novelraw Chapter 404 405: Stars
Chapter 404 405: Stars
A small tale began to circulate through the Lands Between.
It spoke of a black cat that did not often appear, and whispered that a wizard should welcome it with his most honest and joyful heart. To see the cat was to wait for luck.
In the Muggle world, a black cat was often a symbol of ill omen, of something dark and sinister. But in the realm where only the souls of wizards dwelled, the shades found it quite easy to believe in the promise of the cat.
A wizard with a visible obsession for adventure passed through the forest. He saw flowers blooming across the previously barren earth, smiled, and carried the story of the cat away with him. A kind-faced grandmother wandered past; she touched a blooming rose with a laugh, plucked a single seed, and set off down a different path.
Then came a man who looked cold and severe. Had Sean been there, he would have recognized him instantly—he was the living image of the statue in the Chamber of Secrets, though perhaps his face was even longer and more gaunt. He spared a frozen glance at the log cabin standing in the wasteland and departed with his staff, leaving the silence behind.
Regardless of the travelers, the story continued to spread, carried by the words of four souls.
Inside the Cottage.
The hearth blazed, its flames dancing with a warmth that felt identical to the fires of ten centuries ago. The two women sat in silence, occasionally exchanging a few quiet words. Eventually, the conversation turned inevitably toward a cat—a cat with fur as dark as ink.
"He is like a star..." Helena said, her voice a hushed whisper.
"The stars in the blackest night. Silent, distant, yet incredibly bright. When you are in need, he requires no words. You only have to look up, and the star will accompany you for a while."
Rowena listened, her ancient book resting on a table far across the room. A soft smile remained fixed on her face.
The students had long since cleared the banks of the Black Lake, and the Forbidden Forest had faded into a blurred silhouette against the horizon. Hogwarts Castle had fallen into its nightly slumber.
It was a night where the stars were exceptionally brilliant.
Sean walked through the corridors, where the portraits were murmuring to one another in their sleep. Tucked inside his Wizard's Tome was the ancient book he had retrieved from Rowena Ravenclaw's studio. The Owl Gentleman had given it to him with a single instruction:
"In the world of wizards, the preservation of knowledge is the highest priority."
Upon the yellowed parchment, the secrets of the magical world were inscribed. Sean found a chapter on the Book of Admittance and the Quill of Acceptance. His pace grew lighter as he read.
[Those wizards fortunate enough to witness the process (I have spent many quiet hours in that tower, hoping to catch them in motion) agree that the Quill of Acceptance is far more lenient than the Book of Admittance. A mere spark of magical potential is enough to move the Quill. However, the Book will snap shut—refusing to be written upon—until it receives undeniable evidence of magical power.]
Fascinating, Sean thought. He continued reading:
[In truth, the strictness of the Book of Admittance serves a vital purpose: its record of keeping Squibs out of Hogwarts is nearly perfect. Children born to wizards who possess no magic of their own will often carry a faint, residual aura of their parents' power. But once that borrowed magic fades, they are left with no ability to cast. The Book rejects them. Between the sensitivity of the Quill and the severity of the Book, they have never committed a single error.]
Sean marveled at the ingenuity of the artifacts. He hoped to find even more interesting accounts buried in the text.
As he walked, fully immersed in the academic weight of the book, a door suddenly swung open, and an unseen force pulled him inside.
"Professor Dumbledore?"
Sean looked around the familiar circular room, realization dawning on him.
"I've been meaning to have a chat with you," Dumbledore said with a smile. He sat behind his desk, his long, slender fingers joined at the tips. "I must ask, Sean... is there anything you'd like to tell me?"
He looked at the boy over his half-moon spectacles. "Anything at all."
"Yes, Professor," Sean replied instantly.
"Oh, ho ho..."
Dumbledore's beard gave a cheerful twitch. He looked genuinely delighted by the lack of hesitation.
They sat together by the fire. Dumbledore watched the young wizard through the steam of his tea, appearing to search his mind for where to begin.
"At Ilvermorny..."
Sean produced the volume he had been carrying. A few dried purple flowers from the Requiem Ritual were still tucked between the pages of The Book of Ghosts. "Madam Sayre taught me a great deal about the nature of spirits. As it happens, she was a ghost herself. And then..."
Dumbledore listened with an amused smile. "And then?"
"I sent her onward," Sean said bluntly.
"Oh... ha!"
Dumbledore's smile faltered for a micro-second before his beard began to shake with a renewed, mischievous joy.
"Death is a day of mourning for the living, but for a ghost, it is the festival of their long-awaited rest," Sean added.
"It seems you've acquired quite the set of signposts for your next journey to the Lands Between." Dumbledore looked out at the silent, dark grounds.
"I have, Professor. In fact, I've already met Madam Sayre in the realm. I asked for her assistance in locating... certain people."
"I see..."
Dumbledore's expression turned solemn. It took him a moment to find the words. "And... did Madam Sayre manage to...?"
Sean gave a slow shake of his head. "No. She informed me that the paths of two souls do not cross easily. However, she did lead me to a very specific wizard."
The tea kettle on the hearth began to whistle and bubble, punctuating the silence.
"What you have seen, what you have explored... it is a domain that has remained untouched by human record for centuries. Tell me, Sean: whom did you meet?"
Dumbledore's gaze remained fatherly and warm.
"Rowena Ravenclaw."
As Sean spoke the name, a heavy clump of snow slid off the eaves of the tower, hitting the ground below with a soft thud.
"A magnificent story," Dumbledore whispered.
"Mmm..."
Sean sat back in his chair. He understood the Headmaster's hope—the wish of an old man to hear news of someone he had lost. He felt a small pang of disappointment that he hadn't been able to provide it.
"Walk slowly, but walk firmly, Mr. Green," Dumbledore advised. "You know your path is the correct one. Now, what happened next? That book in your hand... is it an heirloom of Ravenclaw? To be honest, even I haven't seen an account of the Book of Admittance in such detail."
Dumbledore took a sip of his tea, his eyes crinkling in the rising steam.
"I also sent the Grey Lady onward," Sean added.
"Oh—cough—cough!"
Dumbledore choked on his tea—a rare loss of composure for the Headmaster. "Well, well. I don't suppose you threw her a party like Sir Nicholas would have wanted?"
He spoke with a hint of dry amusement. As for the departure of the Ravenclaw ghost... well, he had long since decided to be exceptionally tolerant where Sean Green was concerned.
"I didn't think it was necessary," Sean said, considering the question seriously. To a ghost, the rest was the reward itself—as important as a birthday to a wizard.
Though, Sean noted inwardly, he had never actually celebrated his own birthday.
[End of Chapter 405]
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