Snow fell like goose feathers over Hogsmeade, piling soft and silver-white on the rooftops. Icicles glittered beneath the eaves.
A black cat padded across the snow-dusted tiles, vanishing and reappearing wherever chimney smoke curled upward.
Inside the Hog's Head, the room was dim.
Just like Aberforth's eyes—only the occasional spark of light broke through the darkness.
He slowly closed his eyes and muttered words too soft for anyone to catch.
The silver Pensieve sat nearby. Threads of memory drifted inside it, pulling Aberforth back into the past.
By the fireplace, the flames rose with a pain that felt like needles in his chest.
He could barely breathe. He could not imagine it.
On the other side of the Veil, without his care, how had she endured those long, agonizing years?
In the ninety-fifth year after Ariana's death, Aberforth thought of her for the thirty-thousandth time.
He remembered that after their mother died, he had been the only one who could calm her.
When her magic flared out of control, he would talk about the days they spent feeding the goats together. The moment she heard his voice, she knew he had come.
So after she was gone, he kept dozens of goats.
But no matter how loudly they bleated, they could never bring those days back.
Few people knew his favorite story was The Dirty Goat Clumb, a tale that wasn't even very funny.
It was simply that whenever their mother told it, Ariana would listen with careful, barely contained delight.
So in truth, Aberforth didn't like many things.
But… he had loved Ariana most of all.
"Albus!"
Once again the memory of the funeral flashed through his mind—how he had punched that man so hard his nose bent sideways.
But could his poor, sweet little Ariana return with the twisted nose and the twisted heart he had given her?
The fifteen-year-old boy had paid for his mistake. While he raged for himself and for his sister, he had completely forgotten that his anger had begun for her sake.
The fire had consumed everyone and everything.
The Ariana he had protected so carefully, the Ariana their mother had protected so carefully, the Ariana their father had begged him to protect… lay in a pool of blood.
"It was my fault…"
Tears slipped down into Aberforth's tangled beard. The guilt and regret burned like a hot coal in his throat.
"Ruler of dreams and mist… bridge between life and death… symbol of eternal good fortune…"
He whispered the words and roughly wiped his face.
The voice from the Pensieve memory overlapped with his own.
"Make a wish, lucky Miss Ariana."
"I wish… respected god…"
Aberforth clutched at the words like a drowning man grabbing the last rope.
"If one night the darkness becomes the overture, if the mist blurs the boundary, then at the moment dawn arrives…"
"The bridge will open for you."
"Let the bridge open for me."
"I am willing to give everything."
Aberforth's voice was so small it was almost lost.
…
Child's Tale Workshop.
Quirrell had been waiting.
Sean and the professor slipped out the back door under Disillusionment Charms, avoiding the witches and wizards still lingering outside even after closing.
Minutes later the two of them had vanished from Hogsmeade entirely.
They passed through the still-bustling crowds of Diagon Alley and stopped in front of a tall white building that rose above the surrounding shops.
Beside the gleaming bronze doors stood a figure in a scarlet-and-gold uniform.
The moment it saw Professor Quirrell it hurried over.
"Qu-Quirrell?"
Its voice sounded as if it had a toffee stuck in its mouth.
Professor Quirrell gave a slight nod and scanned the area.
"Then… you… you must be…"
The goblin's black eyes lit up with eager heat. It looked at the young wizard, then bowed deeply.
A second later it realized it had spoken out of turn, clamped its mouth shut, and nervously led Sean and Quirrell inside Gringotts.
Seconds later they stood in the vast marble hall.
Behind the long counters, goblins sat on high stools serving the first customers of the day.
The scarlet-uniformed goblin guided them toward an elderly goblin who was examining a thick gold coin through a lens.
The old goblin glanced at Quirrell with disdain—then his expression changed completely the instant he recognized who stood beside him.
"You—you've come—oh my! What—what can I do for you today?"
"I believe we already have an understanding, Vernar," Professor Quirrell said, stepping forward to block the goblin's view of Sean. "We can provide that item—and more—but…"
"Oh, of course, of course… we can supply it, even more if needed, but…"
Vernar narrowed his eyes.
"It comes at a price. There must be payment."
"What do you want? Gold?" Quirrell asked, exchanging a quick glance with Sean.
"Not gold," Vernar said.
"We have all the gold we could ever need."
His cloudy black eyes glittered, no whites visible.
"What do you want, then?"
Quirrell frowned and tilted his head slightly.
"Sir, I must ask your permission. It is not only Gringotts that holds the contracts you seek, and goblins are not the only ones who possess them."
Sean said nothing. He stared silently at Vernar, thinking.
He needed a binding contract—something unbreakable to ensure his plans went smoothly.
From the Grey Lady's memories, he knew the goblins had held the ancient art of contract magic since the founding of Hogwarts Castle.
To Vernar, the young wizard's face looked deceptively innocent and calm. Yet the moment he considered the identity and the visible future attached to that name, he could not hide his tension.
"Please do not worry. We are not thieves, sir. We do not covet what is not ours to claim."
The elderly goblin straightened and took a small step back.
"Tell my master what you require."
Quirrell stared at the old goblin.
He knew goblins were shrewd and cunning.
The one thing worth trusting was that they rarely broke their own promises.
"You must understand that revealing Gringotts' secrets violates our rules. Those ancient contracts are among our greatest secrets.
Therefore, we are merely guardians of vast wealth. We must answer for what we protect—even when we ourselves forged it."
The old goblin stood tall.
"We will give you a magic that can never be betrayed… but…"
He glanced toward the second set of doors. On the silver gates were engraved the words warning thieves of terrible punishment.
"We must receive fair payment in exchange. Though you are powerful and famous, there is only one thing you can offer here that equals the value of that magic."
"What is it?" Sean asked, eyes flashing.
He remembered the Grey Lady calling goblin magic something entirely different from wizard magic.
Now Vernar's words confirmed it.
Contract magic…
"Your friendship, sir."
Vernar smiled and bowed deeply.