When the old wizard stepped closer, the black panther shot Sean a shocked, heavy look, then retreated several paces into the mist as if unwilling to leave.
Sean's awareness blurred along with the panther's departure. The next thing he saw was a cluttered street and a sign reading "Children's Home." The last thing he caught was Dumbledore silently forming words at him:
"It's Saturday, my boy—"
Perhaps only Sean understood what "Saturday" meant. In the approval note Dumbledore had given him for staying over the holidays, Saturday meant: "Also, if you decide to remain at school, you may come to my office every Saturday morning for tea."
Morning came. The sky was a washed-out gray.
The distant mountains were only fuzzy outlines, a thin mist hovered over the Black Lake, and an owl—long absent—appeared over the far side of the castle.
Sean had rarely seen owls lately. With the students gone home, most of them had finally paused their busy work.
This owl with gray-white tail feathers circled the tower, glided past Sean as he walked the corridor, and vanished into some room.
Sean's gaze dropped from its disappearance to the great stone gargoyle. This time, the gargoyle didn't leap aside; it only watched him in silence.
"Cockroach Cluster," Sean tried.
Dumbledore had taught him that one as well.
The stone beast sprang aside at once, and Sean followed the spiraling staircase as it carried him upward to the large wooden door.
He pushed it open and found Dumbledore standing at the window, back turned. Only when the hinges creaked did the man who had helped drive away Babajide Akingbade turn and smile.
"You're here, Mr. Green. Do come sit down."
"Headmaster Dumbledore," Sean said, and took the seat by the fire that the headmaster indicated.
Dumbledore finally drew his gaze back from the hazy horizon, sat down opposite Sean, and blinked cheerfully. "I suspect you have quite a few questions. That's all right. We have plenty of time to tackle them."
Sean did indeed have many questions. At Dumbledore's nod, he began quickly:
"Where exactly was I, sir? And about… the things written in Dream Tales—are they real?"
He had chosen the core question: where he'd gone, and what strange magic filled that place.
"You always know what matters most. Compared to you, there are many witches and wizards who never grasp that even over a very long life."
Dumbledore's long silver beard trembled slightly as he spoke. "We call it the boundary between life and death. As for the strength of its powers—yes, I believe they exist. But I must tell you, child, that is a region no one truly knows, and no one truly penetrates.
It is dangerous in the extreme. For a thousand years, even the wizards of Uagadou have not dared go deep.
Too many lessons have shown us what price one pays for treating magic's deepest, most hidden layers lightly."
When he finished, his bright blue eyes, under their thick silver brows, studied Sean in thoughtful silence. For the first time, the headmaster seemed… almost nervous.
Sean was quiet for a while. He had indeed experienced many unbelievable things there.
He had seen several of his own called bodies, his second selves; seen the strange scenes taking shape in the mist; seen Babajide Akingbade, who had tried to drag him off to Uagadou—who'd even managed to hold him in that borderland for a while.
This was what made magic so beautiful, Sean thought, hearing a voice in his mind.
"Headmaster… what were those strange scenes in the fog?" he asked aloud. "And why did I see an orphanage at the end? Why there?
How was Headmaster Babajide Akingbade able to find me? Can he keep doing that? If all of you can speak there, why couldn't I? And how did you arrive?"
Every question Sean asked earned a small nod from Dumbledore; by the time he finished, the old man's kindly smile was positively radiant.
"Excellent, excellent. Let me answer them one by one," he said, voice low and steady, like an elder guiding a younger wizard along. "The orphanage—how interesting. I hadn't expected it to be that place, but for you, its meaning is more than enough to support that role.
Yes, that's a borderland as well."
Sean's expression didn't change much. He tilted his head, curious. "A border between magic and Muggles?"
"Very clever, my boy."
Dumbledore's answer let Sean quietly relax. The moment the headmaster had mentioned "boundary," Sean should have realized it wasn't just magic and non-magic that were divided there, but also… death and rebirth.
"As for those strange sights you saw," Dumbledore continued, "allow me to explain: in the eyes of the old Scandinavian peoples, the soul does not obey the principle of uniqueness.
Staring too hard at the soul sends one down the wrong path. Those places you saw are the most dangerous temptations of all. Anyone who cannot keep the soul pure and the mind clear will eventually be entangled there, and may never find their way back again. That is a fate worse than death.
As for Babajide Akingbade—he was merely an accident. The wizards of Uagadou indeed know many magics we do not, but it is quite certain he cannot succeed every time.
When your will is strong enough, he cannot enter your dream at all."
"My… dream?"
Sean frowned slightly. Wasn't that place the border?
"Oh, my boy, don't tell me you've gotten confused. That truly is rare," Dumbledore said, smiling, his expression shifting from grave to amused.
Sean thought for a moment. "Dreams give spirits, ghosts, and second selves freedom to move. Distance ceases to matter.
That freedom of movement points to the boundary, which is why my dream connects me to it.
As for you, I suppose I was the one who called you.
So the Hollow Rune—the soul relic—must serve that function. It helps a wizard reach that connection point; it's a medium, a powerful alchemical object that allows such a link."
Dumbledore's teasing had set Sean's thoughts turning, and he quickly pieced it together.
"Oh, oh. Does Tayra end her day with headaches as well?" the headmaster murmured with a hint of exasperation.
Sean didn't catch the old man's soft complaint. He'd understood enough.
Why had Dumbledore been able to appear?
The soul-relay was not the Resurrection Stone; if it could bring Sean in, there was no reason it couldn't bring Dumbledore as well.
When Akingbade had appeared and tried to haul him to Uagadou, Sean, who had no intention of going, had instinctively cried out for Dumbledore. That subconscious call—like the cat's sudden yowl—
"If you think it was only the relic at work, you're being far too modest," Dumbledore said suddenly. "In truth…"
"I once plunged rather deeply into studying Uagadou's soul relics," he admitted. "Their power is so profound that among all who have researched them, I am the most insignificant, the smallest, and the least remarkable.
Bringing another wizard into one's own dream—that part? No one has ever succeeded.
The wizards of Uagadou can shift themselves into animal forms with ease; they can also make true predictions from the stars, just like the centaurs you've met.
But they have always believed that only a wizard who can call a soul in or out is the true master of the relic—and the firstborn child."
That took Sean by surprise. He had assumed he had called Dumbledore. He still preferred to think that the headmaster was able to respond, rather than that Sean himself could summon just anyone.
"Why me?" Sean asked quietly.
"That is the key question," Dumbledore replied. "Perhaps the one best suited to hold such a power is precisely the one who never wanted it in the first place—someone like you."
He lowered his eyes to Sean.
Outside, the last of the mist had burned off. The Black Lake glittered in the gentle sunlight of morning.
An owl swept past the office window, hooting softly, its claws gripping a little bundle of inked symbols of longing.
"Child… may I ask something of you?" Dumbledore said at last, after a long silence. His beard trembled as he spoke.
"Please do," Sean said. He had an inkling what was coming.
"Exploring the boundary is unimaginably dangerous. Even Uagadou's wizards will not linger long there.
If you think I say this out of selfishness, I would be delighted to agree," Dumbledore said, eyes dimming.
"I hope you will explore as far as you safely can. And when you are certain, I must ask you to do something even more dangerous."
"To… pull a soul out?" Sean asked.
He already knew why, but he acted as if the thought had only just occurred to him.
"We people are always busy wrecking our own souls," Dumbledore said quietly. "We stack greed, desire, and violence upon them, and never take time to understand what incomparable strength a pure, whole soul actually has.
And when someone like you holds that strength, all I can do is say something this greedy. Perhaps that is why I will never be fully forgiven.
In truth… I did something terrible once."
Sean had never seen Dumbledore so torn and subdued.
He was supposed to be open and kind; now he looked like someone who had lost his way.
"I'll try," Sean said. Without knowing why, he felt a weight in his chest.
What sort of man was Albus Dumbledore?
If you judged only by his actions, he seemed equal parts good and bad.
But sitting in front of Sean now, showing him this hesitant, uncertain side, the boy suddenly remembered that even Dumbledore was, in the end, just a man who had grown old without much love.
He could tire, he could make mistakes, he could feel regret. He talked endlessly about love being the greatest magic, but how much of it had he actually felt?
"The past," Sean said softly, "is something that no longer carries any real weight. Please don't go on condemning yourself for what you were then, Headmaster—it's not fair.
You know… he was standing in the mist, just as lost as you."
~~~
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