That Past and Present, That Archway and Veil

Everything was so familiar, even the faint scent of mothballs in the air.

Next to the door was a wardrobe, its doors slightly ajar, filled with clothes, and underneath were some books and toys.

Books with newspaper covers, Clockwork Frog with peeling paint, marbles covered in scratches, beanbags that haven't been washed yet...

All the book covers at the Fawley were made by Wizet because he was the best and fastest at the time, a fact he remembers vividly.

Wizet instinctively tried to stand up, but almost lost her balance and fell off her wheelchair.

He quickly looked down at his thighs, where there was nothing below them, and his trouser legs fluttered gently in the wind.

"I'm back? Or... was everything that happened just a dream?"

He slowly pushed the wheelchair's handwheels, his movements somewhat clumsy.

The wheelchair moved forward smoothly until the handwheel hit the wall, at which point he remembered that he should have pulled the handbrake.

He murmured Snape's words, "When you feel darkness... the Patronus Charm can provide you with final refuge... it's a spell to protect yourself..."

Wizet smiled slightly, glancing again at her empty trouser leg. "So that's how it is? So this is the darkness in my heart. It is..."

This is indeed something he's running away from.

He can face school bullying and the cold stares of others; these are all external influences.

The inability to confront one's own shortcomings is a shackle that one imperceptibly puts on oneself...

This is a secret known to all the children in the Fawley;

People who can stay in Fawley indefinitely often have various deficiencies in some aspect;

Only healthy children are more likely to be adopted;

It's cruel, but it's a reality. Adoption also requires a lot of costs, and a child with disabilities will multiply those costs.

Learning became his last resort; it was an extremely pure goal that drove him to continue living.

Only through their own efforts can they break free from the shackles of their disability and leave the Fawley.

This is why he has such a thirst for knowledge...

At that moment, he understood many things.

So this is what the soul is?

"Now that we're back, let's make the most of this trip!"

Wizet let out a soft breath; he could still feel the protection from those positive emotions.

At this moment, he doesn't need to solve any difficult problems; he only needs to cherish his past and reflect on everything that happened in his previous life.

He tried hard to recall that past, a past he had subconsciously forgotten because of the time travel.

Now it seems that accepting all of this isn't so difficult.

Without past experiences, there would be no who you are today...

Wizet became more and more skilled at pushing the handwheel, and his speed increased. He was even able to glide in beautiful arcs when turning.

This was something he used to find difficult to do.

Compared to the somewhat stiff expressions of those around him, he, with a faint smile on his face and pushing his wheelchair forward, seemed a bit like an oddity.

"In some ways, we are indeed outliers, but we share the same origin."

He thought of the story Ollivander shared, the origin story of wizards and Muggle.

The experiences of two worlds are truly merging...

When everything is integrated, the soul naturally manifests itself.

Wizet wandered around the Fawley again and again until night fell before returning to her dormitory.

There were thick stacks of exam papers and various reference books.

These were the reference books and test papers he used during his exam preparation.

"This is the last stop... To be honest, one moment I was thinking about the exam, and the next I was thinking about how to survive in the new world..."

"I don't seem to have felt that most peculiar sensation. Death... what exactly is it like to experience? I'm very curious!"

He pushed the handwheel, and the wheelchair slowly moved forward, stopping precisely in front of the exam paper, not a point more or less.

At this moment, his heart was filled with an unprecedented peace and harmony.

At that moment, he truly embraced himself and fully accepted himself.

I can accept any flaws or other issues.

Face your own soul.

Wizet picked up his pen and, just as he always did when he took notes, slowly began working on the exam paper.

One photo after another, until his vision became blurry, until his vision flickered between light and shadow, yet he persisted, just as he had done before.

Then everything went black...

It was dark all around, but Wizet could sense that an archway had appeared in front of her, an extremely ancient archway.

Dilapidated and covered with all sorts of strange runes, it seemed to have been through a great battle;

It was a solitary archway, strangely standing without any supporting walls.

A similarly tattered black curtain hung there, swaying gently, drawing ever closer to him...

"So this is what you see before you die?" Wizet's expression remained unchanged as she exerted all her strength to sense everything around her.

This is also rare knowledge. Even if he cannot understand it now, he can savor it in the future and ponder its mysteries.

The moment you pass through the archway and curtains is extremely cold; every part of you, inside and out, is filled with a chill that can pierce your soul.

He saw a gray world through the curtains, and could vaguely glimpse a skull;

The skull seemed to see him too; something appeared in it and then shattered without causing him the slightest trouble.

He passed through the curtains too quickly; before he could even see what was happening, the archway and curtains had vanished.

The chill vanished the moment he stepped through the curtains and arches.

What followed was a warmth emanating from within the body.

It was as if a sun had sprung from his soul, bringing him endless warmth, warming his body, and warming even more...

"Expecto Patronum!"

The chanting had just ended when his lips closed.

Those positive emotions burned like the sun, burning eternally, and a torrent of experiences rushed in...

The story of Headmaster Dumbledore begins with that cluster of firelight;

Luna's story begins in that sunlit hospital room;

My experience with Professor McGonagall began with that letter of acceptance.

The story of Xenophilius begins with that night's conversation...

No matter what kind of experience it is, it seems that positive emotions can be extracted from it...

Countless silver wisps of mist emerged from the tip of the wand, transforming into a sun-like entity, yet possessing a Obscurus beauty.

Almost the instant the silver mist appeared, the Dementor, who was Boggart in disguise, let out a strange cry, staggered back two steps, and tripped over the long cloak draped over him.

After the silvery mist scared Boggart away, it continued to spread outwards, seeping through windows and squeezing through door cracks...

It seems they didn't even spare the cracks in the walls, as if they wanted to illuminate the entire Hogwarts Castle and the whole Scottish Highlands.

The fading afterglow of the setting sun seemed to receive some kind of replenishment, adding a touch of warmth.