The hospital wing doors were practically bursting with first-years. With a loud creak, they finally gave in and swung open.
Madam Pomfrey looked like she was about to hex the lot of them.
"Seven times in three days. Do you lot think this is the Great Hall and I'm serving dinner?"
She was a kind witch, sure, but nobody messed with Pomfrey when she was mad.
The kids flinched, then doubled down.
"We heard Harry… and Professor Quirrell woke up," they mumbled.
"Of course they did," she snapped. "If someone banged on my door seven times in three days, I'd wake up too."
In the end, it was Dumbledore who let Sean and the others in. He'd been talking to Harry, who had that same dazed, world-just-flipped-upside-down look he'd worn when he found out Snape wasn't the bad guy and Voldemort was hiding in the forest.
"Harry!"
Ron and Hermione's voices cracked as they rushed to his bedside. The others crowded around. Dumbledore stepped aside, giving Sean a long, knowing look before sweeping out of the ward.
While everyone fussed over Harry, Sean glanced at the other bed.
Professor Quirrell was pale as death, lips bloodless. When he noticed Sean watching, he struggled to sit up.
"You okay, Professor?"
Sean walked over quickly.
"Never… never better, Mr. Green," Quirrell said. No stutter. Not even a hint.
"OUT!"
Pomfrey was back, shooing them like a flock of noisy pigeons. They were hustled into the corridor.
Out in the hallway it was chaos (loud, messy, alive), nothing like the quiet white ward. Once they'd made sure Harry was really okay, everyone let out a huge breath and headed back to the Hope Cottage.
Night fell.
A black cat slipped silently into the ward.
"Professor Quirrell."
By evening, a small figure in black robes stood beside the curtained-off bed.
Sean hesitated. He wasn't sure how to even start this conversation, so he cast a quick Muffliato, then turned and saw Quirrell staring into space like he was lost.
The hospital wing at night was blue. Moonlight spilled through the arched windows, glinting off the vases at each bedside.
Harry's area was buried under candy boxes, get-well cards, and about a hundred Bertie Bott's beans. Quirrell's side had exactly one thing: the book Sean had brought him.
Everything was quiet. The loud Gryffindor who'd broken his wrist in Quidditch practice was finally asleep.
"I think I'll be leaving Hogwarts soon," Quirrell whispered suddenly, voice small and careful, like he was asking permission. "Would you… like to hear a story?"
"I'd love to," Sean said.
Quirrell pressed his lips together so hard they went white. Moonlight washed over the boy's face, and something in the professor's eyes looked ready to shatter.
"You know, my school days were… a tragedy of wanting more. Insecure, oversensitive (prime material for falling into darkness). I achieved things. They never filled the hole. Desire just kept growing. And when dark power whispers in your ear… it's hard to say no."
His voice was raw, like every word hurt.
"The world under that man was nothing but gray. I lied to myself (told myself the Dark Lord would bring me glory). Truth is cruel, Mr. Green. Cruel enough that numbness feels kinder than facing it."
He buried his face in trembling hands. Sean couldn't tell if it was soul-damage pain or the fresh rip of guilt.
"Let me paint that world for you: all gray, no color. Then one night, everything changed. I saw a star blinking (Uranus, bright against the moon), and suddenly I knew there was a way out.
Those colorful cookies showed me it was possible. I knew it was my only shot. But when I finally dragged myself to the headmaster's door… may you never know that kind of despair.
Despair isn't the end, though. There's always light somewhere. That cookie in the corner gave me courage again. Quirrell (pathetic, hateful, pitiful little wizard), why would anyone risk death to save someone like me?
The moment I saw you, I realized I'd already made my choice. The second I decided to die, I felt free. Living in lies, fear, pretending every day… Mr. Green, that life wasn't worth keeping. I'd rather die for you."
The ward stayed silent. Sean didn't know what to say.
"This story should end with spitting and curses (a greedy wizard, a cowardly wizard, a stupid wizard), then suddenly he wakes up. But I finally understand there's only one right thing in this world, Mr. Green. Fight the darkness to the end. For your will."
Quirrell bowed his head low, left hand over his heart. His whole body shook. No grand oath in the hospital wing (just a buried, iron-clad promise).
Sean stood in the moonlight, watching it pour through Quirrell and cast a blurry shadow on the floor.
…
Back in the Hope Cottage, Sean was quiet for so long the curfew bell rang. Then a photo in his hand flickered.
It had started as Justin's Christmas Great Hall group shot. Now something magical had been woven into it.
To everyone else, it looked normal.
But when Sean stared, living people faded to gray.
Dumbledore's kind eyes (gray). Snape's robes (gray).
Every few faces, someone was drained of color. No one knew what it meant. No one knew who'd cast the spell.
Only Sean watched as Quirrell (gray as ash) suddenly bloomed back into color. Then the tiny photo-version of the professor turned into a squirrel and leapt out of the frame.
The squirrel scampered around the cottage (paused by the dying fire, stared at the weird photo, confused).
Sean's green eyes stayed calm. When he opened the door, the mirror on the wall caught them (steady, following him like always).
No clouds tonight. No pouring rain.
Jupiter and Uranus burned bright in the sky.