Over the next few days, Lockhart's reputation changed a little.
Where once the chatter in the Great Hall always spiked when he appeared, now some of the girls actually seemed to want to avoid him.
Saturday.
The Great Hall.
Sean took a sip of hot pumpkin porridge, the sticky sweetness always reminding him of soft, caramelised sweet potatoes eaten by a hearth on winter nights.
Owls swooped under the grey ceiling; parcels fell like raindrops.
Around him, Harry was half-heartedly dealing with Colin. For Colin, the most exciting thing in the world seemed to be saying "Hi, Harry," six or seven times a day and hearing "Hi, Colin" in return—no matter how tired or irritated Harry sounded.
Hermione was seriously considering burning all of Lockhart's books with a single fire spell, and was only talked down by Justin.
"My mum says that no matter the circumstances, knowledge itself is never guilty."
Neville, off to the side, was carefully studying the fire-making spell in Standard Book of Spells. At some point, he'd stopped just hoping someone else would come save him.
Especially when that "someone" was most likely going to be Sean.
Ron looked excited. Tonight he was going to sneak out of Hogwarts to Diagon Alley to buy a new wand.
He would have to be very careful not to cause trouble for Sean.
The members of the Hope Nook clustered together—or rather, had long since been pulled together by a certain boy—and had somehow spent a whole year like this without noticing.
Sean, oblivious, let his gaze drift to the Gryffindor table. There, a cute little witch was chattering enthusiastically to her friends.
They were all holding little moving black-cat cards, chirping about them.
Sean's eyes slid past to the diary on Ginny's place. He could feel the malice radiating from it had grown stronger.
Sometimes it even stung his eyes like a needle.
At the same time, traces of that strange aura that stirred the soul-relic were beginning to cling to Ginny herself.
Sean knew: just as he could sense Voldemort, the young Voldemort could, by some unknown means, sense him.
They had spotted each other as early as the Sorting.
The difference was, Tom didn't know what Sean intended to do. Sean, on the other hand, knew exactly how to destroy the diary.
But…
Tom seemed to be getting impatient. Very likely he'd resorted to some sort of brutal method to harm Ginny's soul.
Sean felt a faint pressure—but he refused to let himself panic.
Speed up the plan—tonight, once he was sure he wouldn't be discovered, he had to find the entrance to the Chamber.
That was his decision.
Outside, the grass around Hogwarts glistened with dew. Even though the sun was already high, thin mist still drifted over the Quidditch pitch.
A few players in blue-and-bronze scarves were filing off. They looked like they'd just finished practice.
Sean walked past them with his head half-hidden behind a book.
"First-years are done with flying lessons—do we still not have a Seeker?"
Roger Davies tugged at his scarf, annoyed.
"You're trying to find another Roderick Plumpton, aren't you, Davies? He's the star of the Tutshill Tornados, five-time League Cup winner—"
The teammate beside him stared.
"Cut Roger some slack. Before he took over, Ravenclaw were Quidditch champions.
As soon as he became captain, we crashed and burned… now everyone knows where the problem is."
The Chaser called Toya said theatrically.
"Then I hereby appoint you to recruit new players—Toya. When Ravenclaw gets slaughtered, everyone will know last year we brought in a powerhouse, and this year we brought in nothing—"
Roger slapped a recruitment badge onto Toya's arm. Now the suffering was shared.
Sean quietly picked up his pace, heading toward Hagrid's hut.
His material transfiguration was only a hundred experience points away from Proficient—less than a week's training.
At Novice level, spells took a long time to cast. Once he hit Proficient, that casting time would drop sharply; at Expert, it would be near-instant.
He'd already confirmed that pattern with curses and charms.
Outside Hagrid's hut, the pumpkins in the patch were swelling to greenhouse size.
Hagrid was stomping toward the door in a rage; when he saw Sean, his face lit up.
"Sean! How've yeh been? Come in, come in—I thought it was Lockhart again."
Sean stepped inside, a little puzzled. One corner held an enormous bed; in the other, the fireplace crackled cheerfully.
"You don' know, he tried ter teach me how to keep water demons out of wells,"
Hagrid huffed, taking a half-plucked rooster off the spotless table and setting on the kettle,
"as if I didn' know already. And he goes on about bannin' banshees—if there was one word o' truth in any o' that, I'd eat this teapot."
Sean thought Hagrid's teeth probably could handle a teapot, but his attention was drawn to the rooster. It had more than slaughter cuts on it.
"Is it wounded?"
Sean asked.
"Yeah. That's the second one dead since term started,"
Hagrid explained.
"Either a fox or a vampire. I need the Headmaster's permission ter put some spells on the henhouse."
Sean fell silent.
Tom really did know some very particular dark magic. Not even two weeks into the term, and he was already forcing Ginny to kill the roosters.
Sean had every reason to believe the hurry was because of him.
His gaze grew darker.
He'd better prepare something that would let him track Ginny.
He'd thought that thing would be the Marauder's Map, but that night, he found a better option.
…
It was a pitch-black, cloud-choked night.
As October approached, the weather had grown colder, with more rain and longer, deeper nights.
Ron's head poked out from around a corridor corner, on the lookout for Filch and Mrs Norris.
In fact, Mrs Norris was perched right on Sean's shoulder. Ron turned his head and nearly dropped dead on the spot.
"Se—Se—Sean—"
He clapped a hand over his mouth.
"I've explained your situation to Mr Filch."
Sean said.
Ron felt faint. Is that something you're supposed to say out loud?
"Great Hermes—"
Fred's head popped out of the painting that had swung aside, only to pop back in again when he spotted Mrs Norris.
"Your loyal followers have arr—"
George's grin didn't last either; he vanished back into the portrait hole.
"Doesn't look that loyal to me,"
Ron said automatically, copying George's tone,
"Your loyal followers have left the building—"
~~~
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