Hogwarts Study Panel.

Chapter 581, page 579: It is her god.

A dreamlike illusion.

The sky was shrouded in an unsettling milky-white mist; night had passed, but daylight had not yet arrived.

Dumbledore cherished this opportunity; he knew the boy was still fighting in a faraway land.

He cautiously surveyed the field.

The pursuing fog had just subsided when a small, circular green lawn appeared before us.

Countless crooked Gothic arches stand around the lawn, seemingly growing out of thin air from the mist and extending into the unseen void.

In the boundless, gray-white void, this patch of greenery appears so striking and precious.

A girl was standing behind a few wooden walls in the middle of the lawn.

Albus's breathing stopped, and his heart felt as if it were being squeezed by an icy hand, unable to beat any longer.

His legs felt like they were filled with lead, and he lost all strength to retreat and run away.

She was still the same thin and pale woman I remembered, wearing a clean blue cotton dress, her waist-length golden hair falling quietly on the windless lawn.

She was looking down, intently arranging a tall daisy with her fingers. That daisy was the only wish and the only hope in her little world.

She seemed to sense something and slowly raised her head.

Her gaze pierced through the mist and landed on him without obstruction.

At that moment, Albus instinctively wanted to hide.

His body reacted faster than his mind, taking a half step back and turning his face to hide his wrinkled and tear-streaked face in the shadows.

He was scared.

He feared that his sinful appearance would defile the peaceful lawn; he was even more afraid of seeing the slightest reproach, or even fear, in her pure eyes.

The mist appeared out of nowhere, silently growing and coiling around his ankles, as if trying to nail him to the spot forever, preventing him from disturbing her peace after death.

However, Ariana showed no panic or resentment the moment she saw him.

It was as if she had always been there, searching for him, waiting for him.

She released the daisies from her hand, and her eyes instantly lit up with a gentle light.

Her mouth opened slightly as she looked at him, and then, with uncertainty and timidity, she broke the silence.

"Ah—ah—I don't miss my brother—"

That restrained call concealed the nearly century-old girl's naiveté and fear.

Albus's body trembled violently.

The mist shattered instantly, turning into ashes.

He could no longer move or speak; only tears blurred his azure eyes, silently sliding down behind his thick glasses.

None of the nightmare scenarios came to pass; instead, a pure and innocent call rang out.

He dared not look at her too long, as if facing the sun.

But it's like facing the sun; even if you don't look at her, you can still see her.

Ariana saw his reaction clearly.

She saw his tears, and she also saw his hesitation as he dared not approach.

She didn't understand those complex emotions, but she recognized sadness and fear, two things that had accompanied her for a hundred years.

So she awkwardly opened her arms, making a gesture as if she wanted to hug someone, but she didn't dare to take the initiative to get closer, so she just stretched them out.

That was an extremely familiar pose.

On that summer night in Godric Valley, she had also reached out her hand to comfort Albus, who had just finished arguing with his brother, but her mother blocked her way.

From then on, what separated them was a century of shrouded mystery.

Tears welled up in her eyes, not for herself—she had been in the border region for too long and had long since forgotten how to cry for herself—but for him.

"Brother Albus—don't be sad—"

Her voice was broken and intermittent, but she was eager to express herself clearly.

She released her grip on the hem of her skirt, tossed her hair aside, and showed him her slender neck.

"I—I don't feel any pain, not at all—I just feel like I'm asleep."

Then, she gently pressed her hand to her chest, raised her head, and looked into Albus's eyes, which were filled with pain and self-loathing, with her innocent eyes.

She made up her mind to tell him the most important thing in the most serious and certain tone.

"And—it was me, I went there myself—I wanted to help—I was so stupid—"

As soon as he finished speaking, Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of this century, collapsed to his knees at the edge of the small lawn.

He could no longer bear this innocent pardon that came from the depths of his soul.

He took off his distorted, crescent-shaped glasses and, like a helpless child, buried his face in his trembling hands. A sob that had been suppressed for a hundred years finally rang out heavily in this eternal gray-white mist.

The surging mist behind him broke apart and collapsed, turning into soft white fluff.

Ariana panicked.

She ran over quickly and quietly and knelt down in front of her brother.

She lowered her head and stubbornly and patiently pried open his fingers that were covering his face, one by one, as if this was the only important thing for her at that moment.

She succeeded.

Because of his inability to resist.

Ariana cupped his tear-streaked, aged face in her small hands, leaving him nowhere to hide.

Then, as if performing a sacred ritual, she gently pressed her forehead against Albus's forehead.

In that instant, the entire dreamlike realm fell silent.

All the menacing fog vanished.

The air was filled with the fresh scent of grass, trees, and sunshine.

Amidst this fragrant air, a mist rose that seemed to belong to a place that was once part of the border region.

They didn't float on the ground, nor in the sky; they simply floated beside the wizard, gently and slowly.

"Ah—they are born—the mist of compassion and forgiveness—"

In the distance, Gryffindor casually wiped his face. "Did you guess?"

Ravenclaw ignored him, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon where the battle between the black cat and the mist had reached its climax.

The fog grew thicker and thicker, and the border area seemed to be boiling, perhaps in anger.

The towering fog churned and billowed, dark and heavy, continuously pouring out from even more distant places.

It had already filled the black cat's field of vision, almost three times the size of the previous fog.

The third stone giant crashed to the ground, leaving behind only broken walls and ruins.

Faced with the pitch-black fog, the black cat's green vertical pupils shone even brighter.

The mist, like a wicked dragon, guards the treasure behind the veil of death.

It is angry, roaring, and engulfing the heavens and earth.

The black cat is now all alone.

Its sword was given to him, its guards fell in the mist, and its empty talisman cracked open into a ravine.

Its will was exhausted; its tail no longer wagged, and its body felt as heavy as if it were filled with lead.

The black cat's ears were drooping.

But it still raised its paws, teetering on the ground, in an attempt to summon the fourth vine stone guardian.

It did not retreat.

Because it is her deity.