Ten years after I began at Hogwarts, Sebastian Sallow is back. And he's Professor Sallow now. He disappeared after the fall of Ranrok and Rookwood, after I lost Professor Fig, and after Ominis and I couldn't keep him from losing himself. But I never...
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Typically, when I have a reason to visit Hogwarts, or anywhere nearby for that matter, I'll fly on my broom. Apparating takes too much energy for such close trips, and I like to avoid the fifteen-to-twenty minutes of nausea I tend to experience with floo powder.
Plus, I have loved every nook and cranny of Hogsmeade since the moment I arrived, including each and every inlet, outlet, hamlet, and village that surrounds it. I jump at any opportunity I can to breathe the crisp highland air, feel the indescribable freedom of flight, and simply take in the beauty of the area from within and above.
But today I choose to walk to Hogwarts to meet Professor Weasley. It's a crystalline morning, and I like the way that navigating winding pathways seems to have the opposite effect of unwinding my mind. It's a habit I picked up from my father, and a process I've always trusted. He would often quote his favorite poet – an American muggle, of course – Henry David Thoreau, "me thinks that the moment my legs begin to move, my thoughts begin to flow!"
I glance over my shoulder to see how Hogsmeade gleams behind me in the rising sun and the thought is as true to me as ever: there is no cozier place. I feel lucky to live here and feel so at home here. Not only does this whole area never grow old to me, but it never ceases to amaze and inspire me.
I haven't been able to stay away.
That isn't to say I don't absolutely adore traveling to new places. Perks of my job at the Ministry have included numerous opportunities for temporary stays in new and exciting locales for all sorts of assignments, conferences and ambassadorships. My first and most notable long-distance assignment was to do with the rather unglamourous management of dugbog overpopulation in South America.
Ultimately, I didn't really mind the work. It allowed Thiago and I to travel all around the continent together for just over seven months and I fell hard for the land – the beasts are magnificent and the foliage is unparalleled. We were newly together then and it was magical in every sense of the word. We celebrated my twentieth birthday dancing with a community of Peruvian Fairies at Machu Picchu and drinking something they called 'Abrazo de Corazon' that I can only describe as what it must be like to drink the rainbow.
That was my second year after graduating Hogwarts, and the first time since my first year at Hogwarts that I felt truly happy. I'll always be grateful to Thiago for helping me give myself the permission to make, seek, and feel joy in spite of the darkness. He has such a talent for happiness.
Even still, I can't deny that my favorite assignment was – is – right here in the forest. Immersing and ingratiating myself with the centaurs and their culture, becoming a part of them, continues to be an intensely nuanced and difficult assignment. I love the challenge. It keeps me on my toes but I wouldn't trade it for the world for all I have learned about them, the forest, the earth and skies, and myself.
Walking on this particular morning and in this particular place it occurs to me that the first time I walked this path was with Sebastian. Ironically, it was the very same Professor Weasley that encouraged me to choose a friend to show me the way to Hogsmeade and help me procure some school supplies.
I chose my friend, Sebastian. My friend.
I sigh.
Mine.
As I walk, I instinctively flick my wand at a bush to the side of the path that is buzzing and alight with lacewing flies, and smile to myself as it dawns on me that Sebastian showed me that too. He was the first to point them out and show me where to find and collect them. Now I swipe them up almost entirely by impulse. So much of my day-to-day life is inextricably linked to Sebastian Sallow in ways I hadn't ever considered, or at least not in quite some time.
That first outing to Hogsmeade is so distant but the feeling of that time lives close to the forefront of my memories. My bones can still feel the awe I felt entering this magical world for the first time. My skin can feel the excitement to learn my mother wasn't just a very singular individual with extraordinary capabilities. My heart can still race the same rhythm I felt as I soared through my assignments and completed tasks and challenges with ease. My stomach can still feel the butterflies of being near Sebastian. I used to joke to Sirona that the feeling was so intense, there must be one butterfly in my stomach for every freckle on his face.
But just as these sensations live, alive, somewhere near the surface of my recollection, so do the shadows. My eyes can still feel the darting confusion around seeing things Professor Fig couldn't see. My gut can recall the terror of being attacked by a dragon. My back can feel the visceral weight of dispatching of poachers, Ashwinders, goblins – their hopes, dreams, and souls – as a teenager.
My heart can still bleed with guilt for betraying Ominis.
My nerves can ignite with the thought of Crucio.
My mind still can't comprehend the horror of Sebastian's inferi army, and the chaos when he lost control of them.
My throat becomes paralyzed when I recall the sound of Sebastian's rage, 'AVADA KEDAVRA.'
Committed to not let the shadows overtake me, I blink my eyes, commanding the pathway in front of me into sharp focus. Plucking my wand once again from my overcoat's inside pocket, I take to a habit I developed long ago to combat the darkness. As a matter of personal ritual, I whisper out loud another of my father's favorite Thoreau-isms, "the world laughs in flowers," as I gently flick my wand like a paintbrush, back and forth, towards stray pebbles on the pathway.
The pebbles beside me rise slightly in tandem with my stride, spinning like tops, and then burrowing themselves into the ground to immediately sprout into all sorts of wildflowers. The process takes mere seconds and I can't help but smile as their beauty comes into full bloom at my feet with each new step. My mind is instantly at ease.
'When in doubt, make something beautiful,' my mothers words resound in my mind. Transfiguration of all kinds was her speciality and rendered my childhood an absolute wonder. I have taken her advice as a bit of a personal mantra and it grounds me to gently transform the world around me in delicate and beautiful ways.
Unwound, indeed, my mind seems to have soothed itself to the point of not realizing how far I had come on my journey. A familiar voice jolts me from my floral stupor–
"Deek thinks the flowers you've grown are magnificent, indeed!"
