The Prior Incantato charm is a common investigative spell employed by the Ministry of Magic to examine suspects' wands.
It allows the examiner to observe what spells have been recently cast using the wand under scrutiny. The examination process works in reverse chronological order, displaying the most recent spell first and working backward through the casting history. Therefore, the standard method to defeat the Prior Incantato charm is to cast sufficient additional spells before any examination occurs, effectively burying the incriminating castings beneath layers of innocuous magic.
The Prior Incantato charm does have inherent limitations—it cannot examine a wand's complete history indefinitely. The spell can only reveal a finite number of recent castings. As long as enough new spells are layered over the questionable ones before reaching the charm's examination limit, one can successfully escape detection.
Last night, Snape had seemingly said nothing at all, yet simultaneously he had communicated everything Sean needed to understand.
The following day, when Sean delivered his completed paper to Snape's office, everything proceeded with perfect normalcy, as though nothing unusual had occurred the previous evening. Sean understood clearly that his Head of House was protecting him, and he filed this debt of gratitude away carefully in his memory.
The second phase of his Wolfsbane research underwent meticulous review by Snape, returning Sean to the same anxiety he'd experienced during his first publication. He found himself waiting nervously each day for Snape's assessment and corrections.
During this week of Sean's intense focus on his thesis revisions, three figures returned to the same wasteland where Sean had previously eliminated Silverfang and Ironclaw.
They ventured into the scorched landscape, sniffing the air with enhanced senses, searching desperately for any possible clues that might have survived the flames.
Fenrir Greyback walked methodically across the charred ground, his nose twitching as he followed faint scent trails, until he reached a slightly sunken depression in the earth. He crouched down low, extending one hand with its sharp, blackened nails, and groped around inside the ash-filled pit. His clawed fingers finally closed around something small and hard—a single tooth, charred black by intense flames but still recognizable.
Fenrir sniffed the tooth carefully, his already grim expression darkening further with each breath. He rose slowly to his full, imposing height, then released a howl-like roar that instantly summoned his two remaining henchmen to his side.
"Your Majesty," one asked nervously, "have you discovered something?"
Fenrir extended his palm, displaying the blackened tooth. His eyes burned with barely-contained rage. "This is Ironclaw's tooth. They are indeed dead—murdered—and their bodies have been burned to ash and bone."
"Your Majesty, was it the Aurors who did this?"
Fenrir's eyes narrowed dangerously, flashing with anger and predatory calculation. He shook his head slowly. "No. It wasn't the Aurors. Only dark wizards habitually burn both the body and the entire scene immediately after killing someone. This is the work of someone familiar with covering their tracks."
"Then it was those criminals from Knockturn Alley?"
"No," Fenrir growled, his voice taking on a contemplative edge. "I believe the one responsible might very well be hiding within Hogwarts itself."
Friday arrived, bringing with it the Hogwarts Quidditch Season Finals.
Gryffindor versus Slytherin.
The match between these two rival houses was explosive from the opening whistle. Mutual provocations were considered mild compared to the actual physical contact—both teams employed legal but brutal fouls to inflict heavy damage on opposing players throughout the official match, making Sean frown with disapproval. Blaise, however, had long since abandoned any concerns about sportsmanship and was watching with more enthusiasm than anyone else in the stands, especially when Slytherin players successfully injured Gryffindor team members.
When watching Quidditch, Sean preferred to focus primarily on the Seekers. He always felt the position showcased the most interesting flying skills and tactical thinking, rather than the brutal physical contact of the other positions.
Sean watched as Harry and Malfoy chased the Golden Snitch with single-minded determination. As they passed near the Ravenclaw stands during a particularly intense pursuit, Sean suddenly noticed a girl wearing a distinctive silver-green coat seated in the relatively sparsely populated Ravenclaw section. The color scheme of her outerwear made the surrounding Ravenclaw spectators maintain a noticeable distance from her—such unique individuality could only belong to Luna Lovegood.
Was she thinking something along the lines of "I cheered for Ravenclaw last time, so I should support Slytherin this match"?
Sean looked at Luna across the pitch, and Luna noticed Sean's attention simultaneously. They exchanged a brief glance and slight nods of acknowledgment to each other, then returned to watching the match without further interaction.
The game didn't last particularly long.
Because Harry's broom had been replaced with the superior Firebolt, his speed and maneuverability were dramatically enhanced. He easily outflew Malfoy and captured the Golden Snitch with considerable flair, ending the match decisively in Gryffindor's favor.
"It's Malfoy again! Always Malfoy!" Blaise complained bitterly as they filed out of the stands. "If he couldn't possibly catch the Snitch himself, he should at least have delayed Potter long enough for our Chasers to build an insurmountable lead! He couldn't even manage that basic tactical responsibility!"
"Well, there are winners and losers in every match," Andy offered diplomatically. "Malfoy probably didn't deliberately want to lose... though he is admittedly rather useless at the position."
The group continued grumbling as they followed the other Slytherin students back toward the castle and their common room.
Just then, outside the Quidditch pitch perimeter, a young woman with a blank expression and curiously empty eyes pushed a wheelchair slowly past the stadium grounds. Seated in the wheelchair was an elderly man who appeared impossibly withered and fragile, his skin like ancient parchment stretched over delicate bones. He looked up at the towering Quidditch pitch with obvious nostalgia written across his weathered features.
"I remember playing Quidditch when I was young," the old man said wistfully. "It was so very long ago now... I truly miss those days."
The young woman didn't respond to his words in any way. She simply continued pushing him steadily across the grounds and into Hogwarts Castle proper.
Strangely enough, the Hogwarts students seemed completely oblivious to the elderly man and his attendant. They instinctively walked around the wheelchair to avoid collisions, yet showed no awareness of how peculiar it was that an ancient man in a wheelchair had somehow entered the castle grounds. It was as though some subtle magic was directing attention away from the pair, making them simultaneously visible yet unnoticed.
With the young woman's assistance, the elderly man in his wheelchair proceeded directly to the Headmaster's office. Upon reaching the stone gargoyle, Nicolas Flamel said clearly, "Fizzing Whizzbees."
The gargoyle sprang aside immediately, and the young woman pushed Nicolas Flamel forward onto the spiral staircase, ascending smoothly to the heavy oak door.
"Nicolas," Dumbledore greeted warmly as they entered, rising from behind his desk. "It's a genuine pleasure to see you return to Hogwarts after all these years."
Nicolas Flamel smiled, extending one trembling hand to clasp Dumbledore's firmly. "Dumbledore, it truly has been far too long. You've aged considerably, old friend—almost as much as I have."
"Compared to you, Nicolas, I should still be considered relatively youthful, shouldn't I?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with amusement.
Seeing Dumbledore's characteristic humor, Nicolas Flamel chuckled softly. "Dumbledore, when precisely can I meet with Mr. Antonius?"
"You'll need to wait a short while, I'm afraid," Dumbledore explained. "Mr. Antonius only manifests at seven o'clock and nine o'clock on Saturday and Sunday evenings. He's... not present at Hogwarts during other times." He paused thoughtfully. "However, his apprentice is currently here at the castle. Perhaps you might meet the boy first?"
"His apprentice..." Nicolas Flamel nodded slowly. "Yes, I know of him. A remarkably talented young man. Mr. Antonius mentioned him numerous times in his correspondence. It would indeed be valuable to meet him first—there's no particular rush for the main meeting." He settled more comfortably in his wheelchair. "Actually, Dumbledore, I'd like to discuss Mr. Antonius with you first, before meeting either of them. There are some... observations I've made through our letters that you should know about."