Snape had a dream today.
Perhaps it was because he had just returned to Hogwarts, leaving behind that territory where he had to remain cautious at all times;
perhaps it was because seeing a certain black-haired young wizard sleeping so sweetly had infected him with drowsiness;
or perhaps it was because the dungeon had been filled with calming incense, and today, for once, they had finally worked—
Whatever the cause, the final result was that Snape fell into a deep sleep.
That was fine.
At least he did not have to keep staring directly at those ugly faces.
"Severus, what are you doing?"
A detestable voice sounded.
Snape swept a cold glance over and saw that nauseating face.
"Get lost."
he said.
"You should respect me, Severus. Someone like you—heh—who knows whether you're truly loyal?"
Along with that hoarse conversation, broken stones kept falling from time to time. The air was filled with dust and the smell of blood.
A little girl's cries came in broken sobs, like a thin needle piercing the dead silence of the ruins.
Little Crouch kicked away a broken brick with the tip of his shoe. When his gaze landed on the girl, it visibly lit up, and the corners of his mouth even lifted slightly.
He crouched down and said in an almost kindly tone,
"Shh—stop crying. Tell me, where are your mummy and daddy?"
Snape stood three steps away, his black robes stained with ash.
He felt dazed, as though he were dreaming.
And it was a nightmare.
"Crouch."
His voice was very light, but it stopped Little Crouch's hand from reaching toward the girl.
"What? Severus, don't tell me—"
Little Crouch turned his head, his smile full of undisguised mockery.
"Are you going to lecture me about innocent people?"
"I have no interest in saying anything to you."
Snape said.
"But none of the things the Dark Lord assigned included playing with a child who cannot even cry properly."
Little Crouch stood up, patted the dust from his knees, and walked toward Snape step by step.
He was half a head shorter than Snape and had to tilt his face slightly upward, but his presence did not diminish in the slightest.
"I have always been curious,"
he said, his tone light, almost cheerful.
"Are you in such a hurry to go back because you want to report tonight's results to Dumbledore, or because you want to claim credit from our master? Or perhaps—"
He tilted his head.
"You want both sides?"
Snape did not step back, nor did he avoid his gaze.
There was nothing in those black eyes, like two sealed wells.
"Crouch Jr.,"
he slowly said,
"when you burned down a village, did you ever think about what the Dark Lord values most? Your loyalty, or your brain?"
Little Crouch's smile stiffened for an instant.
Of course he understood.
What Voldemort needed least was a madman who could not control himself.
Especially before their plan had even been carried out.
On the other side of the ruins, the girl's crying gradually weakened into sobs.
Snape's gaze crossed over Little Crouch's shoulder and fell on the child. It stayed there for less than a second before moving away.
"Leave."
Snape said, his voice betraying no emotion.
Little Crouch stared at him for a long time, then suddenly laughed aloud, his shoulders shaking.
"Oh, you know, Severus? One day, I will watch you expose your flaw with my own eyes. When that day comes—"
"I'll be waiting for that day."
Snape interrupted him and gave him a cold glance.
Finally, he turned and walked toward the edge of the ruins. His black robes rolled once in the wind, then disappeared into the night.
Little Crouch stood where he was. He looked down at his wand, then glanced back at the little girl shivering in the corner.
The smile on his face slowly faded into a thoughtful expression.
He did not raise his hand again. Instead, he followed in Snape's direction and walked into the same darkness.
The broken streetlamp flickered. Abruptly, it stayed lit for quite a while.
Half of Snape's face fell into the light. He felt hazy, as if he was about to wake up.
But he had not woken yet. He only heard some strange voices.
"It's mine—Professor, Professor Snape is having a nightmare."
A very familiar voice.
"Nightmares are common, child,"
an exceptionally gentle voice said, one that sounded as though it could lull anyone to sleep.
"People ought to have more nightmares. It means they still have things they fear."
"Perhaps you're right, Madam Badger."
The black cat stepped through damp soil. It now seemed to be heading toward a certain small town.
A town. How strange.
The black cat did not remember there being a town in the Misty Illusion, but the word had appeared abruptly in its furry head.
And the witch before it had appeared just as abruptly.
The black cat had just been trying to distinguish direction when a gentle figure turned out from behind a giant fern hanging with aerial roots.
She called herself Madam Badger.
She wore a plain pale robe, the hem stained with fresh soil and a few bits of moss. Her round face carried patience and warmth.
She seemed not at all surprised to see a black cat here. She only bent down and gently rubbed the cat's whiskers with her knuckles.
"You're looking for him, aren't you?"
Madam Badger's voice was like firewood softly crackling in a winter hearth, warm and steady.
"Come with me. I'll take you through this garden. The roads here are rather willful and love playing jokes on strangers."
The black cat followed her steps without thinking.
And kept looking around at this place.
They walked into a valley wound with dark-green vines. As Madam Badger's skirt brushed the ground, seeds that should have been sleeping immediately awakened. Tender shoots emerged at a visible speed, blossoming into tiny, star-like white flowers, then rapidly withered after they passed, completing an entire lifetime.
"Don't be afraid,"
Badger said without turning back, as though she had seen through the black cat's momentary hesitation.
"Here, growth and decay are the same thing. Something eternal."
After passing through the valley, the view suddenly opened wide, though it was not entirely clear.
The air here was as transparent as if washed by water. Two figures could faintly be seen, yet they seemed separated by a rippling water mirror. Their voices drifted over from far away with a faint, hollow echo.
Distant bells rang out from afar. The black cat felt that the sound was especially familiar.
It seemed to have heard it more than once in a certain dream.
At the edge of the town, flower beds stretched out from the valley.
Several people sat in a small courtyard heavy with fruit.
The black cat immediately saw two witches.
Rowena Ravenclaw, its teacher.
She sat on a chair made from elm wood, a thick book open across her knees.
From time to time, her gaze passed over the book and looked toward Helena, who was forcing herself to read.
Then the corners of her mouth would occasionally lift slightly, and she would gaze toward the distant valley.
"Rowena, has it come?"
A careless voice rang out. The peaceful look on Rowena's face suddenly vanished, and her beautiful features turned sharp.
"I thought your distance from it was quite close."
"Of course it's close! As my student who can pick up my sword—"
Gryffindor sat down freely on a chair, his foot crushing a small patch of roses.
The black cat felt the aura of the witch beside it become deep. On the other side, Gryffindor seemed to realize something and quickly lifted his foot.
"Why is it growing so fast?"
he said uneasily.
"Carefree fool—of course—"
Ravenclaw glanced at him, then looked helplessly at Helena, who had hidden inside the cottage.
"Who are you calling carefree? I'm very busy too."
Gryffindor sounded irritated.
"Every day, I have to think about how many Dark wizards' heads I should chop off."
"Heh."
Ravenclaw said perfunctorily, rising and leaving the courtyard.
"Someone has to do these things—those are the rules—"
Gryffindor did not usually enjoy talking. His sword was his mouth.
But when facing Ravenclaw, he always wanted to say a little more.
Perhaps it was because they had not seen each other for too long, and his unguarded words had hurt her.
"Rowena!"
He suddenly roared.
The black cat saw Ravenclaw stop.
"I—"
He seemed like a deflated ball.
"I shouldn't have mocked your wisdom. Perhaps there are times when we don't need wisdom. I just couldn't stand the way you still covered for her even after she caused your death—"
The black cat's tail kept swaying, proving that it was extremely interested in the scene before it.
"Perhaps that is also a kind of courage. To remain steadfast even after knowing her flaws."
After saying this, Gryffindor took his sword and walked away.
The black cat realized it probably should not intrude into this scene.
So it quietly lay down atop a large plant.
It watched the plant's fruits fall and begin hopping around on the ground.
"The two of them seem utterly incompatible, but look—courage without the guidance of wisdom will become reckless violence. And wisdom without courage to defend it will eventually become a useless thing in an ivory tower."
Madam Badger said gently, and the bouncing fruits all hopped into her arms.
The black cat seemed thoughtful.
"You made quite a commotion the last time you came, dear, didn't you?"
Madam Badger's bright eyes looked at the black cat.
The black cat knew nothing about it.
All its clues came from a small scene in Headmaster Dumbledore's mind.
"I—"
"Oh, there's no need to feel unable to answer. After all, forgetting dreams is normal."
Madam Badger always managed to comfort people at exactly the right moment.
"You know—"
the black cat asked.
"Of course I know. Oh, I came precisely for that."
Madam Badger's smile was like a warm hearth.
"I need to tell you the rules of the Borderland. On this point, I am the exact opposite of your teacher. I believe that hiding more only brings more regrets."
The black cat listened with full concentration.
It did not think Madam Hufflepuff would be any less knowledgeable than Teacher Ravenclaw.
Badger—
The name meant badger.
In the Borderland, who would call herself Madam Badger?
"That stone tablet is destined to crack. I imagine it can withstand at most seven cracks. This is neither good nor bad. It represents that the wizard's will is becoming more and more similar to this realm. It also means the wizard can release his magic as much as possible—"
Madam Badger's voice was neither hurried nor slow.
"Many wizards wander here. I think regret always runs through life. Perhaps you can help a little.
"Whether those who wander on this side, or those who wander on that side."
"You mean—"
The black cat seemed to realize something.
It roughly understood.
The last time, what it had seen in Headmaster Dumbledore's mind was probably the scene after the Void Talisman cracked.
It realized that the proficiency of Soul Transfiguration had most likely risen then. Only then could it touch stronger magical power.
Madam Hufflepuff had said, "the wizard can release his magic as much as possible"—
In other words, that was the secret to advancing Soul Transfiguration?
It had only traveled to and from the Borderland once, and Soul Transfiguration had jumped straight from Skilled to Master?
Oh, that was truly—
Legend was within reach.
"Mm, look at them—"
Madam Badger gently raised her hand. The black cat saw the mist winding around its body being pulled. It was a beige, or perhaps milky-white mist. It was always somewhat different from the other mist in the Borderland.
"Forgiveness—ah, in the Borderland of judgment and eternity, what a word beyond reach."
"Forgiveness?"
The black cat chewed over the word.
"You must have seen them before, though not in this realm."
Madam Badger said.
The black cat was somewhat surprised.
How did Madam Hufflepuff know that when it had examined Voldemort's memory, that mist had drifted out more than once?
Because of this, it had confirmed Voldemort's obsession with seven.
"That is because your connection to the Borderland is growing tighter and tighter. Use them carefully. They can help you see through a wizard's soul."
Badger said again.
"You mean—I can—"
The black cat's ears twitched. It wondered whether Madam Hufflepuff was thinking of the same thing it was.
"What else makes up a wizard's soul?"
Madam Badger smiled.
"Some emotions, some wisdom. How fragile they are before eternity, yet how long they have endured. In a wizard's soul, thought is the eternal main melody. Through this, seeing clearly a wizard's secrets is only natural. Many people here can do it."
In other words, if it could use this mist, it could see the secrets Voldemort hid?
"It is exactly as you think."
The black cat trembled all over.
Madam Hufflepuff had just finished explaining, then immediately gave it a demonstration.
"Thank you, Madam Badger."
The black cat thanked her sincerely.
"I like it most when young wizards thank me. It makes me think of tender shoots growing strong."
Madam Badger smiled warmly.
"I imagine you must be impatient. As it happens, someone just had a nightmare. Perhaps you can help a little."
She was referring to Professor Snape's dream-cluster.
Just now, it had been trembling violently, producing a dark, murky mist.
The black cat paused for a moment. It was unsure whether it should—
"I have seen her. She was a beautiful, lovely, brave child. No one would dislike her. If she knew that he had walked the same road as her, she would be glad."
Madam Badger said.