Dumbledore's kindly gaze grew more solemn.
He'd expected an answer like that, but it still stirred something in him.
He often asked himself: with a child this gifted, what kind of education did they deserve?
But the moment he asked that question, he'd already been blinded by his own arrogance.
Old people are foolish and forgetful when they underestimate the young.
He looked at the blood-streaked sword in the boy's hand, the tired eyes, the tattered robes.
"Oh? Staying for tea, then?"
Dumbledore smiled faintly.
"No, Headmaster."
Sean slipped away without hesitation.
He'd thought the Headmaster would interrogate him with a hundred questions…
"Child," Dumbledore's voice drifted out from the office as Sean left, rich with meaning, "when you wrestle with monsters, take care that you do not become one."
…
The corridor was quiet, bathed in moonlight.
Hogwarts had sunk into sleep.
No one knew how long had passed when the eastern sky turned a pale grey, thin mist hanging over the Scottish hills like gauze.
Dumbledore sat before the window; the little kettle behind him steamed and boiled, again and again.
"Albus, you really ought to rest."
A portrait of a witch with long curling silver hair spoke gently.
"Headmistress Derwent… we should be more forgiving, shouldn't we?"
Dumbledore answered in a low, thoughtful voice.
In the end, he hadn't asked anything at all—because trust of that kind was already the greatest kind of leniency.
"That child drew the Sword of Gryffindor, Albus. You and I both know what that means.
It always answers and appears in time to help its chosen heir."
The witch in the frame said softly, eyes full of admiration.
"More important than that, Headmaster," she went on, "he is a remarkable child. He doesn't raise that sword for himself."
As Dumbledore finally closed his eyes, Hogwarts' mellow bells rang out: time for breakfast.
The Hall filled once more with owls swooping in to deliver post.
When Sean sat down, three small wizards with dark circles under their eyes were already there.
Justin shot them a surprised glance.
For the rest of the morning, the trio were completely out of sorts.
They believed they'd seen the truth of things.
Dumbledore, as always, was planning something; Hogwarts was once again in danger.
This time the danger was a terrible basilisk, whose gaze could kill on contact.
In a fight, they knew they were no help at all.
So they spent the whole night trying to find the basilisk's weak points, and so far had come up empty-handed.
Ask Sean?
If he knew the answer, he wouldn't have come back looking that battered.
They kept sneaking looks at him. The boy was calmly reading a small reference book on rare creatures.
Looked, to them, just as concerned with finding the basilisk's weakness.
That made them feel even more pressed for time.
As for Sean?
He was only working out the ritual for basilisk cookies.
With the basilisk handled, he could finally move on to the diary.
Tom's dark magic was formidable, yes—but Sean had Harry, who was a perfect counter to him.
Sean's plan was simple: tell Harry about the diary in a dream.
After that… all he needed to do was listen to Tom Riddle scream.
Thinking that, Sean glanced toward the Gryffindor table.
Ginny's cheeks were flushed, looking more or less normal. It seemed Tom hadn't recovered his strength yet.
The next two days were completely peaceful.
Sean went down to the Chamber every day to raise the basilisk's affinity; Tom, who was supposed to be controlling the creature, hadn't made a move at all lately.
The only ones truly frantic were Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
"Any progress today? My muscles are seizing up," Ron groaned, slumping over the table in the Great Hall.
"Filch made me polish the Quidditch Cup fourteen times before he was satisfied.
Then I dropped this 'Special Award for Services to the School' plaque on the floor… he made me polish that twenty times."
Harry and Hermione both shook their heads, faces clouded with worry.
They had even considered going with Sean to face the basilisk themselves—better that than sitting here on edge.
Sean had been slipping away from the Common Room early most nights; the three of them could only watch him leave, anxious and hopeful in equal measure.
So October came. Damp chill seeped over the grounds and into the castle.
Colds and flus swept through students and staff alike, leaving Madam Pomfrey busier than ever.
Her Pepperup Potion worked wonders, but it left steam pouring out of the ears for hours afterward.
Ginny Weasley had looked especially under the weather; Percy had forced her to drink some Pepperup. The result was clouds of steam billowing from under her bright red hair, making it seem like her whole head was on fire.
Outside, bullets of rain hammered the windows for days on end. The lake rose, flowerbeds were all mud, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to greenhouse size.
And just as Ginny's state turned a bit dazed, Sean finally pushed the basilisk's affinity up to [Close].
Now all he lacked were a few last pieces of ritual work.
Books on dark artifacts, however, were sealed away—an ordinary student had no chance of getting at them. Most lay behind ropes in the Restricted Section.
Unfortunately—Sean had a permission slip. Several, in fact.
"Signatures don't matter," Justin had summed up. "If something sits still long enough, Lockhart will sign it."
Just then, the glow on the surface of the soul-stone flickered and vanished.
Sean felt a prickle of surprise.
Tom, Ginny, Harry…
It looked like they'd all be converging in the Chamber soon.
As for the missing basilisk, Sean intended to knock it out and relocate it to the Forbidden Forest.
Which meant Harry would be facing a defenceless Tom Riddle…
At that thought, Sean's lips quirked faintly.
Not far off sat the ever-scheming Roger and Toya.
"Do you think it'll work, Roger?"
Toya could fully feel his captain's agony.
Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff had all pegged Ravenclaw as their deadliest rival, training like maniacs while trying to prepare for their "secret weapon."
They'd rehearsed a hundred ways to neutralise a Seeker named Green, while Toya himself had no idea the secret weapon was so secret even their own team didn't know they had one.
"It will," Roger said.
He'd found a lead: portraits—yes, the portrait of Sir Cadogan, specifically, would guide them to reclaim Ravenclaw's pride.
Outside, the rain still poured in sheets. The sky slowly turned as black as ink.
Tendrils of mist rose around Ravenclaw Tower.
It looked like the perfect night for dreaming.
~~~
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