Chapter 365: Three Centuries
The cusp of dawn.
Huddled around the warmth of the hearth, Isolt Sayre recounted the history of the land while the winter gale rattled the door and windows of the cottage. Sean adjusted his scarf and listened intently as her translucent voice drifted across the flames.
"...The original shelter was a crude thing, built of branches and animal hides. My James—my dear No-Maj husband—decided he would help me rebuild a proper stone cottage atop the peak of Mount Greylock. He drew a set of designs that looked perfectly viable on parchment, but when it came to the actual labor, he was quite the No-Maj. I used magic to bring his vision to life in a single afternoon. We named the cottage after my parents' home back in Ireland—Ilvermorny."
Isolt's pearly-white eyes were distant, lost in the depths of memory.
"So... you have truly decided to leave?" Sean asked, holding his steaming mug of pumpkin juice.
"The hour before dawn is the time for the lost to find their way," Isolt replied with a meaningful look.
"Flobberworm mucus, lavender, valerian, Lethe Water, mistletoe berries..."
Sean nodded and began to inventory the ritual components. He needed to engrave a specific runic sequence and conclude with an ancient incantation to complete the Requiem Ritual.
Isolt watched him work in silence, her gaze eventually drifting to the window. Outside, the world was a stark, frozen white, and snowflakes continued to dance in the wind.
Inside the room, Snowy was dozing on her perch by the fire. Behind her, the walls were covered in framed photographs; beside her, shelves were crowded with alchemical jars. The whole scene resembled a Victorian oil painting. In front of her, a sliver of the sky was visible through a gap in the heavy curtains—a cool, clear shade of watered-down blue ink, that peculiar color that belongs only to the moment between night and day. The cottage was silent, save for the slow, rhythmic breathing of the owl.
When everything was prepared, Sean saw a small smile touch Isolt's face.
"Such an alchemical ritual is no small feat. You possess a staggering gift for the art, child. And a gift for magical creatures as well... the second person to lead a Wampus away from these woods. Perhaps Hogwarts wizards have some hidden magnetism that appeals to them?"
Isolt looked down at the runic array.
"The creatures of Ilvermorny are free. Take her with you, child. Do not let worry stay your hand. As for Hogwarts... it has always been a distant symbol to me. I never had the chance to see it. Three centuries... everything I had, I gave to Ilvermorny..."
As she murmured to herself, Sean noticed his own breath forming white plumes in the cooling air. He opened his Wizard's Tome; inside the book's pocket dimension, it was also a quiet, pre-dawn morning. He stepped into the tiny log cabin within the pages and retrieved a single magical photograph, which he held out toward Isolt.
It was a wide-angle shot of the magnificent Hogwarts Castle, specifically the Great Hall during a past Christmas feast.
"Oh..."
Isolt froze. A radiant smile broke across her face, even as the light in her eyes began to dim. Her pupils lost their focus, turning hollow and distant as she stared at the image.
"Thank you, child."
She reached out as if to pat Sean's shoulder, but her hand simply passed through his robes like a cold draft.
"Will you... not say goodbye to the others?" Sean asked.
"I have never been good at partings," Isolt said softly. "It is better this way. If we do not say it, we never truly part."
Sean glanced toward the window. Beyond the glass, the landscape wasn't just empty snow. Standing beneath a massive beech tree was the silhouette of an elderly Headmistress and a very old Pukwudgie.
Sean nodded and prepared to initiate the ritual. To his surprise, Isolt didn't step into the center immediately. Instead, she drifted toward a shadowed corner of the room. Sean followed her and found a book lying on the floor: The Book of Ghosts.
"In the years I spent as a phantom, I studied my own condition relentlessly. At first, my intellect remained sharp, but as the decades passed, I felt it beginning to fray," Isolt explained, her tone nostalgic.
"However, I have perfected the theory of the Ghost's Final Death. You will come to understand, dear boy: a ghost cannot truly die. They are trapped in the echo of their final moment. There is no joy, and with time, they become forgetful and detached. It is a slow, eternal torment. Resolving a ghost's lingering obsession is the only way to send them onward. Achieving this... it will grant you benefits you cannot yet imagine."
With that, Isolt Sayre stepped into the heart of the runic circle.
"Is death truly the next great adventure?" Sean asked suddenly.
"No one knows until the journey begins," Isolt smiled.
"Very well. Farewell, Madam Sayre," Sean said.
A thick mist began to rise from the floor. Sean watched with fascination as the vapor swirled around the ghost.
"From County Kerry and the Valley of Coomloughra to the shores of North America... so many obstacles, all gone like smoke in the wind. I have had a lover's quarrel with this world, I think."
Isolt's form grew increasingly translucent. As the end drew near, she began to hum an ancient, lilting melody:
"Oh, Ilvermorny of Massachusetts! We chose you for our own...
Your walls provide our shelter, through days just like a dream...
You teach us all the secrets of magic's ancient stream...
Now one thing stands in clarity: no matter where we roam...
Our heart stays here in Greylock, in our one and only home...
In Ilvermorny..."
The cottage fell into a heavy silence.
Sean heard the sound of someone crying outside. He wasn't surprised; when someone leaves, someone always weeps. Isolt Sayre had been an exemplary Headmistress and a brilliant witch.
Now, dawn had broken.
Sean prepared for his next task: expanding the Wizard's Tome to include its second biome. He needed to anchor a piece of the natural winter landscape, utilizing the Separation and Weather-Working charms to create a stable Snowy Plains region. More importantly, he still had today's affinity session with Iffa.
Isolt had told him not to worry about the "legalities" of taking the Wampus Cat, which simplified things significantly. He would only need to inform Professor Terra.
Just as Sean tapped the Tome to open the portal, a sharp, insistent knocking sounded at the door.
"Wizard!"
A Pukwudgie was standing on the threshold. Sean blinked, feeling a sudden surge of awkwardness. It was William—Isolt's companion of three centuries. And Sean had just sent his best friend away.
"Mr. Hermes."
A second voice joined the first. Headmistress Herrera stepped into view. They had both seen the ritual conclude.
Sean's expression smoothed into its usual calm as he opened the door. The three-foot-tall Pukwudgie, looking absolutely miserable, marched inside. It spared Sean a single look before placing a handful of mayflowers in the center of the spent ritual circle.
"I am leaving," William said to Headmistress Herrera.
Then, he turned to face Sean.
"Wizard. You have earned my respect. I shall repay the debt, even if my kind detests yours."
[End of Chapter 365]
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