An autumn day where the only sound filling the air is the powerless falling and rustling of dead leaves. It was no different from the six other autumns experienced during six years at Hogwarts. It certainly seemed that way. The laughter of the loathsome Marauders, and the voice of Lily, which could never be heard up close again—it felt as if no clear voices existed in this school, all blurred by the sound of the wind. Yes, humans are inevitably dying creatures. Yesterday's iris stops moving, and yesterday's scent leaves only a lingering trace before departing.

But why must the person in question be the Professor?

Only a year ago, those movements, which were healthier than anyone's and light as if soaked in sunshine, have grown more listless by the day. Yes, it was certainly so. Why did I realize it so late? No... I didn't realize it late. Then why did the Professor say nothing to me even after reaching that state? Was it betrayal, or was it consideration?