The Interstice, the world beyond the Veil, the realm Merlin once set foot in—
Whatever you call it, the name alone is enough to convey its mystery, and the immense magic that must be hidden here.
Right now, a black cat was walking through it, circling a dilapidated Victorian building.
This area had originally been empty—white, blank, hollow—but now a short stretch of street had extended outward.
The black cat padded along the street, staring curiously at a puddle that had appeared.
The puddle was clear as glass, sharply reflecting a world wrapped in mist.
The cat lifted its head. Its whiskers trembled.
Behind it, translucent fog churned, and part of the "yarn-balls" seemed to be yanked forward, sliding into view.
The cat could see that these yarn-balls varied in size, each ringed by curling mist. At the very center—where the mist rippled—the cat could see a wizard's dream.
In the three largest yarn-balls—
Professor McGonagall sat in a chair by a sunlit rice field. A breeze passed, and a quiet smile lifted the corner of her mouth as she watched the black cat hopping and darting, trying to catch butterflies.
Snape's yarn-ball showed almost nothing. His dream was too deep; the cat could only occasionally glimpse a cat and a stag running through it.
Justin's dream was far more straightforward: he saw himself raising his wand, stopping Voldemort from going on a killing spree.
The black cat moved past them one by one, then wandered toward several other larger yarn-balls.
It could recognize them—Hermione, Neville, Harry, Ron, and various professors. Sean even saw Headmaster Dumbledore… whose dream was also blurred, as though he were entirely alone inside it.
When Sean fixed his gaze on the headmaster, Dumbledore suddenly turned around, looked straight at the black cat with a smile full of discovery, and said, "Mr. Green—won't you invite me in for a cup of tea?"
Startled, the black cat's fur bristled. After a one-second pause, it tugged the intrigued old wizard out into the Interstice.
"I'm delighted to see you in a dream," said the old wizard in purple robes as he strolled in as if it were the most natural thing in the world, then sat on one of the newly formed street chairs. "I don't remember there being chairs here… Nice progress, Mr. Green."
The black cat nodded. Something seemed to occur to it—its tail split off a small misty clump. The clump churned in the deep fog, then quickly shaped itself into a cup of extra-sweet red tea.
"It seems you haven't forgotten my taste. Have I ever told you how thoughtful you are?" Dumbledore accepted the steaming, black-cat-shaped teacup, his smile impossible to suppress.
"Headmaster Dumbledore," the black cat finally greeted him properly.
Dumbledore's words reminded it: this was its Interstice—its dream.
If that was the case, then conjuring a cup of tea shouldn't be hard at all.
The cat then looked down at its own tail, curious.
What else could it make? And why were these mist-clumps separating from its tail?
"Call me Albus here, Sean," Dumbledore said, taking a sip. The sweetness felt so real it hardly seemed like a dream.
Then his expression deepened, as though he'd remembered something. "Of course… drowning yourself in beautiful illusions and forgetting real life is of no use at all—"
The black cat picked up on something instantly. It knew Dumbledore had been here before.
The headmaster had just reminded it that it could shape the dream. So had Dumbledore already used that function himself?
The black cat refused to keep pulling that thread. It understood too clearly how false, fleeting happiness could carve wounds into people who survived by scraping through days of humiliation.
"Headmaster Dumbledore… I need to go through two seven-hour stretches before time reaches the edge of dawn. Is there any way to shorten that process?" the black cat asked, standing atop a fog-clump.
"There's no way," Dumbledore said with a smile. When he saw the cat's ears droop, he continued, "Unless—"
"Unless what?" the cat demanded at once.
"If you have a friend who has just arrived in the Interstice… and if they love you, then perhaps you can find a path leading to them. You know—souls gather…." Dumbledore winked.
It was only an interesting guess.
The adventure after death was far more vivid than they imagined, and the Interstice far more vast. Souls that had just arrived could vanish in no time at all—never mind finding the souls the seeker wanted, among the ones they might be with.
"Would a ghost work?" the black cat asked, unexpectedly.
"A ghost?" Dumbledore chuckled—perhaps because he was in the Interstice; he was "more honest" here than at Hogwarts.
"A ghost lady who just arrived in the Interstice," the black cat said seriously.
"All right, a ghost. Then, Mr. Black Cat Who Governs Good Luck… take a look at the fog around you—" Dumbledore's smile stiffened slightly.
The black cat froze. At the headmaster's teasing, its tail flicked irritably.
"Issolt Sayre… She said she has wandering family waiting for her," the cat said. Then it began rummaging through its clumps, and finally spotted one in the corner—small, but with an unusually thick fog-thread.
It didn't notice the old wizard's face shifting again and again.
"Faster, Sean," Dumbledore said, a trace of panic in him as the fog thickened around them.
"Found it—" the black cat started to look up—
Only to see Dumbledore let out a helpless sigh. "All right, Sean. I've waited decades. I suppose waiting a little longer won't kill me.
What matters is hope. It's more precious than any treasure."
He glanced back one last time, then vanished into the fog.
This time, the black cat saw his dream clearly.
Dumbledore was in a small house. An elderly wizard was directing a hammer, repairing the place. A kindly woman watched him, holding a bright, lively young witch in her arms. Beside her, an impatient-looking wizard offered his Christmas gift—
and Dumbledore slowly accepted that pair of wool socks.
The image flashed by like a soap bubble—touch it, and it burst.
The black cat turned its head. Its tail drooped a little.
It let out a low purr, then continued forward into the endless white Interstice.
One fog-thread drifted beside it, following its movement, guiding its path.
After who knew how long, the black cat slipped agilely through countless dangerous fog-clusters, and at last, the ruined Victorian building was nowhere to be seen.
And right then, it sensed that Issolt Sayre was somewhere nearby.
~~~
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