Chapter 449: Casual Conversation
"Care to take a stroll with me?" Dumbledore asked with a smile.
Sean nodded. Before them, the house had been reduced to a blackened skeleton, still radiating intense waves of heat. Professor Quirrell flicked his wand in a subtle motion, and a ring—not entirely incinerated—was buried in the dirt. He cast a veiled look at Sean, and the young wizard flicked his finger, silently summoning the tattered ring into his Wizard's Tome.
Sean now had to find a way to break Voldemort's curse.
"Professor, thank you," Sean said to Quirrell.
"A-ah... no, Mr. Green, I didn't really do anything..." Quirrell stammered.
"You faced Voldemort directly. You broke him," Sean replied.
"N-no... well... y-yes, I destroyed a part of him, just a part..." Quirrell's knuckles, gripping his wand, turned white.
"The truth is, you succeeded, Professor. Someone once told me that what matters is to fight, fight, and fight again. Only then can evil be kept in check, though it can never be truly eliminated..." Sean said slowly. He turned his gaze toward the silent night, toward the patch of ground where the ring had just been buried.
A blood-like, viscous black substance seeped up from the soil. It was a fragment of the ring that had split apart. As it cracked, both Sean and Quirrell heard a terrible, agonizing scream. It hadn't come only from the black mist; it had emanated from the broken object itself.
Quirrell stood frozen, staring at the unsettling ground. "Your will... is Quirrell's will," he said finally.
Not far away, Dumbledore watched their exchange with a smile. He was patient and appeared deeply intrigued. It wasn't until Quirrell Apparated away and Will the Pukwudgie had returned to the Wizard's Tome that Dumbledore tapped his fingers together and lit his wand.
"Let's go, my dear Mr. Green." Dumbledore raised his wand, his tall silhouette bathed in a soft glow.
A biting northwest wind had been blowing through Little Hangleton for two days; in the tiny village, even the barking of dogs was rarely heard. The sky was a vast, leaden expanse, save for a pale, yellowish glow on the far eastern horizon—weak but stubborn, as if attempting to slowly dissolve the leaden shroud.
Scattered here and there were seven or eight low-roofed houses, crouching on the earth like beetles. New haystacks looked like withered wild mushrooms. Near them, and along the riverbank slightly further off, the scent of the soil carried the promise of spring.
"You must know the Tale of the Three Brothers," Sean said softly into the murky pre-dawn light. "Beedle made it very clear: the loved one lost by the second brother did not truly come back to life. She was sent by Death to lure the second brother into his grasp. That is why she was cold, distant, and unreachable—it was maddening."
"Do you think I should have realized that?" Dumbledore asked.
"I don't know," Sean pondered.
"Neither do I, my boy. Those who have no hope can only endure life... You did well. I know that the futures promised by some are but sweet lies, but you see, I am quite willing to be fooled one more time." Dumbledore's eyes were deep, his robes fluttering in the pre-dawn breeze.
"The Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, the Cloak of Invisibility. They may be useful, but I snatched them up at the wrong time and for the wrong reasons. Now, I don't know how much I have truly grown. However, I have come to realize one thing: I can never be the true conqueror of death, for the true conqueror never attempts to escape it. He accepts his fate with grace, knowing that there are things in the world of the living far worse than death. Humanity always prefers to choose exactly what is most disadvantageous to them. Even I, Albus Dumbledore, have found that the Cloak of Invisibility is the easiest to refuse. It only proves that even a man as clever as I am is, at heart, just as much of a fool as anyone else."
Dumbledore and Sean stepped over a haystack together. They discovered a snake, frozen stiff before the spring had truly arrived.
"You are no fool," Sean said.
"I am glad you hold that opinion. Though today, I was treated like one by my own dear student. It disappoints me that a young voice would be so hesitant to speak to an old pair of ears." Dumbledore arched his eyebrows, feigning surprise.
Sean fell silent. Dumbledore looked over with a brilliant, sunny smile, though he could see the tips of the boy's ears turning a faint shade of pink. The wind blew gently; the dawn was breaking. The pale yellow on the horizon had finally dissolved the leaden sky.
"I used to think this was the hardship of life, but you see, this is the content of life. And even if this life is full of suffering... that is quite all right," Dumbledore chatted on, casually.
"Why is that?" Sean asked quietly. He couldn't imagine how Headmaster Dumbledore had resisted the temptation of the Resurrection Stone. The stone, regardless of how heartbreaking the result might be, truly could summon the dead. For Dumbledore, that meant he could see Ariana, his mother, and his father, and tell them how much he regretted...
"Because, my boy... I have pushed off from the shore with my broken oars once more," Dumbledore laughed.
The first rooster crowed at Hogwarts Castle. The students there rarely woke at this hour. In other words, only those wandering the halls at night or those who hadn't slept a wink would hear it.
Sean heard it, for he had just returned to the castle using Fawkes the Phoenix's Apparition. It was a fascinating experience; Sean felt as if he had turned into a ball of flame, spreading across the winds to Hogwarts.
What was even more interesting, and more pleasing to Sean, was that Headmaster Dumbledore had finally set aside his obsession with the Resurrection Stone. This meant Sean had ample time to break the curse and verify its efficacy in the realm of the soul.
The Ravenclaw Tower was silent. Sean sat reading books on the Resurrection Stone, observing a "mini-phoenix" that had appeared on his desk. A few seconds later, the "mini-phoenix" dove into a special photograph. In it, the Dumbledore of the past winked playfully—this time, for the first time, he was rendered in full color. Before long, that "phoenix" flew out from its place to play with a squirrel that had jumped out of Quirrell's photograph.
Sean looked out the window, his deep green eyes as calm as a mirror.
Meanwhile, in the Headmaster's office, a rare owl took flight, carrying letters that had remained unsent for many years.
[...I write to you this Easter... perhaps I have encountered a lucky black cat. To our surprise, it does not promise us glory or fortune, but it blesses us with hope...]
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