Listen, I tell you a mystery! We will not all die, but we will all be changed.

It's a passage he looks at whenever he wants to relive those days of hope and wonder. When the Common Room is dark and empty, or when the students are all sitting in their own private huddles, he sits by the fire and pages throught the tattered leather Bilble he somehow managed to bring with him when he died. He wishes that it could bring him some peace. All it ever seems to do is bring questions that are impossible to answer.

He can remember, in the foggy manner of ghosts, the day his abbot called on him to travel to London-town and council the the man who had donated so much money to their monestary so many years ago.

Could he have refused?

No. His devotion to the monestary was strong and firm, and he packed with a light heart, already dreaming of what sights would await him in London. Almost before he knew it, he was there, being welcomed into that man's family. He had been there another seven days before Lord Grey had admitted what had caused him to send for a monk.

He believed his niece to be possesed by devils.

Could he have denied what he knew, and forsaken the girl?

No. After attending Hogwarts, he could hardly have missed the signs of an emerging witch. He had taken one look at the girl, huddled under the weight of her guilt and fear, and had known that he had to get her to a place of saftey. So he told Lord Grey that he would take her to a place of healing, were her trouble could be dealt quietly. If anyone asked, his Lordship could tell them that Lady Anna had gone away to study with relatives.

Were they doomed the moment they set out?

He hopes not. Once Anna had gotten over her shock, she had gradually warmed to the idea of a school for her and those like her. Hogwarts had not dissapointed. Ravenclaw had welcomed her with open arms, and whenever he visited her he found a young woman devoted to her studies and filled with talent. He smiled to hear of her accomplishments, and his hopes for her future were unbound.

When he learned that she was suffering from a disease the healer at Hogwarts could not combat, he rushed back and would not leave her. One night she closed her eyes and never opened them again. The same disease claimed him a month later, and as he lay dieing, his only thought was to make up for his failure to look after her as her father had commanded.

The next thing he knew, she was gazing at him sadly, and they both had no more form or solidity than a morning mist.

Did he make the right choice?

That is one question nothing, not even the Scriptures, can seem to answer for him.

I Corinthians 15