Chapter 9 Snowflake
“Wood, you can wait here,” McGonagall ushered Oliver into Dumbledore’s office. Even though the Headmaster was not there, Oliver could still feel his mystic presence from every piece of his eclectic possessions that filled the room, busily reassuring the former pupil that their owner should be back very soon.
“Professor Dumbledore should be back very shortly,” McGonagall confirmed the same rhyming message echoing from the eclectic possessions. “He’s currently held back in the Ministry’s office.”
Oliver marched further inside, clutching his ghostly white umbrella and fairy tale book preciously. He had been shielding the items from the snow that began to fall shortly after he reached the grounds of Hogwarts. Brushing his blazer that was covered in melting snowflakes, he surely was not dressed for this unusual bitter weather for this time of year.
Oliver returned to Hogwarts wanting to seek his answers from Dumbledore; the Headmaster was the only person he could think of that could help him. After reading the Angel Ame fairy tale, he could not deny the events that happened since Yuriko’s abandoning him at the train station now appeared to hold their own unique but dreamlike meanings. The connections between the story and these odd events were unquestionably blatant, making him to seriously consider that, as unlikely as it was, the unthinkable has happened to Yuriko.
Looking around, Dumbledore’s calm office had not changed since the last time he visited. The portraits of the numerous former Headmasters and Headmistresses were actively following his trail interestingly. This was not peculiar, as Oliver had been accustomed to them, since they were not famous for their discreetness. What was peculiar was something bothering him from behind. Had it not for the tingly vibrations at the back of his head, he would not have turned around abruptly and disturb the serene air.
It was McGonagall. The sensation was because her eyes had been nailed deeply into him, except they were not accompanied by her usual sternness. Instead, he could sense a whiff of concern and kindness from her stiff features, however accidental and momentary the dosage seemingly was. She also appeared to be very tired.
“Oliver, I’ll arrange for your luggage to be shipped to the North Tower, where you stayed the last time, if… that’s all right with you,” said McGonagall gingerly, shifting her somber focus to his umbrella that shone like a lantern.
Suspecting that McGonagall knew about his reasons for being here, judging by her apparent deep interest in his umbrella, he surfaced a smile. It was the only way to reassure her he was all right.
“Thanks, Professor,” nodded Oliver politely. If only she could pack away his emotional baggage as well, he thought hollowly to himself.
“Snowing in the middle of March?” he asked noticeably, setting his belongings on Dumbledore’s tidy desk. He had forgotten how long his fingers had been tightly locked in a gripped position for the sake of clutching the umbrella and the book.
“Er… Yes,” she answered evasively. “It’s been… an erratic spring this year.”
She keenly changed subjects, “I presume… you’ll stay with us for…”
“A few days at most… no more than that. I don’t want to be trouble.”
“No, not at all, Oliver,” she cut in. “Feel free to… stay as long as you like.”
Oliver’s eyebrow raised an inch, his eyes gazing oddly at McGonagall; he had a distinct impression her pitch had just risen by an entire octave with that last comment. She might have noticed it too, judging by her awkward smile soon after, but it was as if she had to muster every ounce of energy to prevent her stoic face from shifting too freely away from her template frown.
“I’ll tell Dumbledore you’re here as soon as he arrives,” she calmly left, and the door spun to a close behind her.
Left on his own, Oliver paced to Fawkes’ perch quietly. The firebird was clearly asleep, oblivious to his presence, even though he was patting the feathery tail, evidently to keep his hand occupied.
“Fawkes,” Oliver murmured softly, hoping the magic bird’s master could provide him with his much needed answers today.
Musing wishfully to himself, Dumbledore might be the only person to have a theory for everything that has happened to him. The ghostly white umbrella spinning enigmatically towards him in Osaka, the possibility that it was an enchanted object capable of the transported night spell that could carry him to another dimension like the story, and the existence of celestial beings with a different concept of time…
Oliver shook his head. He could not think anymore, but like a snow globe, shaking it would just stir up the snow even more. In the midst of the mess, only one thing now was certain for him. Simply put, too many issues were entangling mulishly in his mind, battling hotly with his heart. He now wondered whether human brains such as his were geared for such complications.
Thinking back, Oliver was surprised he was able to put every detail of his dilemma on the parchment to send to Dumbledore prior to his visit. He recalled writing profusely in his bedroom along the timeless sounds of haunting wind chimes. It was as if they were playing him the melodies of what to compose, making sure that he wrote all the material notes down, so the Headmaster would have enough information and background to decipher the truth.
Voicing the events on the owl was difficult. It was reasonable; after all, it is not common for people to write about oneself in the context of a fairy tale. However, writing everything down would make it feel real. In the end, Oliver could not believe he had weaved himself and Yuriko into a seemingly fictional story, much like the author who wrote Angel Ame. Unfortunately, it was a sad tale; he and Yuriko were characters of a sad fairy tale.
Was it possible that fairy tales could take place in real life? All this time, he blamed the Amoré for not finding Yuriko because it was faulty. He recalled glimpsing at it when he was babysitting Zoe that evening, and once again, the needle was not giving him his needed answers. But when Prudence had it in her hand hours later, it was functioning normally, and to his heartbreaking surprise, the needle was pointing solidly at him.
So the Amoré was not broken after all, he mumbled to himself. Scanning the timeline, the last time when it was functioning while it was in his possession was when he was in the Burrow, when Ginny gave it to him as a farewell present. From that, he theorized that something must have happened to Yuriko immediately after he began his journey to search for her.
His eyes had to close at this juncture; the veins inside were needling them again, because to his despair, he realized he might have been too late in his journey to find Yuriko. He now understood why it was unable to locate her when he was in Osaka. It was because she had become…
Oliver couldn’t complete that thought. As he felt Fawkes’ cottony tail wiggle lightly to shake off his bothersome hand, he could not accept the possibility that Yuriko was no longer in this world. The idea of describing her as a celestial being from a different dimension was still too painful.
Admittedly, amongst the surrealism of all this was the reality that was his neighbor. For some reason, his feet had to wage a fiercely contested combat with his head just to get them moving. It was truly difficult leaving Prudence behind, and he still could not make sense of the rush of feelings he had for her that night.
Before he left, he visited his neighbor, wanting to let her know he was leaving, but she was not there. It could be for the better, he whispered to himself. Instead, he recalled Mrs. Anderson and Zoe answering the door.
“Zoe, this is for you,” he placed the Amoré on her tiny palm. He could not talk properly. A tiny lump in his throat was blocking his windpipe.
“It’s only fair. A trade is a trade…”
That was all he could say; he probably did not even say goodbye to them.
Oliver was convinced his only reason for giving the Amoré away was because of his agreement with the girl made earlier, and not because he did not want to see any new potential answers from it. After all, he was confident there was no other answer. Envisioning himself with a woman other than Yuriko was not possible.
As for Prudence, the best he could do was to repeat to himself the many cliché reasons and persuasive arguments such as those that said she deserved someone better, that she…
“You may borrow my Pensive if you wish to deposit some of those thoughts and memories tormenting you inside your head, Mr. Wood,” said a flowing voice from behind.
Oliver popped his eyes open and turned around swiftly. Standing peacefully next to him was Dumbledore, behind his usual moon shaped spectacles. From the corner of his eye, he could spot the portraits of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses, all nodding in sympathy.
“Is that the enchanted umbrella and the book you mentioned in your letter?” Dumbledore paced to his desk and studied them vigilantly.
“Professor, thank you for taking the time to see me on such short notice,” said Oliver in a battered voice. “I… didn’t know who else to speak to.”
Dumbledore was too occupied with the items to answer. He opened the umbrella and examined every arm of the frame grippingly. In deep thought, he flipped open the book as Oliver bit his lip, intensely observing him scan the final chapter. Before arrival, he had prepared a lot of questions for the Headmaster, but at the moment, he found his tongue frozen, unable to voice any of them.
After a minute that stretched into an hour, Dumbledore finally removed his spectacles and set the book gently on the table. His grim expressions were unmistakable.
“A truly sad ending to a fairy tale, I must say,” Dumbledore mumbled wearily.
“Professor, do you think… I mean… is it possible…do you believe?” Oliver heatedly garbled in one zipped breath. It must be too many questions trying to burst out at the same time.
Oliver had expected a fulfilling and knowledgeable answer from Dumbledore. Instead, he simply peered at him and smiled with a twinkle in his eye, “Well, do you?”
“I…” his words fizzled out, but Dumbledore continued to gaze at Oliver without a sound, maintaining his grin.
“It’s just…” Oliver crushed the silence, the words of madness finally gushing out in full force, “the whole idea of a human girl as a celestial being, her being this… this rain angel… in a world with a differing speed of time… this is… this is utter craziness!”
Fawkes suddenly ruffled its feathers in blazing protest, probably awakened by Oliver’s loud voice as it continued to expand itself to all hidden corners of the room.
“Sir, the girl in the story resembles Yuriko so much… and… Ginny’s Amoré… it was unable to find her when I was in Osaka… how can I not believe?
“And the rain that day… and then the umbrella… rolling towards me on the sidewalk… as if it was…”
“As if it was meant for you to have it,” Dumbledore helped Oliver complete his dying sentence.
Dumbledore retrieved the book from his desk again, rubbing the cover with his sleeve, “Have you heard of the existence of moon gates?”
Oliver shook his head, his eyes following the Headmaster as he marched towards him, directing him to the cover illustration, his finger tracing the drawing of the archway.
“I did have dreams about seeing this vision before, but… I was never able to see anything clearly, and before I could see anything more, I would always be woken up… by the wind chimes and””
“Oh, you poor thing!” one of the portraits screeched. “The lad here hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in days!”
Furtive murmurs being actively exchanged by the characters of the portraits could be heard in the background, but Dumbledore ignored them and continued his explanation.
“From my memories of history lessons I attended as a child, in some Asian cultures, there exist certain gateways… archways built just like this… that would join one part of a garden with another. It’s believed that… lovers… couples… pass through this archway to renew the passion of their love… and be transported to another dimension they can call their own.
“Symbolically, it’s a place their intimate love would ultimately reside.”
Oliver gazed at Dumbledore confusedly.
Dumbledore sighed wanly, “Oliver, there are many realms… worlds… beyond the one we live in. We are certainly not alone in this vast dimension.”
“Professor, what are you saying?” asked Oliver disturbingly.
“What if I were to tell you that… in the generation we live in now, this book is grouped as a fairy tale, but have you considered that… perhaps in a distant past time, or in a separate but hidden world… it’s possible this book, as well as other fairy tales… were grouped as non-fiction?
“I truly believe there are origins to everything in this universe. Behind every single idea or story that we now simply call folklores and fairy tales, there are elements of solid truth.”
Oliver could see the picture of one of the former Headmasters nodding animatedly in the corner, seemingly confirming Dumbledore’s point of view.
“Beliefs change with people all the time. Truths evolve and adapt to elements and theories that compete with each other in society all the time… theories from religion, science, folklore...
“As centuries pass us by, what is a fairy tale and what is truth… becomes unclear… because it gets lost through language, generations of time, and culture. Memories and words decay with the erosion of time…
“Often, events that solidly existed in the past may gradually be discredited because people discover a new way of interpreting them, and these ideas are then quickly dismissed as fiction and folklore. But how can a person fully discredit past events when they never lived through those times?”
“But Professor, this is madness! This”“
“Oliver, how are you to say that once upon a time, there is no angel of rain out there, guarding over our farmers’ crops as this author has claimed?
“I’ll give you a simply analogy. In the muggle world, it is a widely held view that witches, wizards, magic and charms are considered fiction and only exist in fairy tales. But you know that’s not true. The two of us are real. Hogwarts castle is real. It has solid bricks and staircases.
“Now it’s up to you to accept that there are other worlds out there… occupied by other beings… that truly exist… including the so-called celestial world mentioned in this story…
“Which leads us… to your final question about… the rare occurrences of Fantasy’s mirror…”
“Fantasy’s mirror?” asked Oliver, his attention as well as those of the portraits around the room were now acutely aimed at Dumbledore.
“It’s a term we use to describe the phenomenon of an apparent crossover between the so called fictional world and the real world.
“When the unthinkable challenges truth, when illusions mirror reality…
“When illusions become reality.”
Oliver’s eyes widened. He felt like they were on fire, watching Dumbledore’s face that looked like he had just aged twenty years after that comment.
Oliver darted his focus to the book, trying to swallow Dumbledore’s point of view that left a numb taste in his mouth. He eyed at the umbrella furtively, but it was as if Dumbledore could read his mind. The Headmaster reached for it and handed it to him.
“As I said before, it was as if it was meant for you to have it. Therefore, I will not stop you from pursuing her with it, if that’s what you think you must do,” said Dumbledore to Oliver’s surprise.
The Headmaster paced to the nearby window, attracting Oliver’s focus to the sparkling snowflakes outside.
“Isn’t snow beautiful?” asked Dumbledore philosophically. “The way they drift independently on their own, searching for their own special journey…”
“Yuriko once told me every snowflake has a purpose,” reminisced Oliver.
“They sure do have a purpose... at least for Professor McGonagall. They are the things we do to protect the people we care about…” whispered Dumbledore to the window, shaking his head, his pitch tightening up.
“I told her to not spend the entire night…”
“What was she doing?” asked Oliver curiously, not fully understanding where the Headmaster was steering their conversation.
Dumbledore chuckled, “She was trying to figure out the best and safest spell to ensure… all Hogwarts precipitation would fall in the form of snow and not rain, before her favorite pupil and former Gryffindor Quidditch captain arrives…
“Because she is absolutely certain snowfall never accompanies lightning, she thinks… it’s the best method to keep him from danger… to keep Hogwarts at below freezing temperatures and fill the premises with bitter cold winds... in the middle of spring, mind you.
“Indeed, every snowflake here has a purpose.”
Oliver twisted his head down in silence. He did not know what else to say.
“You know what I said to her, Oliver?” inserted Dumbledore helplessly as he reached his hand outside the window. A few snowflakes willingly landed on his palm and melted instantly.
“I asked her to take a look at the very snowflakes she created. You see, Oliver, for snowflakes to survive, they cannot leave their cold environment. They are only safe inside the bitter winds. They cannot come in contact with anything warm, or else it would mean their instant demise.
“But some… are determined, as stubborn as they are, to seek out companionship, to follow the direction to warmth… fire… love, even if… it means getting hurt… burnt… or perhaps… meeting their end.”
“Professor”“
“Not all people appreciate what you’re going through,” Dumbledore intercepted. “Until they face the decision themselves, when they hit that crossroad, when they can’t turn back, the choice to… melt away in the arms of love versus a life of cold and bitter winds is not as obvious as it seems. Is that right, Oliver?”
Oliver did not reply, but he was convinced his grip on the umbrella was as determined as ever.
“Let me ask you if I may, Oliver, before you… embark on your journey. When you look around, frankly, there is… nothing in our world you’ll miss? There’s nothing… no one in this world worthy for you to stay? I mean…”
Dumbledore walked closer to Oliver, “I’ve known you since you’re a child, watched you grow up to become the nice young man you are today. And now… a man with an earring I might add…
“So I was thinking last night. If you do… believe you possess the power of the transported night spell with the umbrella, why did you not try it?” Dumbledore challenged.
“I’m sure there are many rainstorms during spring time. Knowing the fearless person you always are, why didn’t you go for it… instead of electing to spend the minutes now… chatting with an old man like me?”
Oliver’s ears snapped into a blaze. He felt like Dumbledore was interrogating his unshakable position for Yuriko and he desperately sensed the urgency to reassert himself, “When I first discovered it in Osaka, the rain had already tapered off, so… I didn’t use it. I didn’t think much of it… until I read the book… and it was then I suspected of its powers.
“I did want to try it immediately that night!” he clarified in full volume, “but Pru… she came by for a visit!”
“Pru?” asked Dumbledore in an inquisitive but hopeful voice.
Just when Oliver was almost on his way to forgetting about the presence of those dynamic nosy portraits surrounding him, it appeared they collectively reenergized themselves with a piercing glow. Subsequently, the characters all froze themselves, including the images of animals. Much to his dismay, they were all hungrily watching him motionlessly and scandalously.
“Prudence,” fidgeted Oliver uncomfortably, blushing slightly. He could feel everyone’s eyes carrying millions and millions of years of knowledge exploring and disarming him devilishly.
“She’s… she lives next door, with her mum. She watches over my flat… collects my papers… when I’m away.
“SHE has a daughter named Zoe!” Oliver suddenly blasted. He scratched his head. He did not know why it was important to utter this additional fact to Dumbledore.
“I think we have a situation of a man in possession of two hearts,” one of the portraits analyzed tactlessly.
“Well, you can’t blame the lad. Can’t you see? He’s so handsome,” a female voice whistled from behind.
“Tell us more about Prudence!” Oliver could hear a bundle of voices cheering randomly.
“She’s a muggle,” he replied, feeling like a child confessing and being disciplined by multiple generations of authority. “She’s… a cashier and… she… paints.”
As soon as he uttered his last word, Oliver thought his lungs were being sucked out as Dumbledore’s office exploded into an instant vacuum of loud incomprehensible commotion. Looking around in shock once the noise faded, he realized all the former Headmasters and Headmistresses had abandoned their now disheveled portraits and vanished.
Oliver was left with fragments of his chin dangling; he had a nasty feeling where they all went.
Dumbledore tidied his beard, “Don’t blame them. They lead boring lives after all. I’m sure they won’t blemish your friend’s paintings.”
Before Oliver could decipher what Dumbledore had meant with his comment, the Headmaster suddenly gazed intrusively at him. He could feel Dumbledore’s glittering pupils gliding the inside of his skull. He looked away, letting the silence take over as the image of Prudence’s night window made a vivid visit inside his head.
As if Oliver needed to augment his shock further, Fawkes violently combusted into a fireball and hurled itself towards the door, in the process seemingly burning up all the sad air that had filled the room.
“Ahh… another person who really cares about you has come for a visit, and I assure you she won’t be just an image in your head, Oliver,” announced Dumbledore, with another twinkle in his eye.
“This one is a redhead, and I can sense she’s losing her patience. She’s as fiery as the firebird, so I better let her in,” Dumbledore glanced at the door and it automatically swung open to reveal a very familiar girl standing by. It was Ginny.
“Hey, soul mate!” she giggled soothingly to Oliver.
As Yuriko once said, the most beautiful girl is a girl in love. She was definitely right. Ginny had reclaimed the look he had once seen in a photo from her past with Harry. It was a bizarre feeling. Seeing her glowing radiant face, his lips automatically formed a broad smile; he was happy to see her succeed with Harry. But at the same time, he could detect the corners of his eyes were beginning to melt away. Was it because it just occurred to him that Ginny was the only person in this world who would truly understand, because she was the only person who had truly seen him cry?
Moongate Beckons When The Canvas Sleeps by gossipweaver
Chapter Notes: To survive is a lifespan of cold and loneliness. To be safe is to travel with the bitter winds. Yet one snowflake is determined to find his path to warmth, even knowing that his decision would mean his instant demise. But no one will understand the snowflake. He would not want it any other way. With his last breath, he slowly melts away, in the fires of love he was always destined to be with…