There had not been a single professor of Alchemy at Hogwarts since Hedda resigned from her post. It was still offered as an elective at Hogwarts, and Albus Dumbledore, both during his tenure as a Transfiguration professor, as well as a Headmaster, would teach the classes himself. Both himself and Professor Armando Dippet tried many times to reach out and have Hedda return, yet their letters were met with nothing but silence.
Albus had interviewed many candidates for a post in Alchemy, yet none of them measured up with what he knew was his own rose-tinted, idealistic portrait of his own classes. He remembered being in one of the first Alchemy classes taught in a decade at Hogwarts - to everyone's surprise, enough students had chosen it for their NEWTs that they could fill an entire classroom. However, that meant that they had no older students to ask about their teacher.
As they waited for their first Alchemy class to start, Albus remembered there was enough silence that one could hear a pin drop. Soon enough, that silence was overtaken with clinking noises - noises from her many bracelets and heavily ornated earrings, noises which Albus still associated with alchemy.
"Good morning, class. My name is Hedda, and it seems I will have the honour to be your Alchemy teacher for the year. I hope you will all keep up with your studies of Runes and Arithmancy this year, as these two other subjects of yours work in juxtaposition with our class." Her voice had a deep timbre, and Albus remembered on particular occasions, when her tone rose in anger, he could feel its tremors reverberating against the wooden desk.
Her homework was always theoretical, however, in one of the basements, once a week, pairs of students would put in practice the theories of his homework to produce something wondrous. That was, unless their experiment failed, either due to placing runes wrongly, or mistaking their calculations.
Albus remembered Hedda never corrected them, never explained how exactly they went wrong. That was their job, always - that's what Albus appreciated about her most as a teacher. She would pick up their paper, the entire class quiet as they watched her eyes move from one corner of the parchment to another, brows furrowing more and more as she hunted for the errors.
"Ah, I see." she would hum, before delicately offering the parchment back to the student. If she felt particularly kind, she would point her finger on the mistake.
It was the tapping over their shoulders, the tapping of nails on their desks during exams to point out they were going in the wrong direction, the calm manner in which she would gather their failed experiments and burn them in the fireplace, those were traits which Albus appreciated and to some extent, tried to mimic in his first years teaching at Hogwarts.
Only when she discovered talent, in him and a few others, such as Elphias, did she start pushing them, heavily and without any relentlessness. When it was his turn to put into practice the revival of a peony burnt to ash, after weeks of theorising, she roughly opened its petals between her bony fingers, pulling at them until she noticed that there was ash mixed in with the pollen of the peony.
"What's this then, what is…?" she asked, rolling the peony's broken petals in her hands. Oh, he vividly remembered how mad he had been when he noticed bits of ashy pulp being released, dripping onto the table. "It's not good enough, is what it is. This is alchemy, my darling, this isn't transfiguration. Look, it's aching to go back to its original form, look. Bring me your measurements, bring me them." with an ashy hand, she beckoned at him to hand her his parchment. He handed it with shaky hands, furtively looking at his failed experiment. "Alchemy is something you feel - you feel every success and every failure in your heart, like a child, almost. You put magic from within yourself each time you try, and you mourn that piece of magic each time it fails."
He wondered if he would have discovered his passion for alchemy and gone to the International Alchemical Conference if it weren't for Hedda, who helped him submit his student paper on five alchemical uses of dragon blood, and then went with him to Egypt, to present his paper and his research.
"You know, Phineas-" Albus mused, turning towards Phineas's portrait and waiting for him to appear in the frame. "I wonder, sometimes, if my life would have turned differently if you would have joined me, and not Hedda, at that Alchemical Conference in Cairo…"
"Oh, that thing." Phineas yawned, stretching one hand. "I never had much interest in either alchemy, nor travelling. And that paper was submitted without my approval, you know." he grumbled, scratching at his beard. "When I found out, I let her know either she goes with, or you don't. I surely had no time to go with a student on week-long trips to foreign countries. You were sixteen back then, my God." Realisation hit Phineas, and his eyes widened at how much time had passed. He cleared his throat, and continued. "Hedda was quite happy to go, I remember, one week, all expenses paid… not that I heard much about the trip, apart from seeing all the professors holding that page in the Daily Prophet when you won the gold medal. I didn't know how much that medal changed your life, then!"
"It wasn't the conference, as much as-" he inhaled for a moment, savouring the memories. "I saw the most wondrous things there."
She had bought him clothes in Cairo, and they both would walk the streets in long, linen robes. In his young eyes, back then, she appeared to know every single wizard and witch there. He watched her warmly salute them, kissing some on their cheeks, shaking others' hands with both of hers. She took him to the best restaurants, had him try dishes he would have never dreamt of eating, and had him meet people he wouldn't have imagined holding conversations with.
As it was usual for Headmasters to accompany students, Hedda's name was not written anywhere, and they would think he was her son, and that he was just there as his 'mother' was presenting, and to his surprise, he would not mind one bit that they thought that. To his shame, he did wish once or twice that it was indeed real, and imagined himself being indeed her son when she would walk in front of him, head held up, and he would follow her lead. While his mother was interested slightly in his studies, it was never to the extent Hedda was interested in him as a person.
"What do you want to do, then? You're soon an adult, finished with your studies." Their rooms had adjacent balconies, and at dusk, they would both go outside, him with a book, her with a thin cigarette.
"I want to continue going around the world, explore it. And then-... I don't know. Everyone at Hogwarts tells me I can do anything I put my mind to." Albus remembered looking at her as he spoke slowly, hungry for her approval.
"You don't know, then, my darling, do you… Tomorrow, I want to show you something. I think you would benefit from this."
What she showed him the next day was in equal measures terrifying and breathtaking, and Albus, even now, in his old age, doubted that he would ever see something akin to it. Yet he was fearful of returning and seeing it again - he remembered the ecstasy he rode on from that experience, the tangible waves of agony as he dug within himself. That experience shaped him into the man he became, for better or for worse.
They travelled most of the journey akin to Muggles - there was no magical way to arrive there. No one lived around, and it took five or so hours in a horse-drawn carriage to arrive. It was just them and the man manning the horses, an old wizard that didn't pay much attention to them, apart from negotiating his pay for the day.
"There are only five or so places around the world like this, at least, that have been discovered. Two in Europe, one in Egypt… two somewhere in Asia. It's a place of meditation for some wizards. It distorts magic, that's why I told you to not bring your wand, or anything magical."
"Why…?" he started asking, but stopped when she put a finger on her lips.
"You can ask questions after."
Midway, the carriage stopped to also pick up a young boy, around his age. He wore a long, striped, woven tunic, looking more like the shepherds they passed a few hours ago, and Albus worried he was a Muggle, and expressed his fears to Hedda in a whisper.
"Muggles can't see where we are going. They think it is a peaceful lake, and there are wizards bordering it that make sure they don't adventure themselves further than is safe." She waved towards the boy. In Arabic, she then asked him if he knew where they were going, translating their conversation for him as well.
"We're going to-"
Albus could not remember for the life of him what the lake was called, or anything of the kind.
"You're a wizard too, then. My name is Hedda, and this is my friend, Albus."
"Toufik." the boy answered, nodding his head at the both of them. His face appeared battered by the sun and the wind, and Albus clearly remembered his expressionless brown eyes and thin lips. "Is this your first time?"
"It's his first, but not mine."
Toufik nodded, and the three continued their journey in silence. Slowly, as they advanced, the road ahead became less and less clear, until thick clouds of fog covered the carriage and them as well. Soon enough, he could barely see his own outstretched hand. He turned to look at the road they were leaving behind, Toufik looking back at him with a gaze of stone. He had no idea how long it passed, yet it seemed to be already dark. A buzzing filled his ears, until he was sure he could hear the violent crashing of waves.
He turned his head towards the old wizard and the horses, and that's when he saw it.
They were feet away from an enormous, unending lake, from where a cloud seemed to be feeding itself on, completely erasing the horizon lines. The violence with which the cloud and lake united themselves appeared unending, thick waves of fog emanating, from behind which soft teal glows lit up the sea - or was it the sky?
"What's this?"
"It's whatever you want it to be. It could be the devil, if you wish to see him." Hedda replied, her hair whipped back by the wind. She got up from the carriage, and advised him to follow her and not lose sight. Toufik got up as well, however, he stayed behind, pointing at Albus to go before him. His heart was beating wildly as he stepped, slowly, in the direction he last saw Hedda, almost sure that he would soon see her up in the sky, swept up by the violent waves. The turbulent, opened sky cracked in shades of green in front of and above him, and he approached slowly, until he could finally see Hedda again, seated on the sandy beach.
Not knowing what else to do, he followed her example, and put a hand on her shoulder, feeling her unmoving. He shook her once, twice, until he felt the fog distort his vision, as he could see a double of her body each time he shook her. Still holding a hand on her shoulder, he decided to follow her example and sat down, taking a deep breath.
A sense of cold serenity washed over him as he closed his eyes, and focused on his breathing. In an instant, he felt composed, calm, and had no questions. Albus was awash with a sense of presence, of knowing exactly what to do, and when to do it. He rose up and opened his eyes, finding two versions of himself. One sitting down, his hand on his professor's shoulder, and one standing up, looking at himself. He turned, and saw two versions of Toufik as well, one standing near to the carriage, and the other approaching them. He did not question the versions of himself or others, and looked up at the broken sky. Stars were now visible in the sky, and with a bit of focus, he could view the constellations they formed, the galaxies they were part of, the dust and meteors, and colourful formations, close enough that he could almost touch them if he wanted to.
He turned his head, and looked at his mother, and at Ariana, sat at a table and having dinner. He was now back in his home, and sat together with them, pulling a chair for himself. Neither spoke or acknowledged him, and he closed his eyes, enjoying the silence. The sound of crashing waves disappeared, and instead all he could hear was the clinking of spoons against bowls. He opened his eyes and got up, turning his head once again.
Albus was no longer in his house, but in the middle of the desert, without a lake, or the broken sky feeding from it. Nearby him was an old deer, which he recognised from his childhood. How, before everything, before his father was in Azkaban, it stumbled in their garden, and how kindly his father took care of it, before it finally died. He recognised the missing patches of fur, and the front limp, and extended his hand towards it, petting its neck. He embraced the old deer, the manifestation of that distant past, and held onto it tightly, feeling its pulse against his cheek, and only let go when he came back to himself, in one body.
All three of them rose from the edge of the lake and approached the cart, where the old wizard stood, waiting for them. Their journey was silent, as he reflected on what had happened. He expected himself to be scared, yet as much as he dug within himself, he could not find a single feeling of fear. It was as if the concept was simply removed, or was not able to coexist with the experience he had had. Toufik left them back at the intersection they had first met him, and it was only then, when it was once again only him and Hedda, that he spoke, asking her what they saw, if she saw the same things he had, explaining that he was back home, and pulled a chair at his own table, and was in the sky-
"It's a place like no other, isn't it? It's unexplainable, how these places exists, and why. There are many theories regarding what it shows you… Wizards and witches who dedicated their own and their children's lives for this, but the answers elude us - I think it does not want us to know, and it works really hard to have us accept its mystery."
"Why did you show this to me?"
"It's really easy, as an accomplished wizard, to lose sight when in the heights of power. We can control magic to an extent, Albus. There are aspects to magic we can never aspire to understand, not now, not in a hundred years, not in thousands of them. It contains everything - our past, our present, our afterlife, all possibilities of life in between every second we live. This physical world is only a small part of a more complex one, and this, this is what alchemy wishes to study."
"But even in our Alchemy book, it mentions its goal is immortality, creating the Philosopher's stone…"
"How do you explain alchemy to teenagers without the use of anything tangible? Immortality, a stone, gold, panacea… It's more than that. More than medicine. More than immortality - the possibility to explore the infinity beyond this small, constraining, physical realm. That is alchemy. That is what you experienced."
"What is the meaning of it-... Why does that exist?"
"You don't have to understand its meaning. It is a channel. You have to understand the meaning it tries to help you discover."
To the sound of Phineas Nigellus Black's voice, Albus awoke from his memories, and the picture of his Alchemy professor, smiling softly from the dissipating fog as she listened to his answer, disappeared.
"Did you ever discover that meaning?" he asked, and Albus took a moment to think about his answer.
"I have. Much, much later… I have indeed."