Evening settled in.
Ron held his broken wand, but for once he didn't feel upset about it.
He'd finally figured out the difference between himself and Fred and George—where he might even surpass them.
He had friends. Some of them were really special—the kind anyone would envy.
Outside the castle, the Quidditch pitch echoed now and then with shouts; the Gryffindor team was training—Wood's voice was the loudest by far.
Sean walked through the sunset, over the blurred shadows of beech trees, and as always, a book floated in front of him.
Sometimes it was about weather magic, sometimes about dream lore, sometimes magical theory.
Whenever he fell into thought, his wand would lift slightly, and the grass at the forest's edge would heave like waves, pushing Sean gently toward Hagrid's hut.
[You practice Material Transfiguration at the adept level of the master tier. Mastery +10]
The sudden surge of progress made Sean even more satisfied. He tossed Whitey a cookie, and very soon a three-headed, fang-bared dog thundered between the trees.
Sean couldn't quite reach all three heads, so Cerberus lowered them for him.
Cerberus—Whitey, really—was already used to the weird transformations happening to her body, and actually found them fun. Sometimes she'd chase random forest creatures just for the thrill.
Sean had a precious soul-relic hanging at his neck; Whitey had a whole bunch of cookies strung around hers.
When the transformation ended, Whitey could immediately switch to another different form.
At no cost.
As long as Sean was there to anchor her, to keep her from getting lost.
In the distance, Hagrid's hut glowed warm and yellow, smoked hams casting huge shadows as they swayed from the beams.
Hagrid hadn't worried about Sean's safety in the forest for quite a while now. It wasn't like he hadn't noticed Firenze watching quietly from the trees, with the rest of the centaurs close by.
On top of that, the big-hearted gamekeeper had only recently realized just how strong the little wizard actually was.
He'd thought it was an earthquake. Turned out it was just Sean practising.
"Like mother, like child. Makes sense,"
Hagrid rumbled, his rough voice blending with the crackle of the hearth.
Now the sky was brushed with a faint band of violet-gold, and the fir and beech tops at the forest edge were fading into silhouettes.
Hagrid saw a three-headed dog and a small dragon coming his way. He rubbed his eyes.
"Norbert? Norbert's back?! Poor girl, how'd she stay this small—an' Fluffy's out too—bloody awful!"
He barreled out of the hut in a panic.
"Good evening, Hagrid,"
Sean said, patting Whitey's massive heads. She shrank smoothly into a snowy owl and settled on his shoulder.
Beside him, the fire dragon "vanished"—well, from Hagrid's point of view.
In reality, that was Tila on a special Fairy-Tale Cookie—she scampered down Sean's leg and into his pocket.
Now that Sean was acting as anchor for both Whitey and Tila, he could clearly feel his limits; this was probably as far as Novice-tier Soul Transfiguration would stretch.
"S-Sean, what's all this—"
Hagrid stammered, his whole beard trembling.
"Some special Fairy-Tale Cookies,"
Sean answered.
"The two-per-person ones?!"
Hagrid yelped. He'd been clutching his invitation and waiting on Fairy-Tale's opening day like his life depended on it.
Sean suddenly remembered something: strictly speaking, why couldn't Hagrid be linked by the soul relic?
So he started experimenting.
"I'll pay for it, I swear, don't say 'no need'—please… help me take some photos, will yeh?"
Hagrid clutched his stomach, his beard all but curling from delight as he pointed at the wall covered in moving photos of himself as a dragon from last time.
He'd been dying to show Harry and the others, to scare the daylights out of them.
He'd conveniently forgotten a few things; to stop him from accidentally demolishing the hut, Sean flicked his wand, and a few springy stools hopped under Hagrid just as he started to wobble.
Within seconds, a huge fire dragon reared up at the forest's edge.
Not far off, Dumbledore stroked his long white beard, eyes full of fond amusement.
Ever since a certain little wizard had enrolled, the castle had become more interesting by the day. So interesting that even someone who used to hide in the dungeons had been out in the sunlight for ages now.
"Hagrid, can you hear me?"
Sean called toward the dragon at the treeline.
The dragon blinked down at him, puzzled, then stuck out its tongue to lick him.
To avoid being accidentally swallowed, Sean swept his wand; the ground rolled like surf, sliding him a safe distance back.
"Can you sit?"
Sean tried again.
The dragon didn't understand, but it plopped down on its haunches anyway, front claws drooping. Less like a dragon—more like Fang.
That was all Sean needed to know: the soul was something very special. Even after all those cookies, Hagrid's transformed body posed no extra burden when it came to communication.
Did that mean if Sean found other powerful magical creatures, they too might safely eat multiple cookies—and the effects would stack?
For a moment a dozen possibilities flashed through his mind.
…
On the second day of term, after breakfast, Ravenclaws had their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson.
After yesterday's events, Lockhart's rabid book-fan club in Ravenclaw had cooled considerably.
Now they ate with a more modest level of excitement at their table.
"What've we got this afternoon?"
Harry asked from the corner of the table.
"Defence Against the Dark Arts,"
Hermione replied at once.
"Huh,"
Ron snatched her timetable and gaped.
"Why've you circled all Lockhart's classes with little hearts?"
Hermione yanked the parchment back, flushing bright red.
"If you care about someone too much, you lose yourself," Justin said gently from the side.
Hermione went even redder, like she might drip into her porridge; she hurriedly erased the hearts.
Sean sat quietly nearby, reading Voyages With Vampires.
Lockhart might be a fraud, but his books still taught Sean plenty.
Up at the staff table, Lockhart was eating with great poise. He flashed what he thought was a dazzling smile at Professor McGonagall.
"Professor McGonagall, I hear there's a rather exceptional second-year—let me see, the name was… Sean Green."
Minerva's previously calm, relaxed expression shifted; her tone turned very dangerous.
"Gilderoy, I beg your pardon—what did you say?"
"Ah—look at me, such a memory, it's nothing at all, Professor McGonagall."
Lockhart changed course at once.
McGonagall gave him a long, hard look, then let her gaze slide toward Dumbledore.
She had known—known—that bringing a conman into Hogwarts was a terrible decision.