Chapter 480: Leaving School

“This is my day of shame, my feared yesterday.”

“I want you to see this, to understand my mistake…”

Dumbledore gazed at the distant horizon with pale blue eyes, as the church’s hymn drifted down on the wind.

“As you know, my youthful arrogance proved that power was my weakness, my temptation.”

“Strange as it may sound, child, perhaps those best suited to wield power are those who never seek it—like…”

Dumbledore conjured a chair with his wand and sat down, pulling a bunch of white flowers from his robe.

He placed the flowers before the epitaph and gently brushed away the dust clinging to it.

“But staying at Hogwarts has always been safer for me—I believe I’ve been a good teacher—”

“You’ve always done well. You are the best headmaster.”

“I hope this isn’t flattery, but if my actions have pleased you, then it proves these years haven’t been without growth.”

“Yet one thing puzzles me—I thought everyone dragged the corpse of yesterday behind them, yet here you are, child, you’ve surprised me countless times.”

“Could you tell me, Mr. Green, why happiness so easily satisfies you?”

Dumbledore lifted his head and gazed kindly at Wizard Sean.

He had seen too many insatiable hungers; he never imagined he’d one day see a clear, transparent stream.

This child’s heart must hold some kind of flame, setting him apart from all others.

“Happiness is merely a state, Professor.”

Wizard Sean said seriously,

“Without pain, you cannot feel happiness strongly—it’s merely comfort and mediocrity, not happiness or fortune.”

“Ah… so misfortune has given you wealth? I’ve never heard that before,”

Dumbledore suddenly changed course,

“Or have you witnessed even greater misfortune, making you content with your present life?

Mine? Minerva’s? Or perhaps Severus’s?”

Wizard Sean knew Headmaster Dumbledore always sensed many things, but he had still underestimated the old wizard’s acuity.

Dumbledore did not press further; if he had to entrust the future to anyone,

he could find no one more suitable than the young wizard before him.

“Well, those who know the future must retain some mystery.

Let’s return quickly—I hope I still make it to the Great Hall’s afternoon tea…”

Dumbledore smiled warmly, as if shedding a great burden.

Of course, his mistakes could not be forgiven—but at last he had a chance at redemption.

Better still, dear Mr. Green called him the best headmaster.

Oh, Merlin, was there anything more satisfying?

Dumbledore hummed an unfamiliar tune, vaguely reminiscent of the Christmas carol Professor Sprout had taught the young witches and wizards.

He took Wizard Sean through the graveyard, placing flowers here and there, and moments later they stood before a monument.

Behind it were three statues: a man with messy hair and glasses, a woman with long hair, beautiful and kind, and a baby boy seated in her arms.

“Do you think we’ll one day be carved into statues too? Oh, I don’t mean the lucky black cat statue on the fourth floor.”

Dumbledore smiled.

He seemed more fond of jesting than usual.

“I…”

Wizard Sean’s words were cut off.

“I hope we never are, Wizard Sean—let the fourth-floor statue be your final one.”

With that, Dumbledore pulled the young wizard into Apparition.

After all… statues are for honoring wizards; living wizards need no memorials.

…

The remaining days of the summer term passed as if bathed in brilliant sunlight.

The summer holiday arrived, drifting in amid the silent wishes of the young witches and wizards.

In an instant, they would board the Hogwarts Express home.

The group from the hut gathered together; logically, they could have met in a compartment.

But no one expected someone would be confined to detention even during summer break.

“He probably hates you too… Wizard Sean.”

Ron stretched his neck, scanning around; once he confirmed Snape was nowhere in sight, he whispered,

“What could you possibly have in common with Harry? I’d guess Quidditch—Snape has always disliked Quidditch players…”

“Stop talking nonsense, Ron!”

Hermione snapped at him.

“Hermione, then tell me why?”

Ron stuck out his chin,

“Maybe it’s his eyes—you and Harry both have green eyes! We don’t!”

He exclaimed loudly.

“Wizard Sean is staying on as a teaching assistant! Mr. Weasley!”

Hermione could no longer bear it.

“Huh?”

Ron stared blankly.

“Wizard Sean, how could you possibly…”

Ron couldn’t comprehend it.

“Not everyone is like you, who got an ‘E’ in Potions and still thinks Professor Snape is targeting you.

Just be quiet—be silent.”

Hermione waved her wand, casting a small spell; Ron suddenly found himself unable to speak, as if he had no mouth at all.

He kept touching his lips; Jia Jia Siting couldn’t help laughing.

Then came Neville and Harry.

The hut members always practiced spells this way—small, amusing charms that made their magical studies more interesting.

Wizard Sean always practiced with Jia Jia Siting; Neville always practiced with Harry.

Hermione and Ron, surprisingly, ended up paired together.

The reason? Hermione believed no one except herself and the elusive Wizard Sean could teach Ron.

“I can’t believe you’re becoming a teaching assistant at Hogwarts—never happened in Hogwarts history, a second-year assistant—this’ll add major weight to your record—”

As Ron studied the counter-charm notes, Hermione said eagerly.

Her expression mirrored Ron’s from yesterday, when he’d placed a mouse-head, turtle-body creature on her desk.

“Will you have time? Wizard Sean—I mean, during summer?”

Jia Jia Siting clearly cared more about this.

“Professor Snape will give me a week off.”

Wizard Sean thought for a moment and smiled in reply.

“A week!”

Ron, now freed by Harry’s help, burst out,

“I say, Wizard Sean, magic is endless!”

“Be silent—”

Hermione waved her wand again.

“Second time today, Hermione—you’ve got one more attack round—”

Ron tilted his head to dodge, but collided with her second spell, then slumped helplessly as Harry undid it.

“Now that meals are over, line up and follow me—”

Suddenly, a clear voice rang out in the Great Hall—it was Professor McGonagall, guiding the young witches and wizards to the train.