Hogwarts Study Panel.

Chapter 582, Section 580: Touching Happiness

Chapter 582 (580): Touching Happiness (3k)

Go help it.

Ravenclaw looked at Gryffindor.

"That's not my student."

Gryffindor snorted.

"It calls you teacher."

Ravenclaw stared intently at him until red mist rose again above Gryffindor's head.

Then, he seemed to give in.

"Royna, you always seem so confident."

He sighed.

"You would have done the same even without me."

Ravenclaw said calmly.

"Who knows—that's the boundary between eternity and fading mist, the rule of that place. It's possible you'd find me lying there for hundreds of years."

Gryffindor grumbled, "I've worked for the Enchanted Realm for so long, and now I have to be your laborer? They won't even give me a sword—" Huo Yue said, Gryffindor seemed more and more pitiful.

Ravenclaw, however, still stared at him with a pure yet suspicious gaze.

"You have to pay me!"

"Gryffindor said in a low voice at the end."

"He actually had the nerve to say it—"

Ravenclaw muttered to himself.

"Royna————"

Gryffindor seemed agitated.

"The fog of integrity and judgment should judge its creators."

Ravenclaw regained his composure and said calmly.

The mist around Gryffindor's head grew even thicker.

It also became even redder.

"I've already given it the sword—"

Gryffindor leaned against a rock, looking somewhat awkward.

The reddish mist above its head, however, confirmed the unfairness of the deal.

"The fog of integrity and judgment hangs over your head."

Ravenclaw offered a friendly reminder.

Gryffindor had completely lost interest in haggling.

"I will help it, of course I will help it, no matter what I do—"

He spoke slowly.

The mist swirling overhead did not leave.

"I never risked my life for the border region; everything I did was voluntary and I enjoyed it. Damn integrity and the fog of judgment, are you satisfied now?!"

A flicker of anger appeared on Gryffindor's solemn face.

The fog then slowly dissipated.

"Integrity and the fog of judgment, must you be so harsh on an old man?!"

Gryffindor saw the fog dissipate even faster, as if it were hiding from his anger.

"Oh, may the fog of righteousness and judgment shun you."

Ravenclaw murmured a proverb about the borderlands.

"You're always like this."

Gryffindor sighed. "We can't argue with you. But so much time has passed, you should see your old friends."

Ravenclaw didn't look at him, standing there expressionless.

"Royna, can you do me a small favor?"

Gryffindor stopped trying to dwell on the problem.

"What?"

Ravenclaw raised an eyebrow.

"Help me train him; he's a fine little lion. People like him always come quickly."

Gryffindor grinned and walked toward the mist-shrouded territory.

Ravenclaw looked at Gryffindor with a hint of surprise; he rarely uttered such words.

Gryffindor waved casually and disappeared into the depths of the mist.

In the distance ahead, the black cat's figure appeared utterly insignificant amidst the all-encompassing fog.

Like a small boat in turbulent waves, it can only maintain its safety for a fleeting moment.

But on the other side of the waves, a lithe figure had already appeared at the edge of the swirling mist.

He laughed heartily, waving the long, thin object in his hand, slicing through wisps of mist.

The black cat suspected that it was too tired, which caused its eyes to blur.

Otherwise, how could he have seen Gryffindors hacking at the mist with tree branches?

"Hey! Hang in there, little knight!"

Soon, it knew it was true, for it heard Gryffindor's thunderous cry: "Once you're swept away by the fog, you'll never come back!"

The black cat was convinced that its fur must be standing on end.

I can't go back —

That is—death?

It remembered the empty symbol that had split open its ravine, and the mist immediately seized the opportunity to enter and envelop its head.

Its tail wagged frantically and unwillingly.

They should go, regardless of whether Headmaster Dumbledore finds the treasure or not.

If they can't go back, it's foreseeable that many souls will come to the border.

And without exception, they were all sent by Voldemort.

Can----

The black cat recalled the cracked void symbol once again, and it could sense that it would be unable to return to the border for some time.

Does this mean they must consider this as their only chance in this lifetime?

The stubborn and determined thoughts in the black cat's personality grew wildly like weeds.

The borderlands, the world behind the veil of death, a hazy illusion —

It promised the wizard that he could change the world with blind confidence, but the black cat forced itself to think that it could do more.

Regardless of the cost or the consequences.

Maybe----

Humans should cease to act as—or become—rational animals.

He should become a madman, willing to take any risk for his dangerous fantasies, able to forge ahead triumphantly, willing to fight to the end for everything the world already has, and also willing to forge ahead for everything the world does not have.

Gryffindor saw the mist enveloping the black cat shatter, and the calm of the ocean was no longer reflected in its green pupils.

That touch of green, like spring, seemed poised to break through the winter snow.

At the crossroads, if you believe you can create giant waves, you can become a storm!

Stormguard 1

Even through layers of mist, Gryffindor could hear the mad yet solemn voices.

The mist no longer floated in the sky, and lightning suddenly ripped through the approaching daylight.

"Huh—"

The mountain stood up, this time not with a rock-solid body, but wrapped in crackling thunder.

The spear, made entirely of lightning, severed the entire border at that moment.

The same madness flickered in the giant's eyes as in the black cat's, and for the first time, Gryffindor's expression froze.

"This is troublesome—"

He keenly noticed the barely perceptible wisps of mist on the black cat's head.

At the crossroads, if you believe you can stir up giant waves, you can become a storm—but those who gaze into the abyss must also be careful not to become the abyss itself.

The downpour has arrived, and we don't know when it will start.

The tremors spread from the area where they originated to the lawn.

It's raining.

Albus turned to the side from the armchair that had appeared.

Outside the window, the sky, which had been a blank expanse of white, was now filled with heavy, dark clouds.

Raindrops began to tap against the window, starting as a few scattered drops, but soon they gathered into a dense drumbeat.

Then came the hail.

Hailstones the size of peas pelted against the windowpane, making a "pitter-patter" sound, as if countless little birds were pecking at the window.

Ariana shrank back, but she wasn't afraid. Back in Godric's Valley, she would always hide in her mother's arms during storms.

But now, she simply turned her head to look at Albus, who was sitting in the armchair, with a questioning look in her eyes, as if she was unsure how he would react.

Albus stood up, walked to the window, and gently touched the cold glass with his fingers.

Everything in the illusion was so real that even the condensation on the glass was clearly visible.

He turned to Ariana and gave her a reassuring smile.

"It's fine,"

He said, "It's just rain."

"The rain will get us wet—"

Ariana was timid at first, but then her expression brightened. "Ariana, thank God, that Albus won't get wet—"

Dumbledore felt his heart skip a beat again.

The next moment, without warning, the light source went out.

The entire room was plunged into darkness.

The hail continued to pound against every window, the sound even clearer and more isolated in the darkness.

And so, the flames ignited.

A warm fire rose from the tip of Dumbledore's wand.

Ariana unconsciously moved even closer.

The little nose almost touched Dumbledore's finger.

Dumbledore looked at her, his eyes seeing nothing else.

On this stormy afternoon, they sat in their dilapidated wooden hut, listening to the torrential rain and hail pounding against every window.

The lights went out, the candles were lit, and all they had left were each other's faces.

And so, in this time that seemed like a bubble, they shared the endless fireplace fire and the ceaseless chiming of bells.

Ariana felt there must be something wrong with her heart today, otherwise why would it be beating so violently?

Dumbledore moved closer and silently conjured small goats and cats from the flames.

Ariana's gaze followed the animals leaping from the flames.

It is unknown when it began, but the void gradually began to churn, and the milky white mist seemed to be drawn by some force, quickly condensing and changing color.

First, there's the silhouette—a sloping roof, a small chimney, and walls covered in ivy.

Then there are the details—the geraniums on the windowsill, the crooked stone steps in front of the door, and the rusty door knocker on the fence.

A complete wooden house appeared completely.

Dumbledore's smile became even more genuine and painful.

They roasted sweet potatoes and dug a large hole in a giant pumpkin to make pumpkin soup.

Ariana carefully added the food she had known for centuries.

They didn't notice the darkness in Dumbledore's gentle eyes.

Ariana sipped the pumpkin soup, its warm, sweet flavor flowing into her stomach.

Then she looked around at everything that had suddenly appeared. Sometimes she would carefully tend to the geraniums on the windowsill; sometimes she would timidly turn the door knocker, making a crisp sound; and most of the time, she would cautiously and devoutly collect the flowers.

At this point, Dumbledore would solemnly and carefully help her put them into flowerpots, hang them on the wall, place them on the windowsill, or by Ariana's bedside.

After a very long time, the wind gradually weakened, and the hail turned into fine raindrops.

Ariana's voice came from the darkness, as soft as if she were talking in her sleep: "It's so nice."

Albus paused for a moment.

"What?"

His voice was low and hoarse.

"Not just one person —"

Her dazed voice paused for a moment, then said, "That's great."

Albus closed his eyes in the darkness. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth, his voice would betray all his pent-up emotions.

Fortunately, Ariana quickly became very sleepy, her head drooping.

Only the large sweet potato in my palm still radiates warmth.

For some inexplicable reason, she seemed to understand the strange things a strange witch had described to her.

She thought, this is the happiness she was talking about.