Minerva McGonagall didn't respond immediately. Her gaze drifted past the array of gleaming silver instruments, past Fawkes quietly perched on his stand, and past the portraits of past headmasters lining the walls, settling on the stone wall behind which a young wizard was preparing to give the password.
The Headmaster's office was on the eighth floor of the castle, and climbing up had already exhausted Sean. He stood before the gargoyle at the entrance, catching his breath, waiting for it to prompt him for the password.
But before he could speak, the gargoyle hopped aside. Sean blinked in confusion as the wall behind it split open, revealing a slowly ascending spiral staircase.
What about the password? Lemon Drop, Sugar Quill, or even Cockroach Cluster? Had Dumbledore not given him one because there wasn't one?
Sean quickly accepted it and stepped onto the moving staircase. The low rumble of the stairs filled the air as a mix of anticipation and nervousness stirred in his chest.
Suddenly, a thought struck him: could this spiral staircase be considered the wizarding world's version of an elevator?
As the staircase carried him upward, his mind wandered. The wizarding world seemed to lag far behind the modern era. While Muggle telephones existed, the Ministry of Magic still relied on paper airplanes for communication. This wasn't a limitation of magic but of wizards' thinking—they scorned and dismissed Muggle innovations, refusing to understand their science.
Lost in these thoughts, Sean noticed a gleaming oak door appear before him, its handle shaped like a brass knocker in the form of a griffin.
Before he could knock, the door swung open on its own.
Minerva McGonagall lowered her wand, her blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles softening with warmth.
The Headmaster's office was circular, surprisingly spacious, yet far from cold. It buzzed with life—objects moved and hummed around the room.
"Mr. Sean Green," a portrait of a beautiful woman with long, curling silver hair greeted him gently.
"Headmistress Derwent," Sean replied, pausing to offer a polite nod.
He recognized her as Dilys Derwent, a former Healer at St. Mungo's and one of Hogwarts' most renowned headmistresses. Her portrait, part of the collection of past headmasters, remained active in school affairs. She had even assisted Dumbledore in studying the properties of blood curses, noting their fundamental differences from Animagus transformations.
Truly, great wizards excel at Transfiguration, Sean thought.
When Voldemort was defeated, Dilys Derwent's portrait had reportedly wept with joy. She was, without question, a remarkable headmistress.
"Hmph, disturbing my rest for some nobody Ravenclaw?" a scoff interrupted. Sean looked up to see the portrait of Headmaster Black, who had famously united the four houses—a feat even Voldemort couldn't achieve. In his era, Slytherins and Gryffindors had gotten along, a monumental accomplishment.
As Headmaster Black spoke, the other portraits stirred from their dozing, joining the unusual discussion. Their whispers ranged from gentle to stern, but none immediately countered Black's remark.
Only Dilys Derwent's portrait frowned.
Outside the office, things were equally lively.
"Madam, you know how much young Green has sacrificed! Those portraits—especially that selfish fool Black—if he says something idiotic and sways the judgment of Sean, I, the knight, won't stand for it!" declared Sir Cadogan, astride his stout pony, his armor gleaming despite grass stains on his knees. His oversized sword hung at his waist.
"Farewell!" he shouted, charging into a nearby painting of sinister monks. "Farewell, my comrades! If you need a noble heart and a strong arm, call for Sir Cadogan!"
"Oh, my knight!" Lady Violet's eyes glistened, while the Fat Lady beside her shouted with a mix of melancholy and fervor, "Sir, give him a good kick in the head with your boots!"
Inside the office, Sean merely hummed softly in response to the arrogant Headmaster Black.
"How rude! I propose—" Black began, but chaos erupted. Like an enraged bull, Sir Cadogan barreled into the portrait, knocking Black flat. The usually disobedient pony surged with surprising strength, dragging Black's frame to the edge of the office's portrait wall.
"Watch closely, young Green! This is the way of a knight's courage!" Cadogan bellowed.
Sean froze, stunned.
The room fell silent, the whispering portraits halting their chatter to gape at the spectacle. The Headmaster's office wasn't a place portraits could just barge into. Where had this bullish knight come from?
Only Dumbledore's smile never wavered.
"This is outrageous!" McGonagall shot to her feet, her face flushed with indignation. With a flick of her wand, she whisked the painting of Sir Cadogan and his pony pummeling the bewildered Headmaster Black out of the office.
"Ten centuries of wisdom can't be stopped, not even by the Headmaster's office! And this is a fist honed by ten centuries! Take that!" Cadogan roared as he was carted off, still swinging. "Big cat, even if you send me to a troll's painting, I'll fight this fool in hell!"
"What a brave knight," Dilys Derwent's portrait sighed in admiration.
Sean started to follow McGonagall out but paused at her low whisper: "Stay put."
So he waited obediently, determined not to let Sir Cadogan's efforts go to waste.
The commotion had started abruptly and ended just as quickly. Sean caught Dumbledore's twinkling glance and took the hint, stepping toward a stack of elegantly floating letters.
"The review meeting for Mr. Sean Green's special scholarship is now officially underway!" announced a stern-faced headmaster's portrait as McGonagall returned.