[65] The Garden Path

Hall didn't pursue the matter of the wooden box further. Dumbledore could handle it. Sirius had already contacted Dumbledore through the fireplace, who said he would be there immediately. Dumbledore's "immediately" meant immediately.

Hall joined Ron and Harry's Quidditch game. Gryffindor versus Slytherin — two against one — was incredibly unfair, yet in a sense perfectly fair. Just as Hall hit the Bludger to its target, Dumbledore appeared and gave a warm round of applause.

"Headmaster Dumbledore!" Harry greeted enthusiastically.

Ron glanced back at Hall. His intuition told him Dumbledore's arrival was related to Hall.

"Good day, Headmaster." Hall greeted lazily from his broom. He noticed Ron watching and looked back, puzzled.

"Nothing, nothing." Ron shook his head.

Dumbledore wore a light purple robe, his long beard hanging down his chest tied in a bow. A platinum hat covered his pure white hair. The clothes fit well and were impeccably clean. The jewel-encrusted armbands on his cuffs weren't Hogwarts markings — Hall hadn't seen them before, but they were clearly expensive. Dumbledore was going to see someone very important.

Dumbledore noticed Hall's scrutinising gaze and smiled slightly. "Hall — could you accompany this old man for a walk?" He gestured with the box.

Hall nodded reluctantly. Sirius took his place in the game.

"Harry! Hit hard! Don't worry about hurting me!" Sirius's excited voice echoed from afar.

The Black family garden sprawled before them, far larger than it had any right to be.

The Black family garden was enormous. The area where Harry and the others played was just a small garden — according to Sirius, the family exercise area. Hall followed Dumbledore to the large garden at the back of the mansion.

Exquisite and elegant, with lush green grass. Carefully selected trees cast dappled shadows. Along winding paths, colourful flowerbeds swayed in the breeze, attracting bees and butterflies. A small Greek-style pavilion stood not far away, facing a maze of low trees.

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It was a world apart from the dilapidated state Hall had seen that morning. All Kreacher's work.

"How beautiful," Dumbledore exclaimed.

Hall remained silent.

"Let's talk over there." Dumbledore gestured to the pavilion.

Hall nodded. Dumbledore hadn't given him a choice, so he might as well see what he wanted to say — it was just about the locket, after all.

They navigated the maze and entered the pavilion. Looking down was a completely different experience — every flower and tree was clearly visible.

"Hall, do you have a deep-seated hatred for Tom?" Dumbledore sat beside him.

"Tom?" Hall didn't immediately recognise the name.

"Perhaps you know his other name — Voldemort."

"No? How could I possibly have a grudge against the Dark Lord?" Hall shrugged, pulling two lollipops from his pocket. George's new creations — they tasted good, and Hall had kept a stash. "Headmaster, please. The flavour changes depending on your mood."

He popped one into his mouth.

"Then why are you so obsessed with torturing him?" Dumbledore stopped eating after a while — old age, not the strong teeth of a child.

"What?" Hall's eyes widened. "Torture! That's a very serious charge! Headmaster, don't talk nonsense. I didn't do such a thing."

"I opened that wooden box. The soul inside was almost pulverised." Dumbledore's voice was compassionate. It was precisely because of Tom's tragic state that he'd decided to talk with Hall. Dumbledore was certain Hall was a good boy — not only because of the past year's actions, but because Weasley was his confidant. If he couldn't trust Weasley, then all his efforts had truly been in vain.

"So, Hall, my good boy, would you like to tell me?" Dumbledore tapped the railing. "Don't worry. No one else will know — except the two of us."

Hall took a bite of his lollipop. "Headmaster, may I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead."

"I'm curious. You already know what Voldemort did to me, and he's at his weakest now. Why don't you send everyone out to find and destroy him?"

This was something Hall had always wondered about. Surely many hands make light work?

"His return would bring chaos, and the peaceful life we've all worked so hard for would be shattered." Dumbledore sighed. "Besides, without concrete proof, no one will believe it — or rather, no one wants to believe it."

His eyes were deep, his gaze filled with compassion.

"Too many people sacrificed their lives in the war. Everyone has longed for this peaceful life. No one wants to disrupt it. It is our wish that you can grow up in a safe environment."