"For decades, what sustained me was the belief that I should care for my comrades' family members. I have a farm in Scotland, and every year I distribute the rent among them."
"I've always felt that this was my responsibility, the meaning of my life. I was the only one who came back alive, so I shouldered that responsibility. Year after year, those people I had never even met gradually passed away, while I continued to live."
"When the widow of my last comrade died, I no longer had anything tying me to this world."
"That day, the mayor suddenly came to tell me that I still had a distant grandnephew who needed looking after. That was you. They said you'd suffered a misfortune and desperately needed shelter."
"I agreed. A few days later, they brought you here. That afternoon, I looked at that boy. His clothes were tattered, he was barefoot, and he was covered in dirt."
"You know what happened after that."
Loren listened to Bates recount his past, and his heart felt thoroughly warmed. But when he looked at the old man's pale beard and deep wrinkles, a trace of pity suddenly welled up in him.
Because of one accident, this old man had borne the weight of sin for his entire life, living alone far from human society. He should have enjoyed honor, yet he had spent his whole life in loneliness and hardship.
Loren didn't know how to comfort him. He patted Bates on the shoulder. "Thank you."
Bates said nothing more. The two of them simply gazed across the wilderness until late at night.
In the days that followed, Loren never brought up the werewolf again. He was also curious whether werewolves were afraid of Silver Bullets, whether they were impervious to blades and weapons, and whether they ate raw meat.
But every time he looked at Bates's beard and wrinkles, he couldn't bring himself to ask.
And so, Bates occasionally taught him some fighting techniques and reconnaissance skills he had learned in the army. The rest of the time, they lived quiet, uneventful days.
Loren read the two strange books over and over, trying to figure out what kind of world this was. Had the person who sold him the books really been Nicolas Flamel, or someone else?
The more he thought about it, the more familiar the name Nicolas Flamel seemed. Had he heard it in his previous life? But in the end, he had no answer.
The ordinary days continued until 1991, when Loren turned eleven.
The mountains were much cooler in summer than other places. The pasture was at its most flavorful, and the goats were scattered across the slopes while Loren leaned against a rock and read a book.
He had read the travelogue in the latter part of Complete Guide to Hieroglyphs many times, but there was nothing else to do in the mountains.
Pete had long since stopped herding goats and gone into town. At first, he said he was going to study, but later Loren heard that he had begun learning auto repair from his uncle.
Loren was the goatherd now. Bates had said that in a few years, he would send him to town to attend a boarding school and study at a public school.
Loren had no other plans, and he didn't object to the arrangement.
A commotion rose from the herd. Loren looked up and saw a gray-brown owl wobbling through the air toward him.
Were there owls in these mountains?
Loren was puzzled. He had never seen one before.
As it drew closer, Loren watched the owl fly toward him with a letter clutched in its talons.
The intense sense of déjà vu reminded him of something. His eyes widened as he stared blankly at the approaching owl.
The owl swayed as it landed in front of him, placed the letter in his hand, and then fixed him with its round, beady eyes.
Loren hurriedly rummaged through his bag and pulled out a piece of cheese.
The owl flapped its wings, brushed Loren's hand with its small beak, and tucked the cheese into its mouth. Loren had made the rich, fragrant sheep's milk cheese himself.
Loren Morgan swore he had truly seen delight in the owl's eyes.
Ignoring the owl, Loren looked at the large "H," the emblem in the center of the envelope, and the animals surrounding it. He eagerly tore open the letter.
The first page read:
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(President of the International Confederation of Wizards, First Class of the Order of Merlin, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot)
Then came the body of the letter:
Dear Mr. Morgan,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed is a list of the required books and equipment.
The term begins on September 1. We will await your owl no later than July 31 to bring us your reply.
Deputy Headmistress
Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall
The second page listed the items required by new students, including:
Uniform
First-year students will need:
1. Three plain black work robes
2. One plain black pointed hat for daytime wear
3. One pair of Protective Gloves made of Dragon Hide or similar material
4. One black winter cloak with silver fastenings
Please note: All student clothing must bear name tags.
Books
All students must have the following books:
"Standard Spellbook, Grade 1," by Miranda Goshawk
"A History of Magic," by Bathilda Bagshot
"Magical Theory," by Adalbert Waffling
"A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration," by Emeric Switch
"One
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