Hogwarts' Niffler: All I Need Is Galleons

The old gentleman slowly stood up, his movements as sluggish as if in slow motion.

He reached out, gingerly supporting himself against the wall, and took one laborious step after another towards the bed, where he sat down slowly.

Every movement was filled with a sense of powerlessness, and after just a few short steps, his breathing had already become heavy and labored, as if his body had reached its limit.

The light of the oil lamp gradually illuminated his face.

What kind of face was it?

Hoare struggled to find the right words to describe it.

It was a face as pale as paper, devoid of any color, like decaying wood eroded by time, exuding an aura of decay.

His skin was loose, clinging to the clearly visible bones, covered with deep and shallow wrinkles, each one a testament to the passage of time.

More terrifying was his gaze.

Those eyes were hollow and lifeless, as if they had lost the spark of life.

To be honest, even Regulus lying in the Black mansion looked more alive than the person before him.

However, the only thing that contrasted sharply with his lifeless face was the faint, almost imperceptible scrutiny in his eyes when they fell on Hoare.

That hint of scrutiny seemed to be examining the protagonist, yet it carried little emotion, just a faint, indifferent look.

"Mr. Grindelwald," Hoare decided not to play dumb. "I'm just a student who likes making money. I really don't know why you wanted to see me."

"If you're still going to beat around the bush, then excuse me for not staying."