These days felt like they'd been stolen.
Quiet, peaceful, and full.
Every day, Sean had more to do than he could finish. On top of classes, organizing his notes, and making stock for the shops, he still had to study alchemy, Transfiguration, Dark Arts, and potions.
Besides that, his progress in Charms, Herbology, and Divination had slowed down—but it was still steady.
As for Transfiguration, the field he knew best (and had learned the most), he'd always been willing to pour huge amounts of time into it.
Only now a lot of that time was being eaten up by Wolfsbane Potion and experimenting with making an Extension Charm bag.
Even knowing the steps for Wolfsbane, Sean had spent a full week on it and was still only at about ninety percent understanding.
Still, with ritual magic to support him, finishing it within a month wasn't impossible.
And as for the Extension Charm bag—that was a whole new territory for him.
Sean planned to start with the Extension Charm itself, and he hoped this weekend he'd run into Professor Flitwick in the staff room, not in the Three Broomsticks…
Unlike Sean's calm, packed routine, Hogwarts was whipping back into chaos.
It was like a hundred rumors hit the castle all at once.
That day in the Great Hall—
"Hagrid—he's Slytherin's heir? If Hagrid is Slytherin's heir, then I'm… Snape's heir!"
Ron choked on his pumpkin juice and started coughing.
"That's what the paper says. If you actually read it properly, you'll see Hagrid did go to Azkaban—and it was Headmaster Dumbledore who kept him from staying there."
Hermione said, frowning.
"But we know it was Voldemort!"
Harry stopped eating too.
"The Daily Prophet is getting more and more ridiculous. It's turning into the Quibbler."
"Mm-hm. The Quibbler is garbage. Everybody knows that."
Hermione said sharply.
Not far from the Ravenclaw table, Luna—sitting alone—drifted over.
"Sorry," Luna said. Her voice wasn't dreamy this time. "My father edits the magazine."
"I—oh…"
Hermione looked painfully awkward.
"I mean… some of it is kind of interesting… I mean, it's still…"
"Thanks."
Luna said coldly.
"That makes this even funnier."
Justin grinned.
Hermione shot a glare at him—and at Harry and Ron, who were clearly enjoying the show. Nobody said anything.
Only Neville, like he'd just caught up, let out a laugh—then clapped a hand over his mouth in horror.
Harry and the others knew Tom Riddle was Slytherin's heir, but they didn't know he'd framed Hagrid back then, so the topic fascinated them.
Hermione—who should have been in the discussion—went off with Justin to talk about something else. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had Herbology together today, and Hermione was really curious about the "Bruce" upperclassman Sean had mentioned.
Apparently, among Hufflepuff, he had a big reputation.
Not like Cedric's kind of famous—more… weird.
Reliable and unreliable at the same time.
And after today's Herbology class, according to Justin, they were all going to help Professor Sprout in the greenhouses.
It would be Hermione's first time joining one of the greenhouse group activities.
"The Quibbler can be useful, Hermione.
My mother told me language is a blade—sharp whether you use it to cut through superstition or to wound the truth."
Justin said suddenly as they left the Great Hall.
Hermione didn't get it at first.
"If we find proof Lockhart is a fraud, how do we make everyone believe it?"
Justin prompted.
And Hermione understood immediately.
Afternoon.
Snow covered the ground; the castle was washed in white.
Sean walked through a quiet corridor—most students had been herded into the Great Hall.
The notice board in the Great Hall had been plastered over with huge articles, big enough to cover everything else: secondhand spellbook sales, Argus Filch's recurring rules reminder, Quidditch training schedules, chocolate frog card trades, the Weasley twins' new "looking for test subjects" posters, Hogsmeade weekend dates, and lost-and-found.
The new headlines were printed in thick black letters, stamped with an official-looking seal, surrounded by moving magical photos.
"MASTER OF THE CHAMBER? THE TRUTH BURIED BY FIFTY YEARS OF SNOW!"
"HAGRID: VILLAIN OR INNOCENT?"
"ARMANDO DIPPET: GREAT MASTER OR COMPLETE IDIOT?"
At the same time, a biography of Armando Dippet had been published alongside the series.
In just one morning, it was already showing signs of becoming a bestseller.
Judging by Rita Skeeter's usual style and her previous work, the book was almost certainly exaggerated, twisted, and sensationalized.
But that didn't stop people from devouring it.
Especially because it included one juicy claim: the long-buried "Chamber monster murder case" was almost certainly going to be overturned, and the real culprit would be someone nobody could possibly guess.
On top of that, it painted Armando Dippet as a total fool—deceived by appearances, practically half an idiot.
The Great Hall was naturally loud. Students were completely hooked on the flood of new reports coming in—some even forgot they had classes.
But the noise never really had anything to do with Sean.
Just then, Whitey flew in through a window and dropped a snow-dusted letter:
[To the respected Mr. Hermes:
The report has been written exactly as you and Headmaster Dumbledore instructed.
—Your loyal: Rita]
Sean looked out at the white world beyond the glass. With a tap of his wand, the letter ignited, and the ashes drifted out the window on their own.
Hagrid was going to be cleared. No matter how you looked at it, that was something worth celebrating.
The newspapers had poured real effort into promoting and hyping the story.
What was happening in the Great Hall was exactly what they wanted.
As for the reporter… Rita had "switched sides"—or rather, she could only show loyalty now, especially after Professor Terra had a very thorough private talk with her.
Sean didn't really care.
But he couldn't deny that Rita was useful.
December rolled on, snow and wind still relentless.
In Greenhouse Three, several mandrakes threw a loud, chaotic little "dance party," and Professor Sprout was delighted.
So delighted that her smile was even warmer for Sean and the others when they came to help.
And she clearly spotted a particular new face:
"A fresh new sprout—Miss Granger, dear, welcome."