Chapter 680: Resurgence
Ms. Bones hurriedly left, her visit intended solely to inform Felix Grindelwald of the escape, then rushing off to the International Confederation of Wizards headquarters for a meeting to discuss the implications of the event.
"I did some research before coming," she said solemnly as she left, "When Grindelwald's power was at its peak, the magical departments of various countries were forced to form a coalition to counter the scattered Saints—a stark contrast to the last time when the Order of the Phoenix faced Voldemort."
Felix returned to the hall, only to be called away by Professor McGonagall. While sorting through Dumbledore's letters, she also tidied his desk and stumbled upon a letter—a resignation letter, to be precise. In it, he expressed gratitude to everyone he had worked with and decided to donate most of his possessions—such as his private library, magical research notes, magical instruments, and other personal belongings—to Hogwarts.
"For someone about to embark on a journey, carrying these things would be too burdensome. Memories are my most precious wealth."
Professor McGonagall read these words aloud to the assembled staff, each expressing their gratitude and blessings.
After the meeting, Professor McGonagall stayed behind with Felix, handing him a letter. "Also found while sorting the mail," she said. Felix was quite surprised, thinking Dumbledore would never write to him.
After all, all these letters were carefully crafted lies by Dumbledore.
Only after asking Professor McGonagall did Felix understand that this letter was mixed in with many others, and he had previously only focused on picking out those signed by Gellert Grindelwald, ignoring the rest.
"He left one for me as well," Professor McGonagall said emotionally. "I read it, thanking me for my longstanding support. Actually... at the most difficult times in my life, it was he who encouraged me. I will never forget!"Felix opened the envelope, the letter not long, filling only half a sheet of parchment.
"...When I realized that power was my weakness, I tried to avoid it for the rest of my life. But one cannot always have their way. At certain stages of my life, I was forced into important events concerning the safety of the wizarding world, expected to lead some people who trusted me but did not know I was deeply afraid—when you strive for a grand goal, your heart becomes cold, unconsciously weighing people's worth on the scale, neglecting that they too are living beings, and in times of crisis, sacrifice is always allowed."
"Perhaps one day, you will voluntarily shoulder the fate of countless people—I believe you will do so when necessary—you will face the same dilemmas I faced. Perhaps you will be more decisive than me, but I never want you to become numb to sacrifice. Have compassion for the living, Felix, even when sacrifice is unavoidable."
Felix closed his eyes slowly, feeling the letter weigh heavily on him. Dumbledore had used his own death to the fullest, leaving behind one last lesson: teaching him what responsibility and sacrifice truly meant.
Dumbledore did indeed fulfill it; he was the only one who sacrificed.
...
Harry glanced at the professors' table; the professors seemed unusually silent, as if they hadn't yet recovered from the sudden departure of Dumbledore.
Professor McGonagall chose to sit with Professor Harp after Dumbledore's seat, rather than on the grand, magnificent chair that belonged to Dumbledore, which gave Harry a strange feeling, as if Dumbledore hadn't really left and could appear at any moment, wearing a mischievous smile.
"I think Professor McGonagall must be planning to officially take over as headmistress next year," Hermione whispered softly.
"That's right," Ron realized. "The holidays are almost here, and the students aren't in the mood... it's better to wait until next term. Do you think Dumbledore is sitting in some seaside tavern now?"
Harry and Hermione turned to him, glaring.
"What's wrong?" Ron said, puzzled. "I've seen posters; Muggles look like this when they're on vacation—wearing beach shorts, sunglasses, spending an afternoon at the beach, then running to the nearest tavern at night to watch performances... um, Hermione?"
Tears swirled in Hermione's eyes.
"Why would you think—given the choice, Dumbledore would leave the school? Just like you—you said—he's about to go on vacation; he has at least two months off." Ron looked at her, bewildered, but Hermione turned her face away, tears blurred.
Harry felt something stuck in his throat, his eyes incredibly sore.
He tried hard not to blink, fearing tears would spill out; he dared not speak—like under a curse—if he dared utter a word or join Ron in imagining Dumbledore celebrating his first day of retirement in some corner of the world, he would suddenly collapse.
Hermione stared at Harry's face, finally certain of something; she suddenly burst into tears.
"Don't, Hermione. He would never—" Harry struggled to say, his voice hoarse.
Hermione wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "I'm, I'm sorry," she said tearfully. She buried her face in her arms, one hand covering her stomach, looking like she was in pain, but tears dripped from her eyelashes.
No one noticed her for the moment, no, Harry felt a sharp gaze; he quickly raised his head, it was Professor Harp. Harry was about to look more closely, but the professor had already moved his gaze away.
"Harry," a voice whispered in his ear.
Harry was startled by the familiar voice, almost jumping up from his seat. He stared at Professor Harp, who had suddenly appeared behind him, incredulously looking towards the long table, where another Professor Harp was still talking to Professor Slughorn, and no one seemed to notice anything unusual, as if this conversation only existed in his mind.
"—Weasley, Granger, come over here."
Ron looked dumbfounded, Hermione raised her head, her face completely blurred by tears, Felix handed her a handkerchief. "Oh, thank you—what's going on?" She stood up, wiping away her tears, only to be surprised to find another 'Hermione Granger' sitting in her seat, who was carelessly reaching out to pick up a plate of buttered peas in front of her.
Hermione's eyes widened.
Felix calmly explained, "I don't want anyone else to overhear this conversation."
He walked towards the exit of the hall, Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed, taking three steps and turning their heads three times, worried they would be discovered, but they found they were overly cautious, as there was another themselves enjoying the feast on the table. They felt strange.
The four of them walked to the stone steps outside the castle, the clouds reflecting brilliant rays of light in the sunset.
"Dumbledore hopes that the impact of his departure can be minimized, so in the next few years, you may hear news of him appearing in a wizarding village, or he may write to friends introducing the scenery he sees on his journey, tasting the food, and then gradually disappearing."
Felix said lightly.
"I guessed," Hermione sobbed softly, "But I still held out hope, maybe, maybe there was something wrong with his health or something..."
Ron's face stiffened, finally realizing what had happened. He looked at Harry, but Harry didn't respond. He found
it hard to say whether it was relief or disappointment that filled his heart.
"Then, what are we going to do?" Ron asked.
"Follow your own path," Felix said. "Do you remember that this time Dumbledore reminded us that the world is vast, our vision is limited, and there are many things hidden from us? I want you to understand that the past is not necessarily the truth, and the future is not necessarily what you see in your dreams. Sometimes, truth is hidden behind layers of lies, but sometimes, only one step away, you will find the truth."
He looked at the sky, his gaze drifting, as if he had suddenly seen a distant mountain peak that no one else could see.
"I know you may not understand what I mean, but time will prove that I am not wrong. And there is one last thing I want to say—the Phoenix might fly away, but its song will echo in your ears."
The sound of the sea breeze seemed to take the echo away, but Harry suddenly remembered Dumbledore's letter, which said something similar, a poem by an unknown poet, which seemed to contain some profound meaning, but he never had time to decipher it.
"Can you tell me," he said, unable to suppress the excitement in his heart, "What happened in the past—"
"Time's up," Felix said, his voice tinged with regret. "It's time for you to leave. Dumbledore once told me that life is a journey; on the journey, people will meet friends, enemies, love, hatred, and meet various unexpected experiences. You will have good times and bad times, but in the end, you will realize that life itself is a wonderful experience, and the pursuit of the truth is the most valuable thing in life. Keep going, you'll find what you're looking for."
Harry's heart was heavy, as if a dense fog had enveloped him, making him feel lost.
He looked up, wanting to ask something else, but found Felix's figure had disappeared into the dark corridor.
"He's right," Ron said, patting Harry on the shoulder. "We still have a long way to go. Dumbledore has left; it's our turn to take care of everything."
"Yeah," Hermione nodded, her eyes red. "Let's go back, we still have a lot of things to do."
The three of them walked side by side into the castle, the torches lighting the corridor with a soft glow, casting shadows that swayed with their footsteps.
They looked at each other, their hearts beating with the same rhythm, as if they had made an invisible promise—no matter what kind of storm was ahead, they would face it together.
The stars twinkled in the sky outside the window, as if they were silently watching the journey of three young wizards, silently blessing them.
The future was still unknown, but they were no longer afraid.
Because they had each other.
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