Chapter 410: Face-to-Face Calls
Hogwarts was protected by ancient anti-Apparition charms, meaning they could not return directly to the castle. Thus, they arrived back on the same path they had taken earlier: the winding road leading from Hogsmeade.
The village was swathed in a profound silence. The night was at its deepest, punctuated only by a few flickering streetlamps and the occasional glow of a candle from an upper-story window.
"An exemplary completion of our mission?" Dumbledore asked. He tapped his wand against Sean's arm; the wound, which had been oozing blood sluggishly, finally knit together and began to scar.
As they had anticipated, the cave was saturated with Voldemort's specific brand of sadistic magic—curses designed to ensure that any blood sacrifice made would result in a wound that refused to close.
"Mmm," Sean hummed. He looked up at the sky. Through the freezing air, a single star was burning with a steady, white light. He recognized it as Jupiter.
"Come along. Let us hope Madam Pomfrey is still awake..." Dumbledore led the way down the narrow path lined with frost-withered purple flowers.
Beyond the village, the landscape opened into desolate moors and empty fields. A few isolated cottages stood in the distance, their garden plots looking like dark, sprawling shadows in the snow. They moved toward the base of the mountain, where the return path to Hogwarts lay hidden in the deep gloom of the peaks.
"I suspect you have something for me?" Dumbledore asked suddenly, a mischievous smile playing on his lips as he walked beside Sean.
Sean offered a small nod. He tapped the cover of his Wizard's Tome, and the book spat out a small, palm-sized object.
Dumbledore accepted the crystal lens, his smile slowly freezing as he examined the craftsmanship. "This is...?"
"A Magic Hand Mirror," Sean explained. "It allows for instantaneous communication regardless of distance. It is a sophisticated variant of the Two-Way Mirror, supporting a synchronized network of up to seven users. You can speak face-to-face through the glass or simply transmit audio."
"Oh, marvelous. Truly marvelous."
Dumbledore peered into the mirror. A miniature, high-definition version of Sean appeared in the glass. The image-Sean was busy reading a book until the surface of the mirror rippled like a disturbed pond; at the "signal," the miniature boy closed his book and looked up.
The real Sean's face then manifested within the glass.
"If you wish to speak now, you can address it directly, Professor," Sean said. He then performed a "hang-up" gesture. In Dumbledore's mirror, the tiny version of the Headmaster—which had stopped eating a Lemon Sherbet to answer the call—returned to its snacks.
Sean had used the principles of magical photography to create a "status indicator." The miniature avatars within the mirror responded to different stages of the call. While the mirror was idle, the image-Sean returned to his books.
"Aha—"
Dumbledore was fascinated. He began cycling through the other linked channels. He saw a miniature Professor McGonagall in the form of a tabby cat grooming its fur; a tiny Severus Snape hunched over a simmering cauldron; and a small Professor Flitwick preparing to mount a podium made of stacked books.
"A most entertaining construct." The mirror rippled again as Dumbledore tried another connection. "Is Minerva asleep?"
He seemed to be talking to himself, though his eyes remained fixed on Sean.
"The remaining mirrors haven't been delivered yet," Sean clarified.
"How very rare. I must tell you, Sean... I suspect there are those who are anticipating this more than I am." Dumbledore looked surprised.
"I was waylaid by your invitation to the office," Sean noted dryly, finishing his earlier thought.
The air between them fell into a companionable silence. In the distance, the rowdy shouts of a few late patrons from the Hog's Head drifted through the cold air.
"Come. Let us return to the castle properly."
Dumbledore didn't press him further, not even regarding the locket. They moved through the dark, twisting alleys of the village, the winter wind whistling past Sean's ears.
Inside the half-open portal of the Tome, Will the Pukwudgie was busy ushering the animals back to their respective biomes.
"Move along, move along, little heroes! You have served a Great Master tonight!" Sean could hear Will's muffled, triumphant muttering.
"Except for you, you gluttonous swine!"
A loud thud followed, along with the indignant squeal of the warthog. Voldemort's potion was designed to induce psychological agony and physical despair; the alchemical cocktail Sean had provided earlier was its polar opposite—a blend of euphoria, energy, and mild hallucinogens. Aside from a likely staggering hangover and the foul taste of the draught, the animals were perfectly fine.
"Hogwarts is warded against Pukwudgie Apparition, but the cave was not... I am pleased you recognized the loophole," Dumbledore's voice drifted through the dark.
"Naturally, Voldemort views creatures like house-elves and Pukwudgies with utter contempt, much like many Pure-blood fanatics. It would never occur to him that they possess a brand of magic that he does not. He filled that lake with Inferi, but there is nothing to fear from the dead, Sean—just as there is nothing to fear from the dark. Voldemort does not see it that way; he clearly fears both. He has once again exposed his own lack of wisdom. When we face death and darkness, we fear only the unknown, and nothing more."
Accompanied by the Headmaster's philosophical musings, they finally reached the familiar silhouette of Hogwarts Castle.
Madam Pomfrey was still awake when they arrived. To the surprise of the few students in the wing, Sean was promptly admitted as a patient.
Voldemort had always pushed the boundaries of the Dark Arts further than any other wizard, particularly in the field of curses. Even Dumbledore couldn't entirely negate the magical exhaustion the blood-ritual had drained from Sean. Madam Pomfrey was horrified, surreptitiously asking Sean where he had received such a "vile and parasitic" wound—she had never seen magic so inherently malicious.
She forbade Sean from leaving his bed. For the next week, he was to remain under her care to ensure the curse was fully purged from his system. Professor Dumbledore, with a sympathetic smile, granted him a full two-week leave from classes.
The holiday from lessons didn't hinder Sean's studies. With the Wizard's Tome, he could complete his research and practice within the privacy of the cottage in the book. The only inconvenience was that his Hand Mirrors would have to be delivered by Snowy rather than in person.
As for the locket...
Sean retrieved it from his pouch and placed it in a magically sealed box within the Tome's cottage. The plan was proceeding steadily. With this fake locket as leverage, he could eventually convince Kreacher to help him locate the real artifact. As for finding Kreacher himself... that was a task for Harry.
The hospital wing was silent. Moonlight filtered through the high windows, settling on the locket box and the boy's pale face like a dusting of salt.
In the distance, an injured Quidditch player let out a low, pained groan, and the rhythmic click-clack of a medical instrument echoed in the stillness.
A thin mist began to rise, coiling around the legs of the hospital beds. Sean opened his vivid green eyes.
It's time...
He had a busy night ahead of him in the Lands Between: a discussion with Dumbledore, an investigation into the "Yarn Balls" of the Kneazle Society, and—most importantly—another meeting with Rowena Ravenclaw.
[End of Chapter 410]
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