Hogwarts: Proficiency Panel

Chapter 380 - 381: Ghostly Friends

The Lands Between, the World Behind the Veil, the realm where Merlin once trod...

Whatever name one chose, it expressed a place of profound mystery and ancient, staggering magic.

At this moment, a black cat was padding through the silence, prowling the perimeter of a dilapidated Victorian house. The surrounding area, once a stark, white void, now featured a short, cobble-stoned street extending into the nothingness.

The cat walked along the pavement, pausing to peer curiously into the puddles that had formed on the stones. These transparent pools acted as windows, reflecting a world entirely enveloped in swirling mist.

The cat looked up, its whiskers twitching. Behind it, the translucent fog surged, and several "Yarn Balls" drifted toward it as if drawn by an invisible hand. These clusters of mist varied in size, each radiating concentric rings of vapor. At the very center of the ripples, the cat could see the dreams of the living.

Within the three largest Yarn Balls:

Professor McGonagall sat in a chair beside a sun-drenched rice field. As a gentle breeze ruffled the stalks, a peaceful smile touched her lips as she watched a black cat pounce and leap, trying to catch a butterfly.

Severus Snape's Yarn Ball was nearly opaque. His dreams were deep and guarded; the cat could only catch fleeting glimpses of a feline and a silver doe running through the shadows.

Justin's dream was much more direct: he saw himself brandishing his wand, standing firm against a Voldemort who was intent on a massacre.

The cat paced past these and stopped beside several other significant clusters. It recognized the signatures of Hermione, Neville, Harry, Ron, and the other professors. Sean even spotted the thread belonging to Albus Dumbledore—though the Headmaster's dream was remarkably blurry, suggesting a man who stood entirely alone.

As Sean watched, the dream-Dumbledore suddenly turned his head. With a playful, knowing smile, he looked directly at the cat.

"Mr. Green? I don't suppose you'd invite an old man in for a cup of tea?"

Startled, the cat's fur stood on end. It paused for a second before reaching out and pulling the interested old wizard from his cluster.

"A pleasure to see you in the dream-world. The children haven't been whispering about 'cat-visions' lately; I feared you'd grown tired of your games," Dumbledore said. Resplendent in robes of deep purple, the Headmaster stepped onto the newly formed street and took a seat on a wooden bench. "I don't recall there being a bench here last time... excellent progress, Mr. Green."

The cat offered a nod. Thinking of the Headmaster's preferences, it allowed a small portion of its tail-mist to break away. The vapor churned within the deep fog, quickly transfiguring into a steaming cup of tea—heavily sweetened.

"It seems you haven't forgotten my tastes. Have I mentioned how thoughtful you are?" The old wizard accepted the black-cat-shaped teacup, a wide, irrepressible smile lighting up his face.

"Professor Dumbledore," the cat greeted him.

The Headmaster's words were a reminder: this was Sean's domain, and it was his dream. If he could manifest a street, a cup of tea shouldn't be difficult. He glanced at his tail, feeling a flicker of curiosity. What else can I shape? And why does the mist manifest from the tail?

"You may call me Albus here, Sean," Dumbledore said, taking a sip of the tea. The sweetness was so vivid it hardly felt like a dream. His expression turned solemn. "Of course, it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live..."

The cat sensed the underlying weight of the warning. It knew Dumbledore had visited the Lands Between before. If the Headmaster was reminding him that the realm could be shaped, did that mean Dumbledore had already built a world of his own here?

Sean pushed the thought aside. He knew how deeply the scars of a false, fleeting happiness could cut into a man who lived his life in penance.

"Professor, I need to experience two cycles of seven hours before the realm moves toward the 'Pre-Dawn.' Is there a way to accelerate the process?" the cat asked, perched atop a cluster of mist.

"There is no standard method," Dumbledore chuckled. Seeing the cat's ears droop, he added, "Unless..."

"Unless what?" the cat asked quickly.

"Unless you have a friend who has recently arrived in the Lands Between. If they carry an affection for you, you might find a direct path to them. Souls tend to gather, you see..." Dumbledore winked.

It was more of a fascinating hypothesis than a proven law. The "Great Adventure" after death was far more expansive than anyone imagined, and the Lands Between were theoretically infinite. A soul that had just crossed over usually vanished into the depths in heartbeats, making it nearly impossible to find them—let alone the other souls they might be seeking.

"Would a ghost count?" the cat asked unexpectedly.

"A ghost?" Dumbledore let out a bark of laughter. Perhaps because they were in the soul-realm, he was being far more "honest" than his usual Hogwarts persona.

"A ghost lady who only just moved on," the cat clarified seriously.

"Very well. A ghost. Then, my lucky Mr. Kneazle, I suggest you look at the mist around you..."

Dumbledore's smile faltered slightly.

The cat blinked. At Dumbledore's prompting, its tail began to twitch irritably.

"Madam Isolt Sayre—she mentioned she had family waiting for her behind the Veil."

As the cat spoke, it began rummaging through its Yarn Balls. In a far corner, it found a cluster that was relatively small, yet the silver thread connecting it to Sean was exceptionally thick.

Sean didn't notice the way the old wizard's expression shifted through a dozen different emotions.

"Move quickly, Sean," Dumbledore said, looking at the rising mist with a hint of uncharacteristic urgency.

"I've found it—"

The cat looked up, only to see Dumbledore letting out a long, weary sigh.

"Well, Sean. I have waited for decades; I suppose another few moments won't matter. Hope is a precious thing—far more valuable than any treasure."

Dumbledore cast one last, lingering look behind him before vanishing into the fog.

In that final split second, the cat saw the Headmaster's dream.

Dumbledore was in a small, modest cottage. An elderly wizard was directing a hammer to repair the walls. A kind-faced woman watched him, cradling a beautiful young witch in her arms. Beside them, a surly-looking man was handing out Christmas gifts. Dumbledore reached out and accepted a pair of hand-knitted wool socks.

The vision vanished like a popped bubble.

The cat turned its head, its tail drooping. It let out a low, mournful purr before setting off into the stark white void.

The silver Yarn Ball drifted beside it, acting as both a companion and a compass. After an indeterminate amount of time, the cat leaped gracefully through several hazardous clusters of predatory mist. The dilapidated Victorian house vanished from its line of sight.

It was then that Sean sensed her. Madam Isolt Sayre was not far away.

[End of Chapter 381]

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