After bidding Aberforth Dumbledore farewell, Wizet and the others left the Hog's Head Inn.
The heavy rain had finally stopped, but the air remained thick with damp mist. The distant mountains were shrouded in a thin veil of fog, blurred like silhouettes.
Just as the pedestrians breathed a sigh of relief at the rain stopping, a damp, chilly wind quietly swept in.
The Hog's Head Inn's sign swayed in the wind, letting out a piercing creak. Dull thunder rolled from the distant mountains as though mocking the shivers the wind drew from the pedestrians.
Wizet and Luna strolled through the hills as well, feeling the chill.
In truth, they both had wands on them. With a light flick, they could have dispelled the biting cold in the wind.
But neither of them did so.
They simply nestled closer together, and even with the cold wind assailing them, the warmth woven from each other's body heat was enough to dissolve the chill carried on the breeze.
For Wizet, researching magic sometimes felt like climbing a mountain.
As his knowledge of magic accumulated, he climbed ever higher, his view growing broader and broader, as though if he only took one more step, then another, he could use this mountain called "magic" to touch those illusory boundaries.
It was precisely at times like these that he needed to calm himself instead—to stop leafing through spellbooks, stop waving his wand, and simply feel with his body, letting those sensations reach his soul.
He felt the chill brought by the wind brush lightly against his skin, and he felt Luna's warmth seep through his clothes...
It was through such real, warm sensations that he found a pleasant peace unlike that of researching magic.
Luna was enjoying this moment as well. Through the warmth Wizet conveyed