When Douglas and the others returned, they saw that the weeds in the yard had already been cleared away.
Harry and Dobby sat there drinking hot tea, except Dobby was reading a book, while Harry was looking at the ruins revealed by the removal of the weeds.
Looking at the desolate ruins, ravaged by time until they lay in pieces, he felt an inexplicable loneliness.
Through the windows, he saw old furniture and belongings strewn across the floors, as though telling of time's mercilessness. Thick dust covered every object like a pale, cold veil. Tattered wallpaper peeled from the walls, exposing mottled, yellowing bricks. Every room was filled with suffocating silence and desolation.
Looking at all this, he lacked the courage to step inside. The sight of those crumbling, broken things, clearly neglected for so long that they were beyond repair, stirred deep sorrow and loss in his heart.
In this dilapidated, abandoned home where no one had lived for over a decade, he felt a sense of belonging that had been forgotten and lost. This had once been a place of warmth and harmony, where loved ones had cared for and protected one another. Now, however, it was merely an abandoned presence, reduced to a lonely note in the background.
Sitting in the middle of the yard, looking at the faded fences around him, rotted and weakened by time, he felt that Douglas was right. This should not be a place where people reminisced about the past and mourned the dead. He would do everything he could to restore this home's former glory and warmth...
Standing in the home's empty, lonely hall, he looked at the trees outside the window, gradually fading, worn pale and weak by time yet still standing tall, and silently wished: *Perhaps one day, this