At nine they see a lantern ahead of them on a path that should be a dead end, moving slowly, at the height a man carries a lamp when he is walking and not hurrying.

MioneThat is the under-gardener. He is doing his rounds. He has been doing his rounds for a hundred and four years.

You shout. The lantern stops. It does not turn toward you and it does not hurry away, and after a moment it goes on, at the same pace, and is gone.

MalfoidDo not follow it. Whatever is in here with us, it is not lost and we are, and that is not a difference I want to close.