In truth, this question required no answer.
Judging by their attire, these individuals could only be one thing
Followers of Grindelwald, the Alliance.
A look of extre apprehension crossed Matthews face.
Deep down, he was profoundly frightened.
Furthermore, this developnt implied that the secret safehouse of the Order of the Phoenix may have been exposed.
And the real Aberforth Dumbledore might be either alive or dead
His sole connection appeared to be severed just like that.
However, Matthew didnt have the luxury of ti to dwell on these thoughts.
Because the four (or five, if one counted the fake Mr. Percival) had advanced on him
What the hell are you doing? one of them asked. Why are you here?
I I just ca for a Butterbeer Matthew stamred in response.
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