My dear uncle again?
He's trying to have someone physically kill me… again?
Can't he be a little more creative?
Sean's thoughts swirled with a cynical weariness. To be fair, this new plot did have a sliver of creativity. His uncle had found Borell, who in turn had found two sycophants profiting by pretending to be fanatical followers of Voldemort. Their plan was to incite the true fanatics, using the Chamber of Secrets and the Basilisk as a pretext to "cleanse" both Hogwarts and Slytherin, all while creating the perfect chaos to eliminate him.
It was a convoluted, roundabout scheme. If Sean hadn't sensed something was off about Barrett during the Slytherin Brotherhood meeting, he never would have borrowed Harry's Invisibility Cloak to investigate. Without eavesdropping on this conversation, he would have been completely in the dark about his dear uncle pulling the strings.
So that's it, Sean mused. He threatened me before the start of the term and then went silent. It turns out he'd already made his move, and I never even noticed.
Over by the water, Barrett and Dicky finalized their plan before rising and departing from the desolate boathouse.
Watching them disappear into the gloom, Sean turned and made his way back toward the castle. He found an empty corridor to slip out of the Invisibility Cloak, stowing it safely away before heading to the Slytherin Common Room.
Back in his dorm, Sean felt a familiar weight on his leg. He reached down and scooped up Kulkan, the small creature that was dutifully climbing his trousers, and settled it on his shoulder. He sat at his desk, but instead of opening a book, his mind drifted. Tomorrow was Saturday, the day he was meant to meet Malfoy in Hogsmeade. The last time they'd spoken, Malfoy had confirmed he'd already managed to place three individuals under the Imperius Curse. By now, early November, Sean presumed Malfoy had managed to take control of the entire pathetic group that had gathered, drawn by the lingering shadow of Voldemort's reputation.
This time, they could be very useful.
The Quidditch season arrived right on schedule, and the opening match was a classic rivalry: Slytherin versus Gryffindor.
Seated high in the stands, Sean watched the green and scarlet figures battling it out in the sky. He turned to the wizard beside him. "Blaise, was the tournament a round-robin system last year, too?"
Blaise Zabini gave him a strange look. "Why would you ask that? The Hogwarts Quidditch Cup is always a round-robin."
"Hmm?" Sean blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. "Really? I could have sworn it was a knockout tournament last year."
"You must be remembering it wrong," Blaise said with a shrug.
"Maybe," Sean conceded, letting the topic drop.
His attention returned to the game below, where Slytherin was utterly dominating Gryffindor. Their team was exceptionally well-prepared this year, and their brooms were a clear notch above Gryffindor's. Aside from Harry, whose Firebolt and natural talent allowed him to keep pace, the rest of the Gryffindor players were struggling to compete.
Sean's eyes tracked Harry as he desperately scanned the pitch for the Golden Snitch. He vaguely recalled that in the original timeline, Harry was supposed to be attacked by a rogue Bludger in this very match, all orchestrated by Dobby the house-elf.
Sure enough, as if summoned by the memory, one of the Bludgers suddenly broke from its pattern. It seemed to gain a life of its own, locking onto Harry and streaking after him with murderous intent. At that speed, a direct hit would mean more than just a broken bone.
As the Bludger relentlessly pursued Harry, Sean's hand instinctively hovered over the wand at his waist. If things deviated from what he remembered, he was ready to intervene in an instant. But if the events played out as they should, he would not interfere. Harry only learned crucial information about the Chamber of Secrets after being injured, and Sean had no desire to alter that outcome.
"Sean, not going to save the Savior this year?" Blaise remarked with a smirk. "It's strange, though. How does that guy get into an accident every single Quidditch match? Some people say he's a magnet for trouble, and I'm starting to believe it."
Sean offered a small smile. "When you put it like that, Harry really does have a knack for finding trouble. Perhaps that's what it takes to be the Savior."
Just as he finished speaking, the rogue Bludger finally found its mark. It slammed into Harry's arm with a sickening crack, shattering the bone. Yet, through the searing pain, Harry gritted his teeth. He ignored his mangled arm, put on a final burst of speed, and shot past a stunned Draco Malfoy, his good hand snatching the Golden Snitch from the air right beside his rival's ear.
Malfoy was frozen, completely dumbfounded. For a terrifying second, he thought Harry was going to crash directly into him, and in that moment of panic, he hadn't even seen the Snitch fluttering inches from his grasp.
"That Malfoy is completely useless!" Blaise groaned in exasperation. "Same thing last year, same thing this year! Harry has beaten him head-on twice now!"
Sean shook his head. "It's just one match, Blaise. In a round-robin, we have plenty of chances. We'll win the next one."
Down on the pitch, the Gryffindor team was swarming around Harry. Seeing his grotesquely twisted arm, Oliver Wood immediately sent someone to fetch Madam Pomfrey.
But at that moment, Gilderoy Lockhart strode forward, flashing his signature smile with its two gleaming rows of perfect teeth. "Not to worry!" he announced, brandishing his wand. "Just a simple little spell. I can have your arm fixed in a jiffy."
He leaned in conspiratorially. "Trust me, Harry. I use this one all the time. If you've read my books, you'll find it in both Travels with Trolls and Gadding with Ghouls."
"No," Harry gasped, cradling his broken arm. "I'm going to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey can fix it."
Wood, his face caked with mud, nodded emphatically. "That's right. I think Harry should go to the infirmary immediately. I've already sent for Madam Pomfrey."
"Oh, no need to trouble her!" Lockhart beamed, ignoring them completely. "I can heal young Harry's arm right here!"
As Lockhart raised his wand, determined to perform his "cure," a surge of pure, unadulterated anger erupted in Harry's chest. Sean's words from their earlier conversation echoed in his mind. Maybe I really should be more assertive. At the very least, it might stop people like Lockhart from completely disregarding his wishes.
Lockhart pointed his wand at Harry's arm. But before he could utter a word, Harry's good hand shot out and seized his wrist. With a sharp twist, he wrenched the wand from Lockhart's grasp.
"I said," Harry growled, his voice low and dangerous, "I don't need your treatment!"
Lockhart stared, first at his empty hand, then at Harry. The boy's face was grim, his eyes blazing with a fury that made the celebrity author feel a sudden, unfamiliar pang of fear. The smile on Lockhart's face twitched, a strained and pathetic thing. He was about to stammer a response when a voice cut through the tension.
"Harry! Look over here!"
From the edge of the crowd, Colin Creevey raised his camera.
Click.
That sound, that familiar, invasive sound, was the final straw. Harry spun around, raising Lockhart's wand not at the professor, but at the younger boy.
"Colin," Harry's voice was cold as ice. "I believe I told you I don't like having my picture taken."
A blinding flash of white light erupted from the tip of the wand. It struck Colin's camera, shattering it into a thousand tiny pieces.
In an instant, the entire pitch fell into a stunned, dead silence.
[Chapter Complete]
***
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