Chapter 414: A Wizard's Wisdom
"Madam Ravenclaw."
The black cat stared into the dancing flames of the hearth, instinctively wanting to edge closer to the warmth.
"My dear Sean."
Rowena Ravenclaw offered a thin, enigmatic smile.
"Some pumpkin juice?"
At Helena's silent command, a steaming mug of pumpkin juice sprouted a pair of tiny wooden legs and scampered across the rug, coming to a halt right before the cat's paws.
"Thank you for the hospitality," the cat murmured, bowing its head slightly. It used its tail to deftly steady the handle of the mug.
As Sean looked around the interior of the cottage, a swarm of questions began to buzz in his mind.
What exactly is the nature of the Lands Between?
He wondered why he could no longer sense the presence of Isolt Sayre, yet Rowena seemed to be drawing closer to him. How did the souls within this realm move? What laws governed the world behind the Veil?
The mystery was tantalizing, and his curiosity was near its breaking point.
"You are burdened by many questions," Rowena noted, gliding over. An ancient, weathered book manifested in her hand as she moved.
"I am, Madam Ravenclaw. I wish to know the truth of this place. And... what determines the distance between us here?"
"A fine inquiry. Tell me then, what do you think?" Rowena countered. "What determines the distance between one wizard and another? Is it a length that can be measured with a ruler?"
"It is the distance between hearts," the cat replied after a few moments of reflection.
"That is the first answer," Rowena smiled.
"But what are the actual laws of the realm? Why do I feel Madam Sayre drifting further into the distance?"
"A wizard's soul is a restless thing," Rowena explained. "Sometimes it draws near, sometimes it wanders far. Even if two hearts are close, the soul forever seeks its freedom. And on the path to that freedom, a wizard is always, essentially, alone. The roads of two wizards do not always converge."
She took a sip of her own juice, a playful glint in her eyes.
"You mean..." The cat fell into deep thought.
"Precisely," Rowena said. "Compared to most, you and Sayre were remarkably close. But she is moving forward. She has carved out a space for you in her memory, but that does not mean you can catch her. Only at specific, fateful moments do the paths of wizards truly align."
"I understand," the cat whispered. He looked at Rowena, then at Helena. His fur gave a brief, silver-flecked shiver, but he chose to keep his final thought to himself.
"You are wondering why Helena and I remain together?" Rowena asked. She was, as the legends said, incredibly sharp. "It is because we have made a home within each other's souls. What is your definition of 'home,' child?"
Rowena looked down at the cat and gently scooped him up into her arms. Sean was so immersed in his philosophical debate that he didn't even realize he was being held until he noticed the floor was several feet away.
"Where there is love, there is home..."
The cat looked up and realized his perspective had shifted; he was high in the air, watching Helena vibrate with silent laughter.
"This is not as amusing as you think," the cat muttered, leaping back down to the rug.
The fire roared in the grate, and outside the window, the magical vines of the garden performed a rhythmic, rustling dance. Amidst the pleasant, heavy silence of the cottage, Rowena's voice rang out:
"Mmm. A most impressive intellect."
Sean's tail gave a sharp, involuntary swish. He realized that in the moment of physical contact, she had somehow read the very essence of his mind.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"You ask for the rules of the Lands Between, yet you are already wielding them. Look."
Rowena flicked a finger. Several small clusters of mist—the "Yarn Balls" of his knowledge—emerged from the tip of the cat's tail.
The first cluster displayed a series of complex wand movements accompanied by a low, droning incantation.
"A barely acceptable level of mastery in Charms," Rowena evaluated.
The second cluster shifted and buckled, transforming from a cat to a Wampus and back again.
"An excellent understanding of Transfiguration theory," she added with a smile.
Then came the third, fourth, and fifth clusters. They radiated a bone-chilling cold and were as black as the bottom of a sunless sea. Rowena's expression shifted instantly.
"...Dark Arts. Dark Arts. And yet more Dark Arts... Sean, what exactly have you been studying? Has Hogwarts changed so drastically in ten centuries?"
The cat's head ducked low. He remained silent. He understood now that these were his "Wisdom Clusters"—manifestations of his rational mind, common fixtures in this realm.
"Hogwarts does not include the Dark Arts in its curriculum," the cat finally whispered.
"It is alright, Sean," Rowena said, stepping closer. He could see the intricate, shimmering patterns on the hem of her robes. He didn't know what she meant until she spoke again.
"The Dark Arts are a sharp blade. I am merely curious as to what force compelled you to draw that blade in the first place. I recall a time when wizards had defeated the dragons and the giants, standing as equals to the Goblins. We built our castles on a foundation of security. Has there been... a rebellion?"
"That was a long time ago," the cat replied carefully.
"Oh? Then this is a war of wizards?" Rowena asked. It wasn't really a question.
The cat nodded.
Rowena didn't press him further. She looked as though she had expected such an outcome. When wizards solved the problem of survival, their conflicting beliefs would inevitably tear them apart. Wizards relied so heavily on conviction that it was the very source of their magic—and the very catalyst for their wars.
They sat in silence for a while as the mist began to rise from the floorboards.
"I must leave now, Madam Ravenclaw. Madam Helena," the cat said. He had seen what he needed to see.
"Then... let us wish each other luck?" Rowena noted with a mischievous smirk.
The cat's whiskers trembled, but he said nothing.
"There are ten thousand souls here who try to cling to me, hoping to siphon off the power that a wizard carries into this world," Rowena said suddenly, her voice dropping to a serious tone. "Do you know what that power is?"
"Wisdom," the cat answered.
"That is what I want you to understand. Wizards have many 'faiths'—even cruelty has its followers. But the true power of magic does not reside in such things. The ancient wizards defeated the dragons, the giants, and kept the Goblins at bay. But from Helena's account, the wizards of your age no longer possess that level of magic..."
Rowena spoke slowly, and Sean listened with every fiber of his being.
The cottage was decorated with a pine tree draped in fairy lights. Beneath it sat a plush orange rug, a small stool, and a stuffed black cat toy. The kettle began to boil over, the steam carrying the sharp, clean scent of pine.
The cat sat perfectly still on the rug, committing every word Rowena spoke to memory. He had always possessed a unique intuition regarding magic, and right now, that instinct was screaming that he was on the verge of uncovering the most profound and esoteric branch of the craft.
[End of Chapter 414]
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