As dawn approached, Sean returned to Hogwarts Castle with a few understated honors.
His green eyes remained steady, betraying only a faint trace of sorrow.
Before heading back, he'd had a small encounter. A woman, secretly transformed from a beetle, was desperate to interview him.
Though the International Alchemy Conference was shrouded in secrecy and she knew none of its inner workings, she couldn't resist her curiosity about such a young wizard.
The castle was protected by anti-Apparition charms, yet when Sean stepped outside, she appeared out of nowhere.
"Such a young attendee! Come on, kid, look here. Let me capture some precious memories for you…" she said, glancing around to ensure no other alchemists were nearby. If any were, she'd have bolted.
She seemed eccentric, but those ancient alchemists? They were the real nutcases.
Eyeing the young wizard, she wondered why he'd slipped out alone. Was he catching his breath?
"Has the young genius been crushed by rejection?" she mused. "Is the decline of alchemy due to the old guard shunning new talent?"
Her imagination ran wild. She raised her magical camera, eager to snap a few shots of Sean's face.
As for her "precious memories," if headlines like "Sly Granger Toying with Harry and Krum's Hearts, Possibly Brewing Love Potions," "Half-Giant Hagrid as Groundskeeper," or "Dumbledore, the Stuffy Old Lunatic" counted…
"A beetle turning into a wizard. Are you a registered Animagus?" Sean asked, glancing at her stiff, overly styled curls.
"Ah—ah!" Her hand trembled, camera shaking as she moved to silence him in a panic.
Just then, the tall, stern Professor McGonagall pointed her wand at Rita. Where did this wizard come from? Sean thought as McGonagall whisked Rita off to see Dumbledore.
Sean made his way back to Hogwarts.
Thunder rumbled overhead, and fierce winds battered the castle walls. From the Forbidden Forest, he heard the distant crack of breaking branches.
Not exactly pleasant weather…
Professor McGonagall was off handling a slew of lingering tasks. Sean said his goodbyes in the Great Hall, carrying a well-hidden worry that didn't escape Minerva McGonagall's sharp eyes.
That boy was always hiding something. He never seemed to realize there were people he could lean on… but who could blame him? When he'd needed help most, no one had been there.
Minerva pulled out a slightly damp letter. She'd been corresponding with a woman named Roland, a truly noble soul who dedicated her life to helping orphans.
The letter read:
> Dear Ms. McGonagall,
> Love is a vague, misty dream, isn't it? But did you know? It's only when you truly love someone's flaws, their imperfections, that it becomes real love.
> Dear lady, be careful. Those who love are easily hurt, for they lay themselves bare to the other.
> Ever talkative,
> Roland
There's still time, Minerva thought. That's the best news.
She tucked the damp letter away, watching the young wizard's figure grow smaller in the distance.
The corridors buzzed with noise. After missing two Transfiguration classes, the young witches and wizards were savoring a rare moment of relief amidst their hectic end-of-term workload.
Sean pressed forward, heading straight for the Headmaster's office.
He wasn't privy to everything happening in the castle, nor did he know what choice Professor Quirrell had made. If there was anyone secretive, someone who could appear anywhere in the castle and observe everything, the answer was obvious.
"Young Green, I don't think this is dangerous. Keep a positive heart, remember?" Sir Cadogan, astride his stout pony, stood guard at the Headmaster's office with an air of unyielding resolve.
"Nothing unusual here lately. Just a squirrel lingering for a bit, clutching a strange button and muttering 'Cockroach Cluster.' But the stone gargoyle didn't budge. Except for those with addled brains, everyone knows Dumbledore's away."
"You're truly brave," Sean said, his eyes still devoid of emotion, head slightly bowed.
"Sorry…"
He wasn't sure who he was apologizing to. The corridor echoed only with the howl of wind and rain.
"Oh, don't worry! I did as you asked—hid a Squirrel Cookie in the corner. Wait, it's gone?! A squirrel didn't nick it, did it?" Sir Cadogan galloped into his painting, shoving past flustered women in hoop skirts.
Sean slipped away quietly.
He couldn't fathom the courage that had once filled this place—or the despair it had borne.
"There's still a chance…"
He stretched out his hand, and a broom shot like a meteor from a window, landing on the second floor.
At the door to the Room of Requirement, Mr. Owl didn't ask a question. Instead, he gave a steady bow.
"When Lady Ravenclaw fought for those young witches and wizards with nowhere to learn magic, dying from uncontrolled power, I saw eyes like yours too many times. Clever young wizard, you know the safe choice, but you won't take it, will you? That's the greatest wisdom of all."
Sean nodded faintly and stepped into the Room of Hidden Hope.
Killing a unicorn is an act of unspeakable cruelty.
To slaughter a pure, defenseless creature and taste its blood curses the perpetrator to a half-life, a cursed existence, from that moment on.
But what if the unicorn isn't dead yet?
There's still a chance…
Inside the Room of Requirement, a heated discussion raged. No one even noticed the door creak open.
"It was Justin and Firenze who rushed out to save me," Harry was saying loudly. "Bane said Firenze shouldn't have done it… He was furious, going on about how it disrupts what the stars foretold. The stars must've shown You-Know-Who's return… Bane thinks Firenze should've let him kill me in the Forest. I reckon that's in the stars too."
"Don't say that name!" Ron hissed, terrified, as if You-Know-Who might hear.
"Firenze said You-Know-Who's in the Forbidden Forest! He's drinking unicorn blood to stay alive until Quirrell can steal the Philosopher's Stone for him. Firenze also said…" Harry ignored Ron, but his voice dropped, mimicking the centaur's tone. "Some say he's dead. I think that's nonsense. There's barely any humanity left in him, so he can't really die."
Everyone in the room knew exactly who "he" was.