Harry was out cold.
Sean just sat there quietly, waiting for something.
Soon enough, two huge tennis-ball eyes blinked into existence in the dark. They stared at Harry, and a single tear rolled off the end of a long, pencil-like nose.
"Harry Potter has come back to school," the creature whimpered sadly. "Dobby warned Harry Potter again and again… Oh, sir, why didn't Harry Potter listen to Dobby's warnings? Why didn't Harry Potter just go home when he missed the train?"
Harry jolted awake.
"Get lost!" he yelled, then froze. "Wait—you said the train? That was you? You're the one who sealed the barrier so we couldn't get through?"
Sean studied the little house-elf. Ragged pillowcase, bulging eyes, currently smacking himself in the head with a metal pitcher. Dobby had just finished explaining (in hysterical sobs) how to free a house-elf, and now he was back to begging.
"Go home, Harry Potter, go home—"
It suddenly reminded Sean of something.
"You're telling me you tried to keep me away from school because the Chamber of Secrets is about to be opened?" Harry asked, half-laughing in disbelief.
Dobby let out a wail. "Oh sir, please don't ask any more, don't make poor Dobby say— it's dangerous, so dangerous—"
More tears soaked into the grimy pillowcase.
"Dobby, seriously," Harry said, exasperated, "if you keep trying to 'save' me like this, you're gonna get me killed."
Then his eyes narrowed. "How do you even know Voldemort's planning to—"
Dobby's shriek could've shattered glass.
"DOBBY! The basilisk's already dead!" Harry blurted, desperate to change the subject.
The elf calmed down like someone had dumped ice water on a boiling kettle. "Harry Potter has gone mad. Such a great and noble wizard… and now he is mad."
Sometimes Harry wondered if house-elves even spoke the same language as humans.
With a sigh he rolled over, reached into his school bag, and carefully pulled out a small box. Inside was a single basilisk fang, a gift from the kid who'd taken the monster down single-handedly with a sword.
Harry still remembered Sean's casual, "It's fine, Harry. I've got more."
He'd felt like he and Sean didn't speak the same language either sometimes.
The hospital wing was pitch-black. Dobby started boiling again until Harry finally convinced him that Hogwarts now had a teenage Dumbledore 2.0 on campus.
Said teenage Dumbledore 2.0 had already slipped out unnoticed.
Harry eventually calmed Dobby down for good. The elf probably wouldn't cause any more giant disasters.
The sleeping basilisk, on the other hand… that thing might still cause plenty.
While Sean walked, his mind bounced between basilisk problems and the weird magical legacies left behind by the greatest witches and wizards in history. A few minutes later he was standing outside the headmaster's office.
He hadn't been studying magic for very long, but that was okay. Magic was huge, and plenty of wizards had walked very far down the path already.
"Professor Dumbledore," he called, knocking once.
The door swung open by itself.
A couple of the painted headmasters glanced at their portraits glanced over, recognized him, and went right back to snoring.
It wasn't quite curfew yet. The silver instruments glinted in the moonlight, rain pattered against the tower, and Fawkes slept peacefully on his perch.
Sean walked over to the Sorting Hat. The Sword of Gryffindor used to be displayed in the office, but it looked like the Hat had "eaten" it again.
"Ah… come closer…" a faint voice whispered.
"Try again…"
Sean frowned, reached out, and brushed the brim of the battered old hat. His fingers closed around a hilt that slid smoothly out of the fabric like it had been waiting for him.
"A wizard's courage is the kind of thing that leaves a mark," the Sorting Hat said, wriggling happily. "You showed astonishing bravery. That never fades."
Sean stared at the ruby-encrusted sword in his hand, lost in thought.
He suddenly remembered something Dumbledore once told Harry:
"Harry, the deep love your mother had for you left its mark on you. Not a scar, not something you can see… but being loved that deeply, even when the person who loved us is gone, gives us a permanent shield."
Right outside the office door, two figures stood in the shadows.
"How curious," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "The Sword of Gryffindor in the hands of a Ravenclaw."
Professor McGonagall didn't say a word. She just stared at the black-haired boy holding the gleaming sword, the firelight catching in his hair. Whatever she wanted to say got stuck in her throat.
Finally her gaze shifted to the still-squirming Sorting Hat.
"You see, Minerva?" Dumbledore said gently. "That's how it is. When someone matters a great deal to us, we're always… careful."
"So, Albus," McGonagall said, lips pressed into a thin, "the Chamber really—"
"That's not my story to tell tonight," he replied with a twinkle. "Let's talk about Gryffindor and Ravenclaw instead…"
The kettle on the little stove started whistling. Outside, the storm raged; inside the office, everything felt peaceful.
Sean carefully set the sword back on the desk exactly where it belonged.
The rain had been falling since the Quidditch match started. It made perfect white noise for sleeping.
As he left, he noticed a brief flash of light from his empty rune chart, then slipped out.
Walking past the Transfiguration office, he paused.
A thin line of firelight glowed under the door. He knew Professor McGonagall sometimes worked ridiculously late.
Inside, Minerva McGonagall sat with an old book open in her lap. The firelight picked out words like "Chamber," "monster," and "Heir of Slytherin."
Hagrid's voice echoed in her head again. It felt like a black curtain had fallen over Hogwarts once more.
And at the center of that curtain was always the silhouette she least wanted to see.
Knock knock.
"Come in—" She closed the book and looked up. "Albus, how many times tonight—"
"Professor."
Sean stood in the doorway. For once, he actually wanted to leave a room as fast as possible.
Outside the thick stone walls of the castle, the autumn leaves had turned gold almost without anyone noticing. Soon they'd all fall, and winter would be here.
In winter, people always end up standing a little closer together.
"Professor," Sean said quietly, "about the Chamber…"