"Probably for the same reason you're thinking of.
"In 1811, people finally arrived at a definition that most members of the magical world could accept. The newly appointed Minister for Magic, Grogan Stump, issued a decree:
"'A being is any creature possessing sufficient intelligence to understand the laws of the magical community and to shoulder part of the responsibility involved in shaping those laws.'
"Professor Scamander didn't wait for Hermione—eyes wide—or for Neville—utterly lost, staring blankly—to finish catching up. He continued his explanation.
"Trolls were questioned without goblins present and judged incapable of understanding anything said to them, and were therefore classified as beasts, even though they walk on two legs.
"Merpeople were invited for the first time—through translators—to be considered beings.
"Fairies and gnomes, though they resemble humans in appearance, were firmly placed in the category of beasts."
Sean's quill scratched steadily across the page. He knew that, as highly independent and wildly diverse individuals, wizards would always, sooner or later, produce someone great enough to step forward and push history ahead by a single stride.
"Of course, that wasn't the end of it. We're all familiar with extremists—people who campaign everywhere to classify Muggles as 'beasts.'
"And we all know centaurs have refused 'being' status and insist on remaining classified as 'beasts.' Meanwhile, werewolves for many years have been left suspended between 'beast' and 'being.'
"Earlier on, there was even an office within the Being Division for the Werewolf Support Services, while the Werewolf Registry and the Werewolf Capture Unit were placed under the Beast Division—"
Scamander's voice was half-buried beneath the crisp, brittle sound of snow falling outside the door.
When he finished, he looked at Sean with clear, faintly expectant eyes.
Sean didn't respond. After copying down the last of Scamander's words, he wrote something in his notebook—a magical principle so audacious it bordered on heresy:
[Omniscience is Omnipotence]
If a wizard can choose emotion and moral boundaries as their "faith"—a faith in cruelty, a faith in love—
then they could also choose pure reason.
Everything Sean had seen in the Boundary World had already shown him that knowledge and emotion carried equal magical weight.
"I understand. Thank you, Mr. Scamander," Sean said, letting out a long breath.
"I think it's time for me to go."
Newt gave Sean one last clear-eyed look, then smiled and took his leave.
"Ah— you— you—" Hermione stammered, having no idea what sort of silent riddle had just passed between them, or why the great Scamander was departing so quickly.
"Goodbye, Miss Granger, Mr. Longbottom, and dear little Sean," Newt said.
He lifted his case and walked out of the shop.
He'd had stories in Ilvermorny and Diagon Alley that were wonderfully strange, and he could already picture Tina's face when he shared the magical-animal biscuits—and the tale that came with them.
That left only Sean, Hermione, and Neville in the shop.
And, of course, Professor Quirrell—silent as ever.
"Even if goblins count as 'beings'…" Hermione said skeptically, eyeing Sean. "How are you getting back?"
She had a perfectly reasonable suspicion that Sean would use a method that was… reasonable, if not exactly legal.
The good news was: Sean generally followed rules.
The bad news was: he followed his own rules.
"I'm going back with Professor Terra," Sean said.
"Alright. See you at Hogwarts," Hermione said, finally relaxing. Then she cast one last reluctant look at the fascinating Fairy Tale biscuits and headed out.
"You've finished opening your Christmas presents, right?" Sean asked suddenly.
"I— I saved some for last," Hermione hesitated, then said with brittle bravado. "Why?"
"My point is, Christmas was a week ago," Sean replied.
"I know!" Hermione said, and hurried off with quick, clicking steps.
After seeing Neville off as well, Sean returned to his thoughts on magical theory.
He considered for a moment, then wrote the first line on the Wizard's Book:
[Wizards should seek a deeper understanding of wisdom—and of the ultimate form of magic born from wisdom: ritual magic—because it is their only true advantage in a peril-filled magical world…]
At sunset, the sun sank behind a curtain of snow.
The daylight wasn't harsh at all. The whole world shimmered with a soft glow, wearing a quiet, damp, gentle mask.
Diagon Alley looked exactly as it always did. Shop windows glittered with spellbooks, potion ingredients, cauldrons—bright and colorful.
At the most eye-catching shopfront in the alley, the signboard had been updated again. It now read:
[Coming Soon: Catamount Biscuits]
You could already imagine the uproar that announcement would cause.
In Sean's hands, there wasn't only a notebook. From the Wizard's Book, he also took out a Pensieve—its silvery strands curling like smoke.
"You're troubled?" Professor Quirrell spoke at last—his voice landing neatly in the gap after Sean surfaced from his thoughts, not startling in the slightest.
"I've forgotten something, Professor," Sean said.
"If the Pensieve doesn't help… perhaps you could learn Occlumency," Quirrell said. "Of course, I'm only saying—I have a few modest insights."
Sean's head snapped up.
How had he forgotten?
Dumbledore and Snape were masters of Legilimency. To act beneath their gaze without being noticed, one had to be an Occlumens.
And Quirrell, quite clearly, was an expert—whether that skill had come from Voldemort or from Quirrell's own efforts, the knowledge itself wouldn't be any less real.
"You mean…?" Sean asked carefully.
"Before I went to the forests of Albania, I had only a little skill," Quirrell said. "Afterward… he forced me to learn—"
For a moment, Quirrell seemed to relive something painful. His expression stiffened—then quickly settled back into normal.
It was a rare piece of luck: an answer he'd hunted for so long, sitting right beside him.
"Occlumency is a branch of magic that prevents the mind from being invaded or influenced. I've used it—used it deeply—when I tried to resist. But back then my strength was far too weak…
"Some people call it 'mind-reading,' but a heart isn't a book you can flip through at will. Thoughts aren't carved into a skull for someone to crawl inside and read.
"The mind is complex—layered, Mr. Green. At least most minds are.
"But magic can still exert influence: the Memory Charm, the Confundus Charm, and Legilimency.
"To defend yourself, a wizard must minimize the turbulence of their thoughts. Mr. Green—if you're willing to trust me—we can begin by testing what it feels like to resist.
"It's nothing like daydreaming."
Quirrell finished, visibly uneasy.