"Sharing knowledge—no wizard has ever done that for pukwudgies… except Lady Isolt Sayre.
Because of her generosity, our branch of pukwudgies finally had a chance to grow.
I hope you understand: no matter where you go, pukwudgies are forbidden to carry wands.
All fae were stripped of the right to use wands.
That was the price of losing a war.
More importantly, after the war, pukwudgie knowledge broke—there was a gap—and it will never be as vast as it once was."
Will said, trembling.
First of all, Sean understood perfectly how important a wand was—to wizards, to "people," to that category of beings in the Ministry's classification.
A wand was the crystallization of wizarding wisdom, the most widespread and most exquisitely practical magical tool in the world.
"Forbidden to use wands" was the restraint wizards imposed on the entire fae race after the war, and also one of the key reasons the fae lost the ability to wage war again.
That point was hinted at in A History of Magic.
Second, as for knowledge and wisdom—
The pukwudgies' view matched Sean's completely. This was the greatest trump card of "people."
As the pukwudgie butler spoke, Sean kept listening, and quietly wrote the words down.
To the pukwudgie butler, that only made him even more delighted.
The good news was that Mr. Green was a kind wizard;
the better news was that Mr. Green was obsessed with magic, and exceptionally gifted at it.
"Sir William said that only powerful wizards possess powerful wisdom—yet most of them won't share it, and most of them are 'mad.'
Finding a powerful wizard who isn't quite so mad is very, very hard.
And to do that, there's an even harder prerequisite."
Will blew his nose on the corner of his butler's uniform.
"What is it?" Sean asked, after waiting for him to calm down a little.
"Oh—there's a very popular and amusing story among humans. Do you know how you marry a duke?
You marry him before he becomes a duke—when he's still just a tiny little guard."
Will said it.
And the fact that he even had a brain for that surprised Sean.
He had to adjust his gaze again, reminding himself:
This was a magical world as old as civilization itself, and the wisdom buried here was as endless as the stars.
"So you chose me, the little 'guard'?" Sean joked, for the first time in a while, when he noticed Will drifting off.
"Oh! You can't say that!"
Will flailed, trying to explain, his voice scattering into the steady hush of snow outside the window.
Gradually, Sean began to understand how European fae like pukwudgies survived.
After some of them took part in the war, certain pukwudgies changed how they viewed wizards.
Those pukwudgies believed wizards were stronger than pukwudgie clans, because among wizards, truly exceptional individuals could appear.
They cited examples—back in Merlin's era, ancient pukwudgies hadn't dared show their faces at all.
And more recently, Albus Dumbledore.
To avoid being captured and subjected to terrifying experiments, pukwudgies, while hiding, began another plan.
If exceptional wizards would inevitably appear, then attaching themselves to such individuals became the obvious choice.
Unfortunately, the last such "individual" was Grindelwald. As the leader of the supremacists, he looked down on Muggles—let alone pukwudgies he could wipe out alone.
More unfortunately, the next such "individual" was Voldemort…
The pukwudgies suffered catastrophic losses.
Sean suddenly remembered something: in his plans not too far ahead, it was precisely because Voldemort despised creatures like fae that the pukwudgie butler could help him in certain ways.
He directed his quill to scratch quietly in the background—this was hidden magical-creature history, and Sean knew at least one person who would be very willing to hear it.
And soon, Sean would be visiting that Hufflepuff senior.
After all, he'd already made the cat-pard cookies—and the next magical creature was clearly still in Mr. Scamander's suitcase.
…
"So—can you help me test the cat-pard's magic?" Sean asked softly.
"With the greatest pleasure, Lord Green!"
Will puffed out his chest.
After not-too-long a round of experiments, Sean confirmed his suspicion: he truly couldn't use Legilimency very strongly.
Right now, he could only barely read the target's emotions and fleeting fragments of thought.
For example, the pukwudgie butler's head was full of "For the glory of pukwudgies!" and reverent excitement.
As for reaching the level of a Confundus Charm or a Memory Charm—there was no way a "juvenile cat-pard" could do that.
But Sean wasn't discouraged. If anything, he looked fired up.
Now that the cat-pard cookie was on the panel, progress speed would no longer depend on how difficult the magic should be.
A week passed in the blink of an eye.
In that week's Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Lockhart—freshly recovered—announced:
"As everyone knows, something astonishing has happened at this school. More importantly—oh—Hogwarts' healers put in tremendous effort, and with a great deal of my own wisdom, you have your miraculous me back again.
I'm preparing a few surprises. I can't say much right now, but I believe I'm fully confident…"
He tapped the side of his nose and strode off.
At breakfast on February 14th, everyone found out exactly how Lockhart planned to "boost morale."
Harry had trained Quidditch late the night before, so he was short on sleep. By the time he hurried into the Great Hall, he was already a bit late.
For a moment, he thought he'd walked into the wrong room. Every wall was covered in enormous, blinding pink flowers.
Worse, heart-shaped confetti kept drifting down from the pale-blue ceiling.
Harry headed for the Gryffindor table. Ron sat there wearing a smug expression, and Hermione looked like she'd been stifling laughter for ages.
Harry was baffled. He followed Hermione's gaze—
Above their table hung a huge banner that read:
"Sincere thanks to Mr. Green for his heroic battle in the Chamber of Secrets.
From your caring teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart—Order of Merlin, Third Class; Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League; five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award."
And beneath the banner sat Sean, looking utterly dead inside.
"This—" Harry couldn't hold it in anymore and burst out laughing.
Sean shot him a look—an exasperated look Harry had never seen on him before. Harry immediately changed tack:
"What's going on?"
He asked as he sat down, still fighting laughter while brushing confetti off his bacon.
Ron pointed at the staff table, clearly too delighted to speak.
Lockhart, dressed in a vivid pink robe to match the decorations, waved for silence.