The word detention stung Harry's eyes.
But what surprised them was that Filch didn't hassle them—he just marched them outside the castle.
They trudged across the dark grounds, wind and rain whipping at them.
Harry still had no clue what their punishment would be, which only made the dread worse.
Malfoy was shaking like a leaf. Harry and the others weren't much better.
Sean, apparently, was headed to the headmaster's office and would be leaving with Dumbledore and some alchemy professor.
The realization hit them hard: when detention started, both Sean and Dumbledore would be gone.
They'd grown used to Sean being around—no matter what went down, as long as he was in the castle, they felt safe.
The troll incident had proved it. This midnight bust just hammered it home.
Now Sean was leaving… and Quirrell was still out there. More dangerous than ever.
He could snap at any second and go for Harry's throat.
Moonlight spilled bright and clear, but clouds kept drifting over, plunging everything into pitch black.
Harry could just make out the glowing windows of Hagrid's hut. Then a shout echoed from the distance.
"Is that you, Filch? Hurry up—I'm ready to head out."
"It's me."
Filch shot them a look loaded with disgust they couldn't quite place.
Hearing Hagrid's voice loosened the knot in their chests. If they were with Hagrid, things couldn't be that bad, right?
"You lot think you're in for a fun night with that oaf?
Think again, kiddies—you're going into the Forbidden Forest!"
Filch snapped, impatient.
"Stick close to the oaf, or you're in deep!"
He didn't just mean forest trouble—he meant don't cause problems for a certain little wizard.
"The Forest?"
Malfoy froze, his voice cracking.
"We can't go in there at midnight—there's everything in there—I've heard werewolves—"
"That's on you!"
Filch's sneer at Malfoy was pure venom.
"Don't let me catch you skipping out—especially you!"
He glared daggers at Malfoy, then stalked off.
…
Forbidden Forest edge – Dark Arts office
Professor Quirrell, turban trembling, huddled in the corner. He was at his breaking point. He glanced "casually" at the biscuit stashed with the junk. His empty stomach growled loud enough to echo.
He slowly rummaged for some cookies. Firelight flickered over the corner, then swayed away.
Same time – Headmaster's office
Sean glanced curiously at Professor McGonagall. He'd never heard she was into alchemy. Guess I don't know everything.
"My apprentice, come here."
Professor Tella exchanged a polite nod with McGonagall, then took Sean's hand.
Dumbledore's eyes crinkled into slits.
"Time is a curious thing—steals memories in a blink. I nearly forgot…"
Fawkes opened his eyes on Dumbledore's arm. The headmaster sipped his tea with a warm smile.
"Minerva, my brilliant student—how many times have I invited you to come see? Success at last… truly delightful…"
Sean got it now. Just as Flora Olivia Tella could bring her student Sean Green,
Albus Dumbledore could absolutely bring his beloved student Minerva McGonagall.
Few wizards knew: Hogwarts' headmaster and deputy headmistress were once teacher and pupil.
The office fireplace crackled, silver instruments bubbled and clinked.
In Sean's hand, the International Alchemy Conference invitation fluttered out, morphing into a strange portal:
Runes etched across it. Center runes read "Legend," "Era," "Future."
"Hold tight."
Professor Tella stepped with Sean through the left door blazing with green flame.
Sean peeked—it looked like a souped-up Floo Network.
Auto-following fireplace door?
Kinda like… a Doraemon anywhere door.
Hogwarts vanished. Beyond the door stretched a long corridor.
A magical canopy overhead churned with a sea of stars.
At the front, an ancient, cracked slab slowly etched names—Sean saw his own appear.
Twenty-four slabs total. At the top, glowing faintly:
"Nine nights I hung on the windswept tree,
Wounded by spear; offered to Odin,
Myself to myself, on that tree none know!
No bread to fill me, no drop to drink.
I peered down, took up the runes,
Crying as I grasped them—fell from the tree,
Twenty-four stones."
Famous verses from the Hávamál—Odin's account of discovering the runes.
At the bottom:
"Awaiting twenty-four masters of an era."
While Sean stared, Dumbledore chuckled kindly:
"Oh, so many statues… reminds me of that lovely one on the third floor at Hogwarts…"
Sean glanced at the corridor's many statues, then back at Dumbledore.
He suddenly understood who'd kick-started the chaotic Castle Spirit Cat Club.
"This way, please."
A house-elf popped into existence in front of Sean—no warning.
Dressed in rags but holding an ornate tray, it bowed deeply.
At the same moment, green-flame doors swung open. A modest number of wizards stepped out.
Each wizard was greeted by their own house-elf.
"Take your stone. You will witness the vast realm of alchemy."
Professor Tella whispered, voice trembling with joy.
Her mediocre peers' apprentices might attend and offer trivial opinions.
But she would walk in with her student—to declare alchemy's greatness reborn, to herald…
An era.
Some would rejoice. Some would panic. Some would rage. Some would covet.
But every alchemist would agree:
This era had no rival.
Only Sean Green.