By dinnertime, plenty of people were still opening their Christmas presents.
Most wizards had received a magic hand mirror by now. After all, Sean had adjusted the price of the first magic hand mirror to one Galleon.
That barely covered the cost.
Of course, if you counted the labor costs of the wizards at Emerald Workshop, it still wasn't enough.
Fortunately, Sean might already be the wealthiest young wizard in all of Hogwarts, which was the only reason he could afford to do something like this.
The money in his vaults increased every day. By now, even Sean himself didn't know how much wealth he had.
But it could be estimated that it was more than any ancient pure-blood family.
In front of Sean, Professor Trelawney had been helped into her seat. She looked around at everyone in alarm, and only seemed a little relieved once Professor Binns had also sat down.
"Don't be the first to stand up… don't be the first to stand up…"
She kept muttering under her breath, which made Professor McGonagall thoroughly irritated.
"I fail to see how much difference that makes,"
Professor McGonagall said coldly,
"unless there is a deranged axeman waiting outside the door to chop down the first person who walks into the entrance hall."
Dumbledore couldn't help laughing softly, while Professor Trelawney looked as though she had suffered a grave insult.
"Those without the Inner Eye will always think the words of the enlightened untrustworthy. But when reality lifts its mysterious veil—hmph—they will marvel at how perfectly fate's path fits together."
Professor Trelawney said faintly, and even glanced at Sean.
"Let us hope so."
Professor McGonagall said icily.
Warm snowflakes were falling from the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. Thousands upon thousands of candles flickered gently above wreaths of mistletoe and holly.
The four long House tables were piled high with roast turkeys, mashed potatoes, and wizard crackers, and the air was filled with a sweet aroma.
Sean saw Mr. Filch open his Christmas present. Inside was a third-generation magic hand mirror.
Mr. Filch looked over in surprise and uncertainty, and Sean happened to meet his eyes.
Mr. Filch had given Sean a scarf, thick and lined with many layers of fleece.
Sean was wearing it around his neck right now. The embroidered initials "S.G." could still be faintly seen on it.
When they exchanged gifts, they always left messages for each other on slips of paper.
Beside today's scarf was Mr. Filch's handwriting:
[Merry Christmas, Mr. Green. Scottish winters are getting colder and colder. On days when the fireplace does not follow you around, may you be a little warmer.]
As for Sean, inside the gift box he sent Mr. Filch, there was also a small piece of parchment:
[Merry Christmas, Mr. Filch. Along with my blessings, I am also sending this Christmas edition of the Guide to Dealing with Magical Prank Items from the Joke Shop. I hope your workload is lighter today.]
The fireplaces in the Great Hall burned especially fiercely, and Christmas always seemed to pass in that particularly warm feeling.
At some point, it seemed every wizard had started giving Sean a scarf on Christmas.
Justin, Harry, Hermione—
even Professor McGonagall.
On top of that, Sean would also receive all sorts of tall hats, jackets, robes, and similar things.
This way, for the entire winter, he had no need to visit Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions in Diagon Alley.
As the wizards opened their presents, more than ten minutes of dinner had already passed.
Only when Sean felt his stomach was about to burst from the Christmas feast did Headmaster Dumbledore slowly rise from the center of the staff table.
The tips of his long silver-white beard trembled slightly. He tapped his goblet, and the clear ringing sound made the whole Great Hall fall silent.
"Merry Christmas,"
he said, spreading his arms, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles.
"Before you all finish off the last of the pudding, please allow me to take up a few precious minutes."
The students restrained their movements and looked curiously toward the staff table.
Dumbledore continued:
"Many years ago, I once sat among you, looking up at the Headmaster's speech much as you are now. At the time, I never imagined that one day I would become the rambling old man standing at the staff table."
He paused for a moment, and his voice grew softer.
"And tonight, this rambling old man has something to announce."
Whispers rose in the Great Hall.
Sean saw Justin put down his fork, and Ron stop halfway through pulling a cracker.
"First,"
Dumbledore said,
"it brings me great comfort and pride to say that I have found a candidate to succeed me as Headmaster of Hogwarts. As for myself, after finishing my last remaining matters, I have decided to retire completely.
Yes, you heard me correctly. This means I can finally devote myself to studying several long-neglected dessert recipes, as well as enjoying the warmth brought by a pair of woolen socks that truly fit."
The entire Great Hall seemed to have been hit by a Silencing Charm. After a moment, the murmurs surged up like a tide.
"Did Headmaster Dumbledore just say—"
Hermione covered her mouth in shock, her eyes jumping from face to face as if waiting for someone to tell her she had misheard.
"Retire!"
The large chicken leg in Ron's mouth fell out.
Dumbledore tapped his goblet again, his tone returning to its usual calm ease.
"The damp chill of the Scottish Highlands is quite heavy. Look, these old arms and legs of mine are almost too rusty to lift. Fortunately, before they stopped working altogether, I found a suitable candidate. That is all this old man has to say—
"And finally, Mr. Green, would you be so kind as to help me back to the Headmaster's office? As you can see, my knees are terribly rusted."
Sean froze.
How had he not known that Headmaster Dumbledore was in poor health?
His expression turned slightly solemn as he helped the Headmaster. Amid a deathly silence, they left the Hogwarts Great Hall.
Headmaster Dumbledore's body shouldn't have problems, but Sean remembered Nicolas Flamel.
He knew that wizards could live longer than ordinary people, but he truly did not know whether a wizard's body would begin to fail at this age.
What if wizards, like the alchemy master Nicolas Flamel, suffered physical decline?
There was no way to know.
"Headmaster Dumbledore—your health—"
Sean asked carefully.
"Oh, forgive me for interrupting, child. I don't think I care much about the present tonight. Let us talk about a future that is about to happen."
Dumbledore said kindly.
"What do you want to say?"
Sean asked thoughtfully.
Dumbledore was no longer leaning any weight on him, which made Sean realize that the Headmaster's body was perfectly fine.
"As you can see, we need someone to remain at Hogwarts, and someone else to undertake a great adventure—"
Dumbledore said with a smile.
"Forgive an old man's desire to spend himself a little. He still has a bit of adventurous spirit left unused. It would be a shame to carry it into the grave."
"You intend to search for Voldemort alone?"
Sean's eyes sharpened.
"Don't look so strange, dear successor Headmaster. Aren't you doing the same?"
Dumbledore still smiled with narrowed eyes, warm and amused.
"You knew."
Sean was somewhat surprised.
"Yes. We have made many efforts, and more than that, we have resisted. Of course, the work you have done is far greater than mine.
I must praise the efficiency of your work, but it is too dangerous. In the past, we had no choice, did we? Hm—
"The Inner Eye would not have told me that a child named Green was about to attend Hogwarts.
"But now, you see, we must be more conservative. We can no longer be so aggressive. I think it is best for you to remain at Hogwarts. As for me, I will bring a few old friends and let these old bones give off a little heat."
Dumbledore seemed emotional.
"It is time we spoke of these things, child. Old people always tend to see the young as too immature. That is dangerous and foolish."
Dumbledore looked at Sean. Warm firelight from the hearth reflected in his blue eyes.
That gaze did not look like an old wizard looking at a young wizard, nor like the Headmaster of Hogwarts looking at a student.
Sean found it easier to understand that gaze as one between friends.
"We have always been on the same side, child. But before now, the work you did was more dangerous. Now, we must share some of the risk. Little Hangleton has not been very peaceful lately. I only received the news recently. As it happens, my legs are almost rusted through, so I have very happily decided to go for a walk."
Dumbledore's words carried a hidden meaning.
"You—"
Sean found his heart beating hard.
What exactly did Headmaster Dumbledore know?
Did he know Voldemort was in the Riddle house? Or did he know Voldemort's current condition?
Voldemort's other servant—who was he? If Dumbledore knew Voldemort's whereabouts, did he also know who that other servant was?
"It seems we have both done quite a lot of work in secret. Oh, perhaps this time I have the slight advantage?"
Dumbledore still looked genial and kind.
Like a retired old man making small talk.
But no one would underestimate such a wise man.
"How did you discover—"
Sean asked tentatively.
"Albania. I have been watching that place for a long time. It is a vast and tolerant forest. Sometimes, even if an unexpected existence slips inside, it does not reject them.
In such an enormous forest, finding anything is difficult. So I could only ask some of my old friends to pay close attention to every wizard heading there."
Dumbledore spoke gently, not minding sharing his plan with Sean at all.
So it was screening wizards—
Sean thought. That was not simple either.
"Quite easily, in a tavern, I discovered Peter. Of course, that is all thanks to Miss Tonks. Have I introduced her to you? She is an excellent Auror, one of our new members, a Metamorphmagus."
Dumbledore's fingers tapped rhythmically against his leg.
"Our?"
Sean caught the strange word.
"A very old-fashioned organization, full of stubborn big and little fellows."
Dumbledore seemed not to want to dwell on this topic, lightly passing over it before looking back at Sean.
"And you, child? Is there anything you wish to tell me? Anything at all?"
"Professor Trelawney made a prophecy not long ago—"
Sean considered his words.
"She said: he remains cunning—I—we need to beware—the seventh."
"Oh—"
Dumbledore looked thoughtful.
"That means,"
Sean continued,
"if there is any chance for us to completely destroy him—"
his breathing grew slightly heavier. He, who was usually calm and expressionless, revealed open determination.
"—it may be the last chance."
The wizarding world was too large.
If Voldemort truly saw the situation clearly—for example, that Hogwarts had more than one person he could not defeat—then he might hide himself in the darkness from then on.
Could wizards live forever?
Sean did not know, but he knew Voldemort had gone farther down the path of immortality than anyone else.
Perhaps Headmaster Dumbledore did not fear Voldemort. Perhaps Sean did not either. But a Voldemort no longer obsessed with killing Harry could cause terrifying damage.
Sean could not help thinking of Professor Snape's description of Dark Magic:
"Dark Magic is varied, numerous, ever-changing, and endless. Fighting it is like fighting a many-headed beast. Cut off one head, and another immediately grows, fiercer and more cunning than before."
For the rest of the Christmas holidays, the wizards passionately discussed the matter of the successor Headmaster.
As for Sean, who had been called away that day, the students had simply pinned the title of successor onto him.
Fred and George would always pop out of nowhere, remove their hats before Sean, and loudly announce:
"Great Mr. Green—Headmaster of Hogwarts—Fred Weasley/George Weasley offers you his respects—"
This drew quiet laughter from many wizards.
What differed from before was that the students did not dare approach Sean quite as casually now.
Even Hermione and Justin were like that. But Sean had no time to pay attention to these things.
Two weeks passed. He remained immersed in Transfiguration, thinking about that blind confidence.
[You practiced Magical Transfiguration once at Expert standard. Proficiency +50]
The panel notification sounded, but Sean frowned.
Still no breakthrough to Master. Was there some trick he still didn't know?
He carefully studied Headmaster Dumbledore's notes, though his gaze had already drifted away.
[Name: Sean Green]
[Transfiguration Talent: Purple (enhanced by Transfiguration Master title). Note: An ordinary wizard is Green.]
[Transfiguration Categories:]
[Magical Transfiguration: Expert (14500/30000)]
[Material Transfiguration: Expert (1300/30000)]
[Soul Transfiguration: Skilled (550/3000)]
[Evaluation: A wizard whose Transfiguration has reached Master level is outstanding even among the elite, enough to fight several wizards who have barely stepped into Master level.]
In two weeks, Sean had gained fifteen thousand proficiency points.
But while Magical Transfiguration and Material Transfiguration had advanced rapidly, Soul Transfiguration had barely moved.
After all, Sean still could not properly understand his own "magical circuit."
Fortunately, fog filled the air that dusk.