Chapter 653: The Fertile Meadow
Chapter 653: The Fertile Meadow
In the round room of the Headmaster's Office.
Dumbledore sat in his chair behind the long-legged desk, his head bowed as he examined a wand closely. He looked somewhat weary, especially from Harry's perspective, where the wrinkles on his face seemed as prominent as the brown shell of a boiled egg.
"Good evening, sir", Harry broke the silence.
"Ah, good evening, Harry", Dumbledore raised his head from behind his half-moon glasses, making the wrinkles on his forehead even more visible. He smiled warmly and said, "Please sit down. Pomona told me you were discharged today, and I thought we could postpone the lesson until next week."
Harry wasn't sure how to respond and simply nodded, moving a chair to sit opposite Dumbledore.
"Pomona said you're doing much better, but I still wanted to confirm—have you felt any discomfort since then?"
"No", Harry quickly replied, pushing back his hair to reveal the thin scab on his forehead. "Since I woke up, it hasn't caused any trouble. In fact, my nose has been itchy. Madam Pomfrey documented it for two days until I found Ginny's pygmy puff under the bed. I think it was the resurrection stone." He took off the black gemstone ring from his hand and placed it on the table.
"I don't need it anymore, sir."
Dumbledore smiled, listening with great interest.
"Time in the Hospital Wing can indeed be difficult... so your friend brought you a travel book to pass the time? I read a couple of pages; it seems to be about events from long ago."
"Yes", Harry said cautiously. "I found it in the Library during the Christmas break. Ron knew I was reading it and brought it over to help me pass the time."
Dumbledore nodded in understanding.
"Sir, whose wand is this?" Harry couldn't help but ask, looking at the white wand on the table. It seemed to be made from the bone of some creature, with the handle carved into the shape of a beast's claw and irregular spikes.
"This is the elder wand, its core is a phoenix feather—" Dumbledore's gaze shifted, and Harry followed it to see Fawkes perched on a branch, dozing. Harry's mind flashed, and he blurted out:
"Is this Voldemort's wand?"
His voice was so loud that it startled Fawkes, who gave Harry an annoyed look and hid its head under its wing. The portraits of former headmasters on the walls of the round office subtly observed them.
"Yes, this is Voldemort's wand", Dumbledore repeated. "During the Christmas of your fourth year, Felix and I raided Voldemort's hideout. He hadn't been resurrected yet and fled in a panic. This was one of the spoils of war."
Harry glared at the elder wand, remembering that Voldemort had used it to kill his parents and leave him with an incurable scar...
"Harry, Harry!"
Harry snapped back to reality, seeing Dumbledore put the wand away in a drawer.
"I'm sorry, sir", Harry whispered.
"There's no need to apologize, Harry", Dumbledore paused, then spoke in a more formal tone. "I'm sure you understand why we are sitting together on a Saturday evening. While I would welcome a chat to pass the time, we have a more important task at hand."
"Yes, I understand", Harry said. "It's about the piece of Voldemort's soul in my mind. You said you have a way to remove it."
"Exactly", Dumbledore confirmed. "You'll find that my method differs slightly from Felix's. I need you to be more actively involved, to understand what you are doing. For that, we need—"
He extended his hand, and the door of the cabinet behind Harry suddenly opened. A shallow stone basin flew out and landed steadily on the table between them.
"—the Pensieve", he finished.
Harry stared at the Pensieve, not understanding the connection. He tentatively asked, "Are you going to teach me something?" He wondered if it might be some advanced magic.
"More precisely, you will witness something", Dumbledore said, waggling his finger. A small crystal vial, about the thickness of a thumb, appeared in his raised hand. He uncorked it and poured the silvery, cotton-like memories into the stone basin.
"Whose memory is this, sir?" Harry asked curiously.
“Mine,” Dumbledore said briefly. “Let’s go inside and talk. I need to set aside enough time for discussion. You go first.”
Harry took a deep breath and plunged into the Pensieve’s memory. As he continued to fall, he felt a solid sensation beneath his feet. He opened his eyes and began to search, knowing from past experience that the owner of the memory would be nearby.
Then, he saw it.
In front of him was a dusty little village with low, dilapidated houses that looked very old. The surroundings were a patchwork of green and brown. But that wasn’t the main point. Under a large tree, he saw a red-brown-haired boy, about eight or nine years old, staring intently at his palm.
As Harry took a few steps closer, he realized he had been mistaken. The boy had a leaf floating in his hand. Harry was certain the boy hadn’t uttered any spell, but the leaf kept changing colors.
“That’s me,” Dumbledore said, appearing beside Harry.
They watched silently for a few minutes, and the scene didn’t change, which made Harry feel a bit restless. This observation also revealed the first virtue of the boy—childhood Dumbledore—patience.
The boy had clearly been there for a long time, evident from the pile of leaves of various colors beside him. He never showed any sign of impatience. Now, he had fixed the leaf’s color between red and brown, adjusting the subtle changes.
Harry suddenly realized the boy was trying to make the leaf match the color of his hair.
“Albus! Albus—dinner time.”
Another boy appeared. He looked about two or three years younger than the one sitting under the tree. They wore similar clothes, but the newcomer was dirty, and his red-brown hair was messy and unkempt.
“That’s my brother, Aberforth,” Dumbledore said at the right moment.
Aberforth ran over, out of breath, his face flushed. “Albus, dinner time!” he shouted. “Wait a moment—just a bit more,” Albus replied. After a few seconds, he finally stopped, a satisfied smile on his face.
Now the leaf matched his hair color perfectly.
“Let’s go,” he said lightly.
“Oh, you’re practicing magic again!” Aberforth seemed to realize this only now, shouting, “I’ll tell Mom and Dad, and you’ll get in trouble!”
“Then you won’t get the colored leaves.”
“Are these for me?”
Aberforth asked in surprise, reaching out, but Albus dodged.
“I’ve prepared several with pure colors, but—let Ariana pick first,” Albus said, standing up. They walked along a dirt path toward the village.
“Let’s follow, Harry,” Dumbledore whispered. Harry noticed a slight tremor in his voice. “I’ll introduce you to my family…”
As they passed a sign, Harry saw the village name written on a rough wooden board: Fertile Meadow.
He couldn’t help but wonder: Didn’t the Dumbledore family live in Godric’s Hollow? He had seen it in a letter from his mom to Sirius, and he was certain it was correct. Could the Dumbledores have moved there later?
He was about to ask, but seeing Dumbledore’s moist eyes, Harry fell silent. They followed the young brothers silently, and Harry couldn’t help but guess where they lived. He looked around at the various dusty, quaint little houses and chose the one that appealed to him most, noticing many details that suggested a wizard’s presence.
He walked confidently forward, but the brothers took a turn, and just as Harry was about to doubt his guess, he saw a beautiful back garden, enclosed by a dense hedge.
“Ariana! We’re back!” Aberforth shouted.
Harry heard quick footsteps and couldn’t help but speed up, nearly walking alongside the two brothers. A rustling sound, and a narrow gap appeared in the thick hedge, revealing a pair of timid eyes.
“Sir, this is—”
Harry turned around and saw Dumbledore standing far back, a strange mix of fear and longing on his face. Harry had a strange thought: perhaps Dumbledore was afraid to face this scene alone, which was why he had called him here.
…
Felix sat in the Three Broomsticks, an iced lemonade on the table.
He had been there for a while when the barmaid, Madam Rosmerta, came over, gritting her teeth. “Mr. Hep, you can’t bring those people here. I still have a business to run!”
"But I paid, Madam Rosmerta."
"That's true... but they scared away my other customers, and what if they decide to bite me tonight? I haven't slept well these past few days, and I'm not complaining... but today is special. What if they suddenly go mad? I don't have your skills."
"You've certainly been put in a difficult position. How about I double the payment for this period, and I'll take them away shortly. As you said, they are a bit dangerous today."
"Really?" Madam Rosmerta's eyes lit up, and she looked relieved. "You should have done this earlier, but forget the double payment. If you could just come here more often, a lot of people hope to see you here." She covered her mouth and smiled.
"I didn't realize I was so popular", Felix said softly.
"Recently, yes", Madam Rosmerta said seriously. "For example, Carlotta Pickstone—yes, I know this woman. She stayed here for a while, but now I don't know where she is..."
"Compared to her, I prefer the Auror with the changing hair color. Her jokes about witches, healers, and Muggles were hilarious. I didn't understand them at the time, and she was sulking for half an hour. If you see her, tell her her jokes were funny..."
Felix blinked and said, "I will."
Madam Rosmerta turned and left, returning shortly with a free Firewhisky. However, Felix barely had a sip before people started coming down from upstairs. They all looked like they were cut from the same mold:
Wearing tattered, patched clothes, they looked exhausted and gaunt, their faces sullen and tense as they scanned the room. These were the werewolves Felix had invited. When Felix waved to them, they didn't relax; instead, they became even more alert.
"Alright, everyone." Felix snapped his fingers, and a dozen heavy money bags landed on the table. "For the sake of the Galleons, I ask that you form a line and follow me. I've set up a temporary shelter for you outside Hogsmeade, and you'll be staying there for the next week."
Felix led the way out.
The werewolves exchanged uncertain glances. The man who stepped forward was tall and muscular. He picked up a money bag and inspected its contents. The others noticed his face was lit up by a bright, shimmering light.
Swallow!
The man swallowed hard, tucked the bag into his coat, and walked out. The other werewolves followed silently.
...
Harry returned just before curfew, looking dazed and even a bit panicked. He mumbled the password twice, and the Fat Lady's portrait swung open. He tried to walk straight in, but a hand grabbed him.
"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione asked, her face full of concern.
"Hermione? I'm fine", Harry mumbled.
"How can you be fine? We were standing right outside the door, but you completely ignored us. Ron called you twice", Hermione whispered. Ron nodded, confirming her words.
"What did Dumbledore teach you?" Ron asked eagerly. "Whatever it was, it must have been really hard. You look like Luna." He stared at Harry's expression.
Harry shook his head. "He showed me some memories. I'm not sure yet... but we'll talk about it tomorrow. Goodnight." He tried to walk inside, wanting nothing more than to lie down and be alone.
But he was stopped again, this time by Ron. The Fat Lady looked annoyed. "Are you coming in or not!" Ron, noticing Harry's confusion, winked at him. "We're going to the courtyard. It's a full moon tonight."
"Full moon?" Harry said blankly, taking a moment to understand.
"Yes, I assume you haven't given up on becoming an Animagus? You can get a free Mandrake leaf, too", Ron said, frowning. "But I've used up both of mine. I have to work for a month with Professor Sprout... or pay for them, but since the school has them... Hermione is because—"
"I feel the Animagus transformation", Hermione said succinctly.
"Amazing!" Harry gave her a thumbs-up.
"Are you mocking me? I know everything", Hermione glared at Harry. Harry noticed Ron quietly fidgeting with his nails, muttering, "Well—something interesting happened while you were in class. Hermione was showing off, and I couldn't resist—"
"I wasn’t showing off!" Hermione exclaimed, leading the way down the stairs.
Ron and Harry exchanged a meaningful glance.
"Maybe you should let Hermione hear your unique insights on character flaws, Harry", Ron said.
"I don’t want to invite trouble", Harry replied immediately.
They arrived in the courtyard, where Professor Mcgonagall and a few students were already waiting. Harry noticed that fewer people had shown up compared to the first time. "A few have given up", Hermione whispered, looking around. "Where’s Professor Hup?"
Professor Mcgonagall answered this question while distributing the mandrake leaves.
"Professor Hup has taken a leave of absence; he has important matters to attend to."
"At this time?" Ernie Macmillan muttered under his breath. "It doesn’t sound very believable."
"But it’s true", Professor Mcgonagall said sternly. "If I were you, I’d focus more on your practice, Macmillan."
After distributing the new mandrake leaves and delivering a few words of caution, the students dispersed. Hermione reported her latest progress to Professor Mcgonagall, and then they headed back to the castle.
On the way, Hermione mentioned the content of Dumbledore’s lessons. Harry was grateful that he had a mandrake leaf in his mouth, giving him an excuse to speak less, even though the leaf was no longer having much of an effect.
He chatted briefly with Ron and Hermione before heading back to the dormitory, leaving them to exchange concerned glances.
"Did his class not go well?" Ron asked, worried.
"Perhaps Dumbledore showed Harry something shocking, and he’s having trouble accepting it", Hermione whispered. "Although I can’t guess what it has to do with Harry’s scar, I’m sure Dumbledore has his reasons. We’ll ask him more tomorrow."
In the dormitory, Harry lay on his bed, feeling a part of him collapse.
At first, everything had been fine. He and Dumbledore had spent a real half-hour watching the young Dumbledore family have dinner and exchange gifts. The atmosphere was pleasant and enviable. But the next memory took a sharp turn. They had moved, and the smiles were gone. The youngest, Ariana, was nervous and erratic. Aberforth would clench his fists when no one was looking, his eyes burning with anger. Albus was quieter, but a flash of sorrow would cross his face whenever he looked at his sister.
And the key point was that the father was missing.
"… When Ariana was six, she performed magic in the garden, and three Muggle boys saw her through the hedge. At the time, the ignorant witch-hunting mentality was still spreading in remote areas. They were terrified, but it also stirred up a savage courage to attack her. After that, Ariana suffered severe psychological trauma and could no longer control her magic. My father, enraged, went after those Muggles and gave them a severe beating. Then… he was sent to Azkaban, and we, well, we chose to leave that place of sorrow. No one could have predicted the greater tragedy that awaited us…"
The first lesson ended with the young Albus receiving his Hogwarts acceptance letter.
Dumbledore didn’t ask Harry to keep it a secret, which seemed to imply that he could tell Ron and Hermione. But Harry only mentioned trivial details, feeling a responsibility to keep Dumbledore’s past confidential. It seemed to him that revealing the former Headmaster’s tragic history would be a desecration of his great character.
He wasn’t sure why he felt this way or why Dumbledore had shown him these memories. To Harry, it seemed as if Dumbledore had cruelly laid out his own painful experiences for his student to see.
He stared at the full moon outside, hearing what sounded like howls. Harry, of course, didn’t know that in the outskirts of Hogsmeade, a dozen werewolves were undergoing their collective transformation.
(End of Chapter)
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