The Choices We Make ∆ Harry Potter Sister

Chapter 4.2

In the evening of the first day of July, an old man of more than a century of age found himself walking through the breeze of the Northern Europe air, near the border of Russia and Finland. He walked up a hill where nothing grew and lived, nothing except what was contained behind the four walls of a small cottage on the other side of the hill, perfectly hidden beneath its foot. Thin smoke could be seen coming out of the small house's chimney, indicating that the owner of the house was present. Old as he may, his stamina was still as good as it was fifty years ago. He marched up the hill until he reached its top. From up there, it was as if he was in another world. The view was unearthly, as the white mountains of Russia met the fluorescent sky of Finland. It was as if the mountains were the canvas and the northern lights in the sky were the paints waiting to reach the clear white surface, to dance on it then settle down in a mixed array.

The old man took a deep breath, let himself be engulfed by the beauty that magic itself could not produce, before making his way down the hill. Right at the foot of the hill, he found a small house, or cottage to be precise. Clearly, nature would soon win over the small structure, but it just added the beauty to its simplicity. The old man dusted his robes before knocking on the door gently, and took a step back so as not to not startle whomever was behind the door. As the door cracked open, the silhouette of a boy, or perhaps a young man of eighteen years, in fur appeared. He was tall enough to almost hit his head at the doorframe, and quite built for his age, perhaps as a result from carrying the many logs for his fire. He had grown more handsome over the summer, and had even grown a thin stubble. His dark eyes had become sharper, contrast to his porcelain skin. The old man offered him a thin smile as he greeted the young man.

"Good evening, Mr. Morozov. I hope that my arrival isn't unwanted."

The young man hummed to himself, as if he was contemplating whether to let the old man in or shut the door at his face. Fortunately for the old man, it was the first, as the young man stepped aside and gestured for him to enter the young man's abode, "It is not expected, but not unvanted. Please, come in."

The old man sat on the wooden chair near the fireplace, and took the cup of tea he was served. After a sip or two, he finally made his intention known, "I do not wish for you to think that I am a man of no manners, Mr. Morozov, but I do hope the importance of the matter I am to tell you is of both our concern, and so I hope that you will forgive myself if I find that small talks are out of place at the moment."

"If you vould, you may carry on, Headmaster," said the young man as he peered deep into the old man's eyes, as if he was trying to read the old man's mind, "But you need to tell me no more. I am a soldier in this var, and I have found my Commander."

"So I take it that you will be on our side?"

"нет," scoffed the young man. The little innocence he had on his face was gone, replaced by a shadow of a worn soldier returning from a great battle. His demeanor remained stoic, but his eyes were ready for the kill, dominating the conversation at ease, "You already know ver my allegiance lie, Headmaster, I am of no concern of your army."

"This is a time of peril, Mr. Morozov," said the old man in his effort to persuade the young man in front of him.

"And so history vill repeat itself," claimed the young man as he stepped closer to the fire, staring into its hauntingly enchanting nothingness, "Unless Eleanor puts her allegiance to ver you vant it to be."

"The last wat resulted in a large number of casualties," regretted the old man, as he gazed deep into his empty tea cup. Divination was never his strong pursuit, but he found little joy in trying to read the leaves, though they rarely gave anything worth believing. "Too many lives lost, too many families torn."