"Kulkan, what's wrong?" Sean's voice was a low murmur, filled with a sudden unease.
He watched, fascinated and concerned, as his familiar's body coiled tightly, its head raised, eyes fixed on a point beyond the stone walls of his dormitory. Kulkan's usual placid demeanor was gone, replaced by a rigid alertness, a continuous, warning hiss escaping its throat. Sean reached out, stroking the snake's cool, smooth scales, trying to soothe it, but Kulkan remained transfixed, unyielding in its vigilance.
As Sean comforted Kulkan, his mind raced, connecting the snake's strange behavior to a chilling possibility. The Basilisk. According to his vague memories of the original timeline, the creature should have already been released. Its first attack was slated for Halloween Eve. Kulkan's reaction, so primal and yet so intelligent, could only mean one thing.
It took more than ten agonizing minutes for Kulkan to relax, its body slowly unwinding from its tense, defensive posture. Sean continued to stroke its head, and the snake eventually settled back down on his body, coiling itself protectively around him. It was a tight embrace, almost constricting, but Sean, with his enhanced physical resilience, barely felt it. A normal human would have been bruised, perhaps even fractured.
After comforting Kulkan, Sean gently placed him back on his bed, allowing him to rest in his larger, more comfortable nest. Sean returned to his desk, picking up a book, but his thoughts remained fixed on Kulkan.
He knew this wasn't the behavior of an ordinary snake. Most snakes wouldn't sense the Basilisk, or if they did, they would display only absolute submission. Kulkan, however, sensed it through stone walls and chose defiance. It was a testament to his unique nature, a bond that transcended mere familiar.
No matter what, Sean mused, our bond won't change. Any challenges that arise, we'll face them together. He breathed a sigh of relief, pushing the unsettling incident from his mind, and plunged back into the rigorous academic texts on his Dean's reading list.
The rest of September unfolded with a deceptive calm. Hogwarts settled into its familiar rhythm, and the students, recovering from the summer holidays, immersed themselves in the endless pursuit of magical knowledge.
For Sean, it truly was endless. This semester, with the absence of flying classes, many of the other students found their schedules considerably lighter. Not so for Sean. The Sprucewood Club, while it didn't demand daily homework or specific assignments, came with its own set of rigorous expectations. There were monthly assessments, and failure to demonstrate tangible progress meant a polite but firm expulsion. The time commitment, he realized, was on par with the demanding schedule of the Potions Club.
His efforts were yielding results. "Excellent Transfiguration, Sean," Professor McGonagall had commented recently, inspecting a complex wardrobe he had created from a simple beetle. He could now enlarge objects with a steady hand, a foundational skill that spoke volumes to his inherent talent. Among the entire student body of Hogwarts, only the select nine in the Sprucewood Club possessed this level of skill. The majority of students struggled even to consistently achieve the second level of Transfiguration.
It was in moments like these, delving deeper into the nuances of Transfiguration, that Sean truly grasped the brilliance of wizards like James Potter and Sirius Black. To achieve Animagus transformations while still at school—a complex feat requiring mastery over shifting living forms—was a testament to their exceptional abilities. Even the seemingly less talented Peter Pettigrew, despite almost being impaled by his own spine during his first attempts, was still far more skilled than the average wizard.
Speaking of Peter Pettigrew, the rat-Animagus was definitely on Sean's list of future problems. However, this year had enough on its plate: a Basilisk to hunt, a Horcrux to acquire, and Lockhart to contend with. Peter Pettigrew could wait. Next year, when Sirius inevitably escaped Azkaban, Pettigrew would panic and flee, making him easier to deal with.
Leaving the Sprucewood Club classroom, Sean and Aidan walked toward the Slytherin common room, discussing the intricacies of advanced Transfiguration. As they reached the first floor, a familiar figure emerged from a side corridor: Gilderoy Lockhart, ostensibly on patrol but clearly preening for any potential admirers.
The moment Lockhart saw them, he seemed to deflate. Before Sean and Aidan could even get close, he abruptly turned a corner and vanished, his elegant robes flapping behind him.
Aidan chuckled, shaking his head. "Sean, Lockhart is absolutely terrified of you."
It was true. Throughout September, Sean had pursued a relentless campaign of "encouragement" in Defence Against the Dark Arts. After the first class, Lockhart might have dismissed his initial defeat as a fluke. But in the two subsequent lessons, Sean had challenged him again, cornering the hapless professor and soundly defeating him both times. Lockhart had finally realized that Sean had seen through his charade, that the constant praise was not admiration but a deliberate ploy to expose him.
From that moment on, Lockhart had become a master of avoidance. He continued to give Sean top marks, presumably to prevent any further "enthusiasm," but in class, he ignored Sean's raised hand, his questions, and his very presence. And outside of class, he turned tail and fled whenever he caught sight of the young Slytherin.
Sean sighed. Lockhart's evasion made things difficult. He couldn't simply force a duel with a professor; that would be an attack, not a challenge, and the consequences would be severe. He needed Lockhart's Obliviate for his plans, but the man was proving to be a frustratingly slippery target. Sean knew he would likely need to resort to more extreme measures, perhaps capitalizing on the opportune moment when Lockhart would inevitably find himself in the Chamber of Secrets with Harry and the others.
Sean's internal system, unfortunately, was not a video game. Merely "grinding" a skill from a specific person multiple times would not improve its level. An ability's quality was tied to the original owner's understanding of that magic. He couldn't just repeatedly extract Obliviate from Lockhart and hope to level it up. He'd get the same basic level every time.
Returning to the common room, Sean was about to head to his own room when he saw Blaise waiting by his door, his usual cheerful demeanor replaced by a solemn, worried expression.
"Blaise, what's wrong?" Sean asked, a sudden prickle of unease.
"I'm fine," Blaise replied, his voice low. "But Andy... Andy seems to be in trouble."
[Chapter Complete]
***
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