Sean had never had any real sense of his original body's family.
Were they all non–magic folk, or wizards from the magical world?
He was a little curious as he stepped into the tower.
The Book of Admittance hadn't been touched by human hands in a thousand years, not since the Four Founders placed it there after the castle's completion.
Normally, other than the successive headmasters of Hogwarts and the professor responsible for delivering letters, no one ever laid eyes on the Book of Admittance or the Quill of Acceptance.
Now the small pouch at Sean's waist kept trembling; the bag Dumbledore had given him wriggled its way free.
Sure enough, it turned back into a niffler, just like a real one—scrambling out of the pocket and fishing a letter out of its belly to hand to Sean:
[I have always thought it rather unfortunate for a wizard not to know his own birthday; it means he has one less reason to celebrate this world.]
A few seconds later, the letter burned up in his hand. At the same time, it seemed to act as a kind of permission: the Book of Admittance, previously blurry to his eyes, came into sharp focus.
"Thank you," Sean said quietly, looking toward the north where the Headmaster's office lay.
Far away, across corridors, spiral staircases, and behind the bubbling kettle in the office, Dumbledore blinked, as if he'd felt something.
Sean knew the Headmaster couldn't actually hear his thanks, but he would remember this kindness.
He stepped forward and carefully opened the Book, mirroring the same care—and quiet anticipation—Professor McGonagall showed each year when she checked it.
He was not only hoping to see the date; his curiosity about these two legendary alchemical objects burned just as strongly.
They were among Hogwarts' finest works of alchemy.
The Book of Admittance felt soft and smooth under his fingers, its black dragon-hide cover peeling in places.
As he turned the pages, it was as if time flowed between them. Names from every witch and wizard who had ever entered Hogwarts over the centuries appeared and vanished under his fingertips.
Near the back, Sean finally spotted his own name: Sean Green, born July 27.
There was nothing else recorded—no hints of his original background—but the moment he saw that date, he felt as if some new thread connected him to the world.
Perhaps, just as Dumbledore had said, a birthday really did add one more reason to celebrate being alive.
While the two legendary artifacts still remained clear in his sight, Sean hurried to examine them.
He noted that the Quill of Acceptance's feather looked very much like the tail feather of a Fwooper from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them—and oddly, that the feather repelled water and that the ink bottle beside it was empty.
So how did it write?
Sean watched for a moment, half entranced, as a silver-tinged liquid slowly gathered at the quill's tip on its own.
"Sean—"
Hagrid's booming call came from the doorway; Sean gently closed the Book and quickly walked back to the entrance.
"So? How was it? Professor Dumbledore asked me to sneak you up here—"
Hagrid, unshaven as ever, looked pleased with himself. He started to clap Sean on the shoulder, then pulled his hand back at the last second.
That had taken real effort. He'd managed to restrain himself, and he preened a little, beard twitching proudly.
"Hagrid, I'm very grateful," Sean said.
"O–oh—no need, really—oh, come now—no need to thank me for something like that…"
Hagrid's voice got smaller and smaller.
He was a straightforward and just man: a huge frame, but always wounded by the smallest things.
Outside the tower, Sean noticed Hagrid finally seemed relieved. He'd stopped hiding in his hut, waiting for Dumbledore to expel him.
Sean easily arranged to meet him at the Forest that evening.
Hagrid insisted, over and over, that now their detention was gone, students were absolutely not allowed to sneak into the Forbidden Forest at night.
Of course, he conveniently ignored the rule that students weren't supposed to go into the Forest at all.
…
Gloomy March had become storm-tossed April, most nights filled with wind and rain. A sunny day was rare, and so the edge of the Forbidden Forest was crowded with students.
Only close to dusk did they reluctantly head back to the castle.
Sean walked the half-dried grass in the opposite direction to the returning students.
Moving against the flow, he saw several stars already starting to glitter unusually bright.
Stars. Astronomy. It was linked to Divination. To put it simply: the movement of the heavens let those who understood it glimpse the future.
This wasn't like Professor Trelawney's half–real, half–fake prophecies, but a genuine magical discipline with rules and patterns.
Sean had always found Trelawney's predictions a little terrifying—she'd make a hundred prophecies, ninety-nine of them nonsense, and yet one would somehow be real.
And she herself never knew which one.
Could anything be more unnerving?
Sean didn't want to know his own fate, but Divination itself fascinated him.
Centaurs were truly adept at prophetic magic. He didn't know if he'd find them in the Forest today, or whether Firenze was in any kind of mood to teach as a future Divination professor.
But he wanted to try.
His love for magic, at its core, was still simple and genuine.
As the trees of the Forbidden Forest drew nearer, the little "Hagrid" mark on his Plan Map got closer too.
In the upper left corner of the map was a small booklet listing his performance at the traps beneath the trapdoor last time:
Herbology had helped him get through the Devil's Snare; Transfiguration had turned wood into a flute to lull Fluffy to sleep; Charms had helped him through the key room; Dark Arts spells had blown apart the chess pieces; alchemically enhanced brooms and paper airplanes had bought precious time…
Looked at that way, knowledge really was power.
Sean glanced at the star-scattered night sky.
What else did magic have waiting for him?
…
"Curfew is in two hours. I can only introduce you; whether he agrees to anything is another matter."
Hagrid looked up at the still-generous daylight.
Sean followed him into a clearing in the forest. The ground was carpeted in soft moss, and the trees rose straight up out of it;
their branches were heavy with leaves, and shafts of pale, mottled moonlight spilled across the open space.
Hagrid sat with his back against a trunk, arms folded tight across his chest. He had no interest in irritating, incomprehensible astronomical jargon, but he did know one thing: centaurs were not exactly friendly magical creatures. He'd better keep a close eye on Sean.
A tall centaur stood in the middle of the open ground; his eyes were an unnaturally vivid blue.
"Sean Green," he said.
There was a rustling noise in the trees behind him—like a whole herd pounding the ground. Before long, a large group of centaurs stepped out to face Sean and Hagrid.
"Firenze, you'd better remember this: this is our people's knowledge!"
roared a slightly older, though not much older, centaur.
~~~
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