Homecoming from Hogwarts

The morning light, changing from gray-green to light gold, has climbed onto the roofs of the villagers.

There are houses lined up one after another, with smoke rising from the occasional chimneys, blending with the morning mist drifting in from the mountains and streams.

Hogsmeade, which had been noisy all night, was still asleep.

Tents housing the stricken wizards and the allied forces not only filled the spacious central streets of Hogsmeade village.

Even on the gentle slope behind the post office, there were marching tents set up, and even the Screaming Shacks had been hastily cleared out to house people.

A damp and cold north wind came with morning mist, snatching the land from the sunshine. Flakes of snow floated in the air filled with grief and confusion.

Amosta looked toward a large tent in the square.

Narcissa wiped Lucius's cheek with sad calm, and Draco took off his father's muddy shoes and replaced them with a pair of brand new boots.

Her husband, his father, was a respectable wizard.

Lucius Malfoy was sleeping peacefully with a satisfied smile on his face.
Perhaps he was happy that he had protected his son.

Perhaps he was proud that his death would ensure the prosperity of the Malfoy family for the next century.

The edges of Amosta's soul trembled slightly, and he couldn't help feeling sad.

No one can control all events, not even him. On the contrary, it is because of his intervention that the fate of many people has changed.

That's what Lucius was like.

According to the original book, he could have lived to see Voldemort's death and see his grandson be born and go to school.

Of course, his intervention also led to a good ending for some people.

For example, Remus and Tonks.

Pregnant Tonks couldn't stand the fatigue and fell into a deep sleep on a soft bed in a warm tent.

Remus sat on a small stool, his head buried, his cheek resting on his wife's warm palm, and dozed off.

The couple was able to see their son being born.

On the sofa in the same tent, Amelia snuggled in Sirius' arms.

The two of them slept uneasily, with a trace of worry between their brows.

The entire Weasley family was crammed into a small tent with only a single bedroom.

Ginny and Lavender occupied that bedroom, and the rest of the family slept on the floor in the living room.

"Don't let your guard down!"

The sudden shouting sounded in the tent, which made Ron frown in his sleep. He muttered a few words in dissatisfaction, turned over and fell asleep again.

"Everyone is resting, Alastor--"

On the broom flying away in the direction of Hogwarts, Kingsley, who had also endured two days and nights, spoke gently to Alastor.

Amosta looked at a tent in front of the Three Broomsticks.

Fleur, with her fair cheeks stained with mud, was also sleeping in Madame Maxime's arms. Hagrid was sitting outside the door of the tent, wrapped in a moleskin coat, snoring with his head down, guarding the two ladies.

The faculty and staff of Hogwarts were all gathered in a tent, including old Bana.

But they are not resting.

"Two million Galleons and at least four months—"

Old Bana said hoarsely to the worried faculty and staff,
"It would be possible to build a magic school that meets the requirements if Hogwarts can no longer be used."

“Is it possible to compress the time further?”

Professor McGonagall said sadly,

“The children cannot go without school for four months!”

The faculty all said so, but Severus did not join in the conversation. He sat on a low stool, staring through the open tent curtain at the Hog's Head Bar in the alley, looking dazed and lonely.

Amosta couldn't help but want to give him a hug.

However, he resisted the urge.

It's not a good time to meet yet.

He 'floated' into the alley, stopped to stare at the stone carvings left by Merlin, and the war depicted on them.

It can be said that that is the root of everything.

Amosta sighed and entered the dimly lit Hog's Head.

The tent was packed, and there were people lying on every table here. Aberforth was also taking a nap on the bar.

Vitiya lay on the bed with a frown on her face.

Her cheeks were still pale and bloodless, and her green hair had turned into the color of grass in late autumn. She used her body as a bridge to pour the power accumulated by the druids' devout prayers to nature over the past dozen centuries into the Whomping Willow.

This was completely beyond her ability and caused her to suffer serious damage.

However, there were still some female strikers from the Ministry of Magic guarding her in the bedroom.

The mistakes she made in the Quidditch World Cup final and the issue of Voldemort will probably take her a lifetime to cleanse.

Amosta finally reached Dumbledore's room.

There are three people in the room.

Apart from Dumbledore, who was barely breathing on the sickbed, Harry and Grindelwald were sitting on both sides of the square table against the wall.

Harry rested on the table.

Amosta pursed his lips when he saw the Hogwarts emblem on the back of his right hand.

For the first time, Amosta in spirit form was perceived.

Grindelwald, who had been silently watching Dumbledore, twitched his brows and directed his focused eyes at Amosta who appeared in the center of the bedroom.

"It's you?"

Grindelwald said, a hint of confusion and shock in his voice.

"it's me."

Amosta's voice echoed in Grindelwald's heart.

"Amosta--"

Dumbledore on the hospital bed suddenly opened his hazy eyes, turned his head with difficulty, and laughed hoarsely.

"You're here?"

Amosta nodded, looking at the dying Dumbledore, the melancholy and sadness in his heart turned into a smile at the corner of his mouth.
"That's great, Headmaster Dumbledore. It seems you have figured everything out, right?"

"You know I'm good at coughing, this."

Grindelwald walked over, helped Dumbledore up, and patted him on the back gently.

"--After all, you've arranged everything, haven't you?"

Dumbledore twitched the corner of his mouth and looked at Amosta with satisfaction.

Amosta shook his head.

"I'm not that great, Headmaster Dumbledore. I'm just being pushed forward by the hand of fate."

"Are you ready now, then, to face your fate, Amosta?"

Amosta nodded slightly. He looked at Dumbledore, feeling the little vitality left in this old body continuing to slip away. Very little.

Perhaps, in the next second, the greatest wizard of our time will come to the end of his life.

"Are you going to lie in bed and die, Headmaster Dumbledore?"

Amosta asked gently,
"Or are you willing to fight for this world one more time at the end of your eventful life?"

Dumbledore's breath was slightly choked, and the gray eyebrows on his wrinkled face trembled.

"Obviously the latter is more interesting. But, ahem. Amosta, I am powerless. I am afraid I can no longer wave my wand."

Amosta just smiled and said nothing.

"Well, well--"

Dumbledore chuckled twice.

"If you think I can be of use, Amosta, I'm willing to face it with you."

"And I."

Grindelwald said suddenly, he stared at Dumbledore and smiled,

"I'll be with you wherever you go, Albus."

"Professor Blaine, are you here?"

Harry, who had just woken up, listened for a while with a confused look on his face.

He could only hear Professor Dumbledore and Grindelwald talking, but he guessed who they were talking to.

Looking at Professor Dumbledore on the sickbed, Harry finally couldn't help asking,
"Where are you going?"

(End of this chapter)