Chapter 478: The Past of Bees

This was a bright valley.

A stream flowed gently across the emerald fields, sunlight melting and spreading like honey.

The air carried the scent of fresh grass mixed with the aroma of baked pies from a wizard’s kitchen, and the sweetness of wild apple trees on the distant slopes.

A ginger cat lay sprawled atop the wall, its belly rising and falling with each breath.

We’re almost there.

Dumbledore said slowly.

Behind him, the young wizard in a black robe wondered how Headmaster Dumbledore had slipped out of Hogwarts again—no wonder Professor McGonagall often voiced quiet complaints.

He looked up; he and Headmaster Dumbledore stood on an ancient alley, beneath a brilliant summer sky where clouds drifted lazily. Houses lined the narrow lane, their windows glowing with Christmas decorations. A short distance ahead, golden streetlamps marked the center of the village.

Sirius knew where this was.

Godric’s Hollow.

A village in the western counties of England.

The History of Magic described it thus:

After the International Statute of Secrecy was signed and enacted in 1689, wizards went completely into hiding.

Perhaps naturally, they formed their own small communities within their settlements.

Many small villages attracted a few wizarding families, who banded together to help and protect one another.

Dittany in Cornwall, Upper Fleggle in Yorkshire, Ottery St. Catchpole on England’s south coast—all had wizarding families living among tolerant, sometimes Confunded Muggles.

Of such half-wizarding settlements, the most famous was perhaps Godric’s Hollow.

This southwestern village was the birthplace of the great wizard Godric Gryffindor and the place where the wizard goldsmith Bowman Wright forged the first Golden Snitch.

The graveyard bore the surnames of ancient wizarding families—undoubtedly the reason for the chapel’s centuries of ghost stories.

“Oh, isn’t it wonderful? Decades have passed, yet it remains just as I remember—only fewer wizards now…”

Dumbledore walked along a path lined with wildflowers, his tone light.

“Do you know where this is?”

“Godric’s Hollow, Headmaster.”

Sirius replied.

“Precisely. Let’s hurry, before Minerva notices we’re gone… We’re going to the graveyard…”

Dumbledore quickened his pace; though over a hundred years old, the old headmaster was surprisingly robust.

Perhaps, by wizarding standards of age, he was still middle-aged.

This meant Sirius had to break into a light run to keep up—so he leapt, transforming into a black cat darting through the fields and flowers.

Dumbledore cast a silent glance at the black cat, his eyes holding a long-absent mischief.

Turning left along the path, the village center—a small square—appeared before them.

At its center stood a war memorial, half-hidden behind wind-tossed pines, adorned with strings of festive lights.

There were a few shops, a post office, a pub, and a small chapel, its stained glass casting jewel-like glows across the square.

The grass had been packed hard: trodden flat by feet all day, now stiff and slippery.

Villagers crossed paths before them, gently illuminated by streetlamps.

Occasionally someone stared in surprise at Dumbledore, quickly covering their mouth; others approached with warm, simple greetings, their eyes glistening as they turned away.

Dumbledore smiled at each one—male and female wizards, young and old—though he had not returned for decades, it seemed they still knew him.

The black cat heard snippets of laughter and pop music from the pub’s opening door, and the hymns rising from the chapel.

At the graveyard’s entrance stood a narrow gate. Dumbledore pushed it open as quietly as he could; the black cat leapt inside.

I have to say, the path to the graveyard gate was slick—the black cat’s claws had fully extended.

Rows of snow-dusted tombstones stood in the field, dotted with brilliant red, gold, and green patches—the stained glass casting reflections onto the snow.

Dumbledore stopped at one spot.

The black cat leapt onto his shoulder, following his gaze:

Below lay a dark stone slab, etched into frost-rimed, moss-covered granite: CANDRA DUMBLEDORE, followed by the dates of her birth and death, and beneath it: AND HER DAUGHTER ALBANNA.

And beneath that, an inscription:

【The heart follows the treasure】

“Have you seen her?”

Dumbledore spoke, but his eyes never left the graveyard for a moment.

“Not yet, but my ghost friend Rita has.”

The black cat said.

“And me?”

Dumbledore asked.

“The power of the Soul Relic has not yet returned. You must wait a month.”

The black cat leapt down, transforming into a young, handsome wizard.

“Oh, let’s have afternoon tea, then go see her together—what do you think, Mr. Green?”

Dumbledore looked distant.

How else could he have said such a thing—go see Alanna?

But Sirius nodded:

“Yes, Headmaster.”

So they set off, arriving at the pub.

Dumbledore ordered a bitter black tea, no sugar, yet he ordered Sirius a jasmine tea overflowing with sugar cubes.

“Is it true that one feels happiness most intensely when nearing it?”

Dumbledore asked suddenly.

“One feels anxiety when happiness is in motion,” Sirius replied.

“You don’t need to do this.”

Sirius suddenly understood.

He knew how Headmaster Dumbledore intended to show him Alanna.

“I only wanted you to meet her first, dear little Green—how else would you know it was her?

I thought my fear had died. But it still lives—so long as she lives, it will never fade… Consider it an old man’s wish.”

Dumbledore slipped again into that daze; Sirius felt a pang of pity.

“You should trust me.”

Sirius said.

“I trust you faithfully, Mr. Green. But I do not trust myself—do I still deserve to see her? I…”

Dumbledore murmured, his voice cutting off abruptly.

What choked his throat was love.

“Spirits in the Threshold linger because of obsession. A soul finds another soul for only one reason—they are waiting for each other.”

Sirius thought of the old headmaster of Ilvermorny, whom he had never seen again.

Her journey had been too far; her soul no longer lingered or waited.

“Go to her, Mr. Dumbledore—as if she has been waiting for you all along. Do not retreat unless there is no other choice.”

“Go to see her, Mr. Dumbledore, as if she has been waiting for you all along—do not retreat unless you have no other choice.”

Wizard Sean said.