“Miss Weasley, what are you doing in the North Tower at this late hour?” asked Dumbledore mildly.
Startled, Ginny gasped to herself at the foot of Oliver’s doorstep, pondering whether the Headmaster had become a weightless man with no inertia, because as alert as she was, she swore she could not detect his presence.
“Professor, it’s getting really chilly again, so I just want to give Oliver these extra blankets for the night… I don’t think he anticipated Hogwarts to be this mighty cold this time of year…” Ginny’s tongue stumbled because she just noticed three faint shadows emerging behind Dumbledore along the quiet hollow halls.
“Mrs. Anderson,” Dumbledore maneuvered to the oldest of the three. “Please allow me to introduce one of my students. This is Ginny Weasley.”
“Hi,” greeted Ginny, sticking her hand out from the red bundle in her clutches to wave slightly. Leading the cluster of strangers behind Dumbledore was an older woman who reminded her bizarrely of her own mother, but in a much less imposing way. Although her demeanor was friendly, Ginny refrained from approaching the group, because from the corner of her view, she could spot a small girl staring at her with hostile angular eyes. Even though she was huddled tightly next to a motionless but pale young brown haired petite woman, it appeared it was the woman who was leaning on the child for support.
“I’ve invited Oliver’s neighbors to Hogwarts for a visit,” enlightened Dumbledore to Ginny, and a bright zealous light lit up inside her head, immediately figuring out the identities of these people. To her, bringing guests to visit Hogwarts would sound odd on any other occasion. After all, Hogwarts was not a resort hotel, especially with the frigid weather as of late, but judging from everyone’s grave faces, it was evident each person currently knew what their purpose clearly was and why they were standing at Oliver’s doorstep at this precise moment.
“This is Prudence,” Dumbledore gestured to the frozen woman, “and her daughter Zoe.”
It was a needless introduction; Ginny already knew who they were because of the conversation with Oliver earlier, but the blank stoic expressions Prudence bore the entire time were seemingly permanent according to Ginny. She was slightly insulted for not being acknowledged by Prudence after Dumbledore’s introduction, but it did not take long for Ginny to recognize the scriptures on the woman’s pain-ridden face and the reddened eyes that resembled Oliver’s and hers from last year so much, and all was automatically forgiven.
“How do you do?” asked Ginny to Prudence.
“What a kind caring girl you are, Miss Weasley, bringing blankets for Oliver like that,” smiled Mrs. Anderson out of politeness, seeing that Prudence’s lips were trembling but no words were coming out.
“You are right. It is quite chilly here.”
“Oliver and Miss Weasley are like brother and sister,” explained Dumbledore clairvoyantly, evidently detecting the misunderstanding brewing inside Zoe’s mind about the relationship between Oliver and Ginny.
“But because he is not really her brother, he naturally has no problem matchmaking her with boys. In fact, he had a hand in helping her find that special someone last year, a boy whose jacket she’s currently proudly wearing.”
As quickly as Ginny’s untimely blush that colored her face to the rim, Zoe’s glare disarmed itself like a switch. Hoping for the blush to subside in time, Ginny immediately blended herself within the gray walls, a fruitless effort failed by the red blankets and her fiery hair.
“Once again, thank you for entrusting me and agreeing to come with me on such short notice at this time of the night,” smiled Dumbledore.
“No need to thank us,” sighed Mrs. Anderson. “We understand this is important. So I’ll miss a few games of Bridge here and there, but it doesn’t matter. I have a wager with my daughter on this one anyway, so I must come along to find out the outcome of the show.”
Ginny didn’t know what Mrs. Anderson meant with that comment, but now that Zoe’s glare disappeared, her eyes were free to roam around, and they found themselves situating directly on a despondent Prudence. Thinking she was still hidden in the background, she bravely followed up with an additional second of observation of her target. After having heard so much about her from Oliver, her curiosity was too tempting to quell, but she was convinced she was only being protective of Oliver, and imagine what he would be like with this woman by his side. Based on memory, a too burly Oliver appeared to command one full head over the tiny Prudence. Ginny couldn’t help but giggle out loud, because he could easily be twice her weight too. He might squish her in close quarters if he wasn’t careful with his positions. But as Ginny continued on, her mental drawing of a towering chivalrous gallant soldier came to its completion in her head, and she tossed the superficial physical differences away with another giggle; this time was one of satisfaction. Prudence was a good match for her soul mate.
“Prudence, stop your moping,” said her mother suddenly, interrupting Ginny’s out of place giggles. “We are not attending Oliver’s funeral right now.”
Prudence poked her head up just enough to glare at her mother with solid black contempt.
“This isn’t a Bridge game! Why… didn’t you… tell me everything from the start?” she interrogated in suppressed decibels.
It was the first time Ginny heard Prudence’s unique alto voice, to which she grinned, understanding that was definitely a voice range Oliver would surely appreciate, after receiving numerous complaints about her apparent sharp voice from him earlier.
“As I said previously, my young days as a witch are irrelevant. My choice to live in the muggle world has nothing to do with”“
“You knew Oliver is a wizard from the beginning! Why didn’t you tell me? You think… I would be like… like my father… that… I’m capable of discrimination the way he did against you?”
“Of course not! I raised you better than that. Besides, it is not my place to tell you details about him. It should come from him.”
“I nearly filed a police report for missing persons the last time he gone missing!” she retorted in a controlled voice, because she was aware Oliver could be sleeping behind the door that were at now. “You could have at least told me why I need not file one and how you knew he was okay.”
“Perhaps I should have explained to you at that point, but… watching you agonize over his apparent disappearance… gave me… a lot of answers… that later would be confirmed…”
Ginny could see Mrs. Anderson furtively flashing her eyes at Zoe’s direction. Now that she was no longer staring at her, she had the opportunity to study the child too, and she could see a familiar locket was tucked at her waist. It was the Amoré.
“As I said over and over again, he’s only a neighbor. There’s nothing between us.”
Ginny had to look away to hide her upward rolling eyes. She need not have to even waste a full breath to contemplate why what Prudence said sounded so familiar. It was too obvious. Not only were Oliver and Prudence sharing the same wall of the same floor of the same building in the same city, they were also sharing the identical jar of words of incredible denial. She pondered what else did they share besides this.
“Mum,” Zoe gazed at Prudence. “Your eyes are very red.”
“I’m okay. Sweetie, I… have a cold, that’s all… and… also…
“The needling sharp winds earlier… irritating my eyes…”
“And my perfume… stinks like insect repellent!” Ginny could suddenly hear herself sniff out loud. Without realizing it, she had just repeated monotonously what Oliver had said to her earlier.
“What?” asked Prudence as everyone pulled a reluctant Ginny out from the background.
“Oh,” Ginny scratched her head sheepishly, her blush augmenting itself to another level. “Never mind.”
Prudence turned to Dumbledore, who was gazing at Oliver’s door solemnly for some reason, “Mr… Dumbledore… Sir, I respectfully want you to know… I believe everything you said… I truly do… everything about Oliver and Yuriko… and the book… but I’m afraid… my being here will not help your cause… because… because…”
Prudence fell silent, noting that Dumbledore had not inched for a reply at all.
“Professor, what’s wrong?” asked Ginny.
“Oliver’s gone…” he muttered with downcast eyes. “He’s not inside.”
“That’s impossible! I walked him to his quarters earlier!” Ginny blurted and pulled the doorknob, but it was jammed.
“UURGH! Lazy bum! He still hasn’t fixed the faulty doorknob all this time!”
Dumbledore waved his arm tiredly. As expected, the door drifted open, but its success seemingly deteriorated Dumbledore’s expressions even more. Nevertheless, Zoe pulled away from her stoic mother and followed Ginny, who dashed inside and tossed the red blankets, unfortunately, onto an empty bed with no Oliver. All that was left was his favorite pillow on it. The Headmaster was right. He was gone.
“Professor, his broom is not here, and the umbrella…” Ginny’s urgent survey was broken up when a strike of lightning illuminated the shadowy skies, its power expanding itself effortlessly inside Oliver’s quarters from the open window.
Dumbledore hurriedly ventured inside and headed to the window, apparently more worried about what was happening outside.
“The skies are becoming unstable!” snapped Dumbledore. “They are sounding their alarms! Minerva’s spell… must have imposed too much stress on the integrity of the horizons.”
“Mr. D… the lightning… How can there be thunder when it’s snowing outside?” Zoe squeaked with an unstable strain. She appeared to have adjusted to the magic settings of Hogwarts with ease, unlike her mother, who was being dragged inside by Mrs. Anderson to join the group.
Dumbledore sighed wearily before responding, “It is unusual, isn’t it? Thunder is… a symbol of summer, while snow is a symbol of winter. The two of them… are not supposed to coexist together. There is no ambiguity… Like many things, there’re some that are just not meant to be together, but…”
“Is thundersnow really possible?” asked Mrs. Anderson, locking her daughter’s hand tightly.
“It’s a very rare occurrence… a very rare occurrence indeed… as rare as Fantasy’s Mirror… but it looks like… tonight… I’m afraid… things are finding their way of managing to beat the odds…”
“It can’t be!” doubted Ginny hopefully. “How come I can’t hear it? It must be just… regular light.”
“Miss Weasley, the snow acts as an acoustic suppressor, diffusing, filtering and softening the rumbling sounds as they travel through the air.”
“Oh no! The fairy tale story… isn’t this… OH NO! Oily!!” Zoe suddenly shrieked in panic and stared at her mother, catching on to the gloomy wavelengths of Dumbledore and Mrs. Anderson.
Ginny’s heart had since stopped beating, thinking of the same thing the child was, the fate of Sen befalling on Oliver.
“Zoe, give Oily’s locket to your mother now!” demanded Mrs. Anderson.
The girl immediately opened the Amoré and stuffed it hotly in Prudence’s shaking hand. To everyone’s relief around her, the Amoré’s needle was pointing solidly at the window.
“We must go after Oliver now before it’s too late!!” Dumbledore commanded just as another strike of thunder landed. “Follow the lead of the Amoré!!”
***
“What am I… actually seeing?” Oliver asked himself philosophically as he stood with the stubborn barren tree by his side atop the mountain. Mirroring the hollowness of colorless glass were his eyes that had stopped blinking again, despite the needling sharp winds and snow pellets attacking him from all sides.
“Could this be… really true… that in order to see… in oneself… the clearest wishes and desires that are ahead, as well as… the regrets and reflections that resonate from behind, you have to be… a person who is truly at his end?
“Could this be what I’m seeing right now, flashing before my eyes, what is left of me… pieces of me… but for a snapping series of pictures, one after one, striking across the horizons?”
He gazed at the ghostly white umbrella in his hand. It was acting strangely tonight, for the glow was unusually bright, and it was as if it was alive and awake, breathing on its own. His lips quivered slightly, but it was not because of fright. It was merely the result of pebbles of words solidifying in the corners of his eyes, pushing to come out and feathering his lips.
”Don’t leave behind the olive wooden tree…
"Don’t leave me behind…
"Don’t leave behind your olive wooden tree…”
He chuckled despairingly. He couldn’t believe what he had just composed. He must definitely be at his end. After all, he was not his usual self. Not only did he cry twice on the same day, but such peculiar uninvited poetry writing skills he bellowed out moments ago seemed a natural fitting accompaniment to the dying moments of a life, like his right now. It was time to go. It felt right. It could not be anything else.
“Do you remember that day, Yuriko?” he murmured to the explosive roaring beast that was the anguish-filled skies as his quivering shadow projected itself onto the trunk of the tree, the bare branches too tired to fend off the mighty winds. “When I introduced myself… to you for the first time outside the elevator… you made fun of my name… and you did… a song about an olive wooden tree…”
The dark skies did not respond to his question. They were too occupied; in fact, they were at their most abnormal state. Colors that could not make up their minds when he was with Ginny earlier were now reacting even more exponentially because of the lightning flares under the unyielding pellets of snow and fog. The combination of lightning and snow merging together was an unspeakable sight he had never experienced before, but he continued to stand, unfazed and unimpressed.
“You once told me… rain is good for me. I never understood why you seriously thought I was a tree at one point.
“Well, even if I am one, you must realize… I need… more… than just rain…”
Oliver had since stopped wiping away the melting ashes of snow on his face. It was not necessary. No one was looking at him, and there were too much of them around him and too overwhelming to resolve anyway. Truthfully, he was soaked through the inside of his clothes now; they had consumed him. In a bizarre manner, the jagged uncontrolled pellets were seemingly now rising up from the ground too, because of the manic winds. He swore he could sense the skies were calling for him with this inverse maneuver. It must be a signal, perhaps a lead for him to take, and fly to the gateway that had been waiting for him all along, he thought to himself.
“As documented in the fairy tale story you left behind, Keiko’s father believes Sen was able to join her world after he mysteriously vanished in the massive storm under the celestial white umbrella…”
He gripped the engagement ring tightly as he closed his eyes, “Would I… share the same fate by doing the same thing? I… don’t really know.”
Another blast of lightning diced through the fiery air, and throaty rumblings ricocheted across the cascading mountain soon after.
“I can’t say for certain… can’t I?
“What is certain is… I’m not afraid… because…
“I just want to be with you. Whatever it takes.
“I won’t be left behind like the last time at the train station… not again… living but abandoned… like this barren tree… alone on this mountain… living… yes… breathing… yes… but…”
He rubbed his chest. It was empty like the many days before. What was stored behind his ribcage was, as usual, the same layer of snow that always was, a persistent blanket of gray dust, covering a wilted and cold silence.
“I could… only hope for tonight… then… that I… we… will become… the timeless fairy tale… to be read by thousands of others… just like the one of Sen and Keiko… for generations to come…
“Yuriko and Oliver… for generations to come…”
He nodded to a decision and reopened his eyes, “I like the sound of that…”
Oliver turned to the tree next to him. Its outline was flickering under the powers of the lightning. It would be the last item he would touch that was anchored to reality. He mounted on his broom and launched himself into the violent airs fearlessly, reaching into the heart of the storm with the umbrella, to become one with the elements.
As he sailed away, his broom lost the instructions for direction that was supposed to come from its glistening rider. Instead, it let itself be guided by the meaningful currents, the snowflakes around him acting like the many eyes of nature, tearfully watching him and his broom resemble a quill inside the trembling hand of a writer, painting his last words on parchment that was the boundless landscape, concluding in a path by carving the final sentence of his story:
“OLIVER!!” a muffled voice cried from below.
“NO!!
“OLIVER!! COME BACK!!” It was Prudence’s desperate voice. She was clutching the Amoré, surrounded by the others who followed. But as loud as she was, her words could not latch itself to him; it was too late. As an acoustic suppressor, the snow managed to dissipate her calls for his return, and his blazing trail was increasing the escalating distance between them, accelerated by the winds, separating the worlds apart.
“I’M GOING AFTER HIM!” shouted Ginny confidently, brushing the water off her face as she clawed herself onto her broom. “Prudence, come on! Tell me where the needle--”
“NO! IT’S TOO DANGEROUS!” roared Dumbledore, pushing forward, stretching out both his arms protectively. “Everyone! Stay low to the ground and look for cover! Mind the child! The climax of the storm is coming!”
Dumbledore raised his wand. It was unclear what he was attempting to do, but a gigantic blast of lightning swallowed the entire horizons before he was able to utter the words of a spell, chewing the grounds viciously and all of them fell to their knees. As an additional barrier to their senses, the snow was now crushing everything in its path blindingly in bricks and mortars, aided by the winds, bruising everything into deep shades of profound violet and crimson.
“PROFESSOR? ARE YOU ALL RIGHT? Where are you? I have Zoe with me!” shrieked Ginny from behind, locking herself and the child to the barren tree that was still standing. After that last thundering blast, it appeared the elements around them have instantly calmed down as the mist lifted and their vision restored. As quick as it was, all that was left now was a drizzle of rain as the air grew warmer by the second.
“I’m fine! Where are the others?”
“I’m okay!” Mrs. Anderson stood up and hollered from a few bushes away.
“Bloody hell,” Zoe said to Ginny as she stuck her arm out into the air to meet the dancing drizzle, “Things do change quickly around here.”
“That sure was hell all right,” sighed Ginny.
“PRUDENCE!” Mrs. Anderson yelled, running towards her, after seeing her kneeling shakily on the ground and be the only one that still hadn’t confirmed her status. The others quickly followed.
“Prudence, are you hurt?” her mother pleaded, noticing her daughter was reduced to an image of a gray sad statue on the ground, clutching the Amoré but staring at the skies, as the rain framed her face, highlighting her glittering features that had just accepted an unspeakable answer.
Even though no one has yet to fully explain to her of its powers, Prudence had an omen what the Amoré’s needle was saying to her now, and she gently closed her hopeless statue eyes. It was her way of acknowledging an ending to a story she was never going to be a part of.
“Prudence… say something…”
“……”
Prudence could feel every crater in the shell of the Amoré tingling inside her fingers, because she was holding it as tight as she could, preciously, knowing it would very well be the one and only item she had that was his in this lifetime.
Dumbledore knew the inevitable answer too. He quietly reached for Prudence’s unsteady hand and extended her dithering arm to reveal the Amoré that led them here. The others slowly accumulated around the motionless Prudence. One by one, everyone’s faces crumbled, in response to the locket in her hand, the needle spinning faintly without direction inside its golden casing. All sounds seemingly died, except for the gentle tapping sounds of what was natural spring rain, no longer succumbed to the game of time and magic, melodically rinsing away the physical destruction left behind by its former self.