Hogwarts.
Late evening.
At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Sean was holding a small, delicate crystal vial.
This was the Veritaserum from the vault.
It's a colorless, odorless potion that forces whoever drinks it to tell the absolute truth. Three drops is all it takes to drag every secret out of someone.
The Ministry has insanely strict rules about using it, but since Professor Snape is the one brewing it, Sean figured the Ministry can't exactly tell him no.
Sean knows the recipe by heart, but he still can't brew it himself; even Snape needs a full month to get a batch right.
Fun fact: one of the key ingredients is feathers from a Jobberknoll.
Those birds never make a single sound their entire lives; right when they die, they let out one long scream that plays back every sound they've ever heard, in reverse order, starting with the last thing.
That's why they're essential for both Veritaserum and Memory Potions.
Jobberknoll, huh?
Sean thought, then tipped three drops onto his tongue.
"Who are you?"
The brooch on his robes spoke up.
"Sean Green."
He felt this weird pressure, like anything but the truth physically couldn't leave his mouth. Even staying quiet was hard.
"In the field of Transfiguration, have you reached master level?"
"Yes."
"In Charms, have you reached master level?"
"No."
"In Charms, have you reached expert level?"
"No."
Sean paused. Figures. Wizards don't always know their own limits.
Deep down, he didn't feel he was there yet.
"In Charms, are you close to expert level?"
"Yes."
"Overall, when it comes to magic in general, have you reached expert level?"
The brooch's question made Sean tense up a little. This felt like the moment of truth, how a wizard really sees their own power.
"No."
"Have you reached master level in magic overall?"
"No."
"Somewhere in between?"
"Yes."
It was a strange conversation, but it drove the point home: a wizard's belief in their own magic is everything.
Your power isn't built branch by branch in isolation; when you make a breakthrough in one area (like Charms), everything else tends to level up with it.
It reminded Sean of the whole "magical power" debate. Maybe wizards don't actually increase raw magical strength; maybe what grows is their faith in magic itself.
After all, the books never really talk about "mana" or anything like that.
"Avada Kedavra requires extremely powerful magic—"
Fake Moody's old line. Swap "powerful magic" for "absolute conviction," and it suddenly makes a lot more sense. It even explains why emotion and willpower matter so much when casting.
The brooch's voice dropped lower. "Can you guarantee, at any time, that you will never fall to the Dark Arts?"
Night had completely fallen.
Sean walked back from the forest's edge, brow furrowed.
The sunset was gone, leaving nothing but deep, inky darkness. The rune on his chest flickered once and went dark. He noticed the moon was fully visible tonight.
A thin mist started rising in the Ravenclaw dormitory.
A black cat padded silently through the swirling fog. If you looked closely, those creepy little green-eyed blobs of mist were finally gone.
Meanwhile, over in Gryffindor Tower…
"This time… this time it has to work—"
A little red-haired witch muttered to herself before flopping face-first onto her bed.
"Ginny, if you see Mr. Black Cat, can you pass on a message for me—?"
A softer voice piped up beside her.
"Me too!"
A super energetic girl chimed in instantly.
"What do you guys even want to say?" Ginny asked, then shook her head. "Mr. Black Cat hates being bothered. Just talk to the statue like normal."
"Giiiinny!"
The bouncy girl lunged to tickle her.
It took a while before they finally settled down and went to sleep.
Back in the dream borderlands, a wild, colorful blob of mist came barreling straight at the black cat.
The cat dodged smoothly, swatted at the mist, and immediately recognized it: Ginny.
But how the heck was Ginny controlling her own dream blob now?
Turns out curiosity doesn't kill the cat; it just makes the cat really uncomfortable.
Watching Ginny pop out of the mist, the black cat tried to hide behind another cloud of fog.
"Mr. Black Cat!"
Ginny's whole face lit up bright red with excitement.
"Good evening," the cat said, stepping out like nothing happened.
"I have so many questions! You're the one who took the diary, right? Ever since it disappeared, I haven't had a single nightmare—"
She was talking a mile a minute.
"No," the cat answered.
He watched her, an idea brewing.
Horcruxes have insane power. Could he use one to drag both Harry and Voldemort into the borderland at the same time?
Harry is an accidental Horcrux; his soul isn't bound the same way Ginny's was to the diary.
Even in the original books, Harry's soul and Voldemort's fragment always showed up together.
Clearly he'd missed some trick last time; Harry had come in alone.
The black cat pondered silently while the mist around them thickened.
The next day, at the Shrieking Shack.
The rune brooch lay quiet. The more Sean used it, the stronger their bond grew.
He could feel it slowly regaining magical strength. Soon he'd be able to test his theory.
If everything went smoothly, taking out one of Voldemort's Horcruxes would be almost easy.
On top of that, he needed to level up fast; his Charms and Potions progress had been lagging a bit lately.
Time flew by.
Good news: the basilisk biscuits were finally done. As for the rest of the basilisk… Sean decided to ask the headmaster what to do with it.
Bad news: there was no way the Chamber of Secrets business was staying quiet. If luck was really against him, once he explained everything to Professor Snape, he'd be serving six years of detention in the dungeons.
Out in the corridor, Sean spotted Harry cornered by Lockhart again.
"So, Harry," Lockhart said with his usual dazzling grin, "first Quidditch match of the season today, right? Gryffindor versus Slytherin?
"I hear you're quite the player. I was Seeker in my day; they wanted me for the national team, but I decided to dedicate my life to wiping out dark forces. Still, if you ever want a few private tips, just say the word. Always happy to help the less… gifted players—"