Hogwarts: Proficiency Panel

Chapter 477 478: Memories of Honey and Bees

It was a bright, verdant valley. A babbling brook flowed through the lush

meadows, and the sunlight seemed to melt and spread like honey. The air was

filled with the scent of fresh grass mingled with the aroma of baked goods

drifting from a wizard's kitchen, and the sweetness of wild apple trees on the

distant slopes. A ginger cat was sprawled out on a stone wall, its belly rising

and falling with its rhythmic breathing.

"We are almost there," Dumbledore said slowly.

Behind him, the young wizard, clad in black robes, was thinking about how

Headmaster Dumbledore had snuck out of Hogwarts yet again—no wonder Professor

McGonagall couldn't help but let out the occasional sigh of frustration. He

looked up. He and the Headmaster were standing in a quaint, old-fashioned lane,

the brilliant summer sky above, with clouds drifting lazily by. Houses lined the

narrow alleyway, and Christmas decorations glinted in the windows. Not far

ahead, a golden streetlamp marked the center of the village.

Sean knew exactly where they were.

Godric's Hollow. A village located in the West Country of England. A History of

Magic described it thus:

After the International Statute of Secrecy was signed and enacted in 1689,

wizards retreated into complete concealment. Perhaps naturally, they formed

small communities within their neighborhoods. Many small villages attracted

several wizarding families who would unite, helping and protecting one another.

Dingwall in Cornwall, Upper Flagley in Yorkshire, and Ottery St. Catchpole on

the south coast of England—all hosted wizarding enclaves, living amongst

tolerant Muggles, or sometimes, Muggles who had been subjected to the occasional

Confundus Charm. Perhaps the most famous of these half-wizarding enclaves was

Godric's Hollow.

This southwestern village was the birthplace of the great wizard Godric

Gryffindor, and the place where the wizard goldsmith Bowman Wright had fashioned

the very first Golden Snitch. The graveyard was carved with the surnames of

ancient wizarding families, which was undoubtedly the reason the local church

had been the source of ghost stories for centuries.

"Oh, isn't it marvelous? Decades have passed, and it is just as I remember it,

though perhaps a few fewer wizards..." Dumbledore walked along the path, which

was blanketed in wildflowers, his tone light. "Do you know where we are?"

"Godric's Hollow, Headmaster," Sean replied.

"Quite right. Let us walk a bit faster, lest Minerva discovers we have gone

missing... we must reach the graveyard..." Dumbledore quickened his pace.

Although the old Headmaster was over a hundred, his vitality was astonishingly

robust. Perhaps by the wizarding standard of aging, he was merely middle-aged.

This resulted in Sean having to jog to keep up, so he simply leaped,

transforming into a black cat that darted through the fields and flowers.

Dumbledore gave the black cat a silent, sidelong glance, a flash of

long-forgotten mischief in his eyes.

They took a left turn down a side path, and the center of the village—a small

square—revealed itself. In the middle of the square stood a war memorial-like

structure, half-hidden behind pine trees swaying in the breeze, decorated with

festive string lights. There were a few shops, a post office, a pub, and a small

church, its stained-glass windows radiating jewel-like colors across the square.

The grass was packed down hard, smooth and slick where people had walked for the

day.

Villagers crossed their paths, gently illuminated by the streetlamps. Some

looked at Dumbledore with wide-eyed surprise, quickly covering their mouths;

others approached, greeting the old Headmaster with warmth and simplicity,

though their eyes would moisten as they turned away. Dumbledore smiled and

greeted everyone in turn—wizards, witches, children, the elderly... though

Dumbledore hadn't returned in decades, it seemed the people here still knew him.

The black cat heard snippets of laughter and pop music as the door to the pub

swung open, and the sound of hymns drifting from the small church.

A narrow gate marked the entrance to the graveyard. Dumbledore pushed it open as

gently as he could, and the black cat leaped inside. It must be said, the path

to the gate was truly slick; the black cat had to unsheathe its claws to keep

its balance. Rows of snow-covered tombstones stood in the fields, dotted with

dazzling spots of red, gold, and green—the projections of the stained-glass

windows upon the snow.

Dumbledore stopped at a certain spot. The black cat leaped onto his shoulder,

following his gaze. Below lay a dark, granite tombstone, moss-spattered and

frozen. Carved upon it were the names: Kendra Dumbledore, and below the dates of

her life, and her daughter, Ariana.

There was also an epitaph:

[Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.]

"Have you seen her?" Dumbledore spoke, his eyes never leaving the grave.

"Not yet, but my ghost friend Leta has," the black cat said.

"And I?" Dumbledore asked.

"The power of the Resurrection Stone has not fully restored; you must wait

another month," the cat said. With a leap, it transformed into a delicate,

handsome young wizard.

"Oh, let us go and have a cup of afternoon tea, and then we shall go to see her

together. What do you think, Mr. Green?" Dumbledore looked a bit dazed.

Otherwise, how could he have spoken of going to see Ariana together?

But Sean nodded. "Very well, Headmaster."

And so, the two set off toward a small tavern. Dumbledore ordered a bitter black

tea, adding not a single cube of sugar, but he ordered Sean a jasmine tea loaded

with sugar cubes.

"Do people always feel a double portion of happiness when they are on the verge

of happiness?" Dumbledore asked suddenly.

"People are always plagued by anxiety and fear when happiness is underway," Sean

said. "You don't have to do this."

Sean suddenly understood. He knew how Headmaster Dumbledore intended to let him

see Ariana.

"I simply wanted you to see her beforehand, my dear little Green, otherwise, how

would you know it was truly her? I had thought my fear had died long ago. But it

remains; as long as she remains, it will always exist... consider it the

fulfillment of an old man's wish." Dumbledore drifted back into that trancelike

state, and Sean couldn't help but feel a pang of pity.

"You should trust me," Sean said.

"I trust you with all my loyalty, Mr. Green. But I do not trust myself. Am I

still worthy of seeing her? I..." Dumbledore murmured, his voice cutting off

abruptly. What choked him was love.

"The souls of the Lands Between wander because of their attachments. There is

only one reason one soul finds another—they are waiting for one another." Sean

thought of the former Headmistress of Ilvermorny; he hadn't seen her since,

because her adventure had taken her too far, and her soul no longer wandered or

waited.

"Go see her, Mr. Dumbledore. Just as if she has been waiting for you all this

time. Do not retreat unless you have no other choice." Sean said.

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