Chapter 605: A Wizard's Third Dream
Recruiting Rufus Scrimgeour was merely a single gear turning in Sean's grand
machine.
He could already see the ripples of chaos spreading through the wizarding world.
He knew that a Dark Lord cornered by Dumbledore's relentless hunt would
eventually lash out. Voldemort's sanity was a fraying rope; the more he was
forced to flee, the more his cold, calculated logic would be replaced by raw,
homicidal fury.
That was the real reason Gellert Grindelwald was now walking the corridors of
Hogwarts. The school was a sanctuary, but the world outside was no longer
safe—if it ever truly had been.
"Sean, can I come over to yours?"
A bold voice snapped Sean away from his Magic Hand Mirror.
"Pardon?" Sean blinked, not quite catching the question.
"Hermione and I are planning to head to the Quidditch World Cup together,"
Justin said, cradling a mug of hot milk. A runaway Chocolate Frog was currently
perched on his shoulder, making him look very much like a proper wizard. "We
decided we should all meet up early. We'll head to my place first, then
Hermione's... but we wanted to see if you had an objection to us stopping by the
farm."
"I'd have to check with..."
Sean trailed off, thinking carefully. Grandpa Marcus was still in the middle of
his convalescence, and his uncles and aunts were busy rebuilding the estate
after the giant attack. He had to consider whether the old man's peace would be
shattered by a pair of hyper-intelligent teenagers.
The Hogwarts Express thundered on, slicing through the suburbs and past
sprawling Muggle towns. Soon, the landscape shifted into the rolling hills and
sheep-dotted pastures of the Highlands. The students sat by the window, watching
the scenery blur past like a living oil painting.
Sean pulled out his mirror and activated the link. "Grandpa Marcus..."
"Sean! My dear boy! How long has it been since you deigned to check on your poor
old grandfather? Those giants and their stinking boulders were warmer than the
glass of this mirror—because at least they actually made contact!"
Justin and Hermione leaned in to see the face in the glass. They saw a man who
looked like he was made of iron and oak. His beard was a wild thicket, but his
eyes were bright with a fierce vitality.
"Hello, children! And who might you be?" the old wizard asked, his face
appearing massive as he pressed close to his own mirror.
"Justin Finch-Fletchley, sir. A pleasure," Justin said, offering a polite bow
even while sitting down.
"Hermione Granger, sir—oh! You're the wizard from the papers! The Auror who
fought off the giants!" Hermione gasped, her eyes wide with admiration.
"A minor skirmish, girl. Though I daresay you lot could do the same if you've
been studying your Green's Notes properly. Fine books, those. We didn't have
anything half as clear when I was a trainee." Marcus let out a booming laugh.
Sean kept his face a mask of calm, but he felt a small prickle of embarrassment
at the praise.
"Of course, sir. You're quite right," Hermione said with a sweet, disarming
smile. She sat with perfect posture, the picture of a well-behaved student.
Marcus was clearly won over. "I've never met any of little Green's friends
before. If you're willing to put up with an injured old man, you're more than
welcome at the farm. You'll consider my feelings, won't you? It's very lonely
here with just the sheep..." He adopted a mock-pitiable expression.
"Of course!" Hermione and Justin replied in unison.
"Settled, then! Now, where is that boy of mine hiding?" Marcus asked, scanning
the background of the mirror.
"I'm right here, Grandpa," Sean said, his face appearing in the frame.
"You need friends, Sean. When I was your age, our little magical society was big
enough to staff an entire Auror department." Marcus's tone turned serious and
fatherly. "You never give us anything to worry about, and sometimes... I think
that's a bad thing. A boy should have a few scrapes."
Sean listened in silence as the connection faded and the mirror went dark.
He looked back at the expectant faces of Hermione and Justin. The compartment
went quiet for a long moment until Hermione began to hum a soft, melodic tune.
The train rattled on, the rhythmic clack-clack of the wheels underscoring her
song until they finally pulled into King's Cross. As the steam billowed from the
engine, the parents on the platform looked like shadowy silhouettes through the
haze.
"Justin!"
Sean saw a refined, elegant woman calling from the crowd.
"My mother always says that if you carry the promise of a reunion in your heart,
the parting doesn't hurt," Justin told them seriously. "See you soon."
"Hermione!"
Another voice called out. Sean saw Mr. and Mrs. Granger waving frantically.
"See you in a bit," Hermione said. She stepped out, then paused and turned back.
She gave Sean a sudden, fierce hug. "Don't work yourself to death, you dummy."
Before Sean could even process the gesture, she was gone. Harry, Ron, and the
others offered their own farewells, and soon the station began to empty.
Sean prepared to pull the Warp Gate from his bag to head straight to the farm,
but a sharp call stopped him.
"Sean!"
The voice drifted through the clearing smoke. Through the dark haze, Sean
spotted a witch in elegant, emerald-green robes. Minerva McGonagall was waving
her hand, looking like a lighthouse beckoning a ship home from a dark sea.
"Professor..."
Sean broke into a light run toward her.
Life at the McGonagall estate felt like a sweet, heavy dream.
The afternoon sun filtered through the cracks in the barn roof, falling across
Marcus's thinning white hair. Despite his splinted leg and the occasional limp,
he looked radiant. He spent his days managing the farm with a series of
effortless, non-verbal spells.
Sean watched as Marcus hummed a tune, directing his wand toward the distant
fields. Pumpkin vines turned themselves over to ensure even watering, and ripe
fruit hopped of its own accord into the baskets at Marcus's side.
"How is Grandpa's leg?" Sean asked during a check-in with Minerva.
"He needs to stay at St. Mungo's for another week, but he insisted on returning
to the soil," McGonagall said, rubbing her temples with a look of pained
disapproval. "But he's a McGonagall. He'll recover quickly, provided he doesn't
try to wrestle any more mountain trolls."
The mirror went silent, and Sean tucked it back into the Wizard's Tome.
He turned his thoughts back to the Lands Between. His success in bridging the
gap between life and death had violated the fundamental laws of the realm, but
it had also granted him a glimpse into the mechanics of Legendary Magic.
It was a feeling of absolute, unfettered freedom. In that space, it felt as
though the entire world was a direct reflection of the wizard's will.
Is that the key to the summit? Sean wondered. Absolute authority over the
environment?
He checked his chest. After three "shattering" events, the Void Rune seemed to
have adapted. The mists were condensing within the stone much faster than he had
anticipated. By next week, he would be able to cross the Veil again.
And that meant he could enter another dream.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the boy in the cottage vanished. A sleek
black cat sat on the windowsill, its whiskers trembling as it scented the air.
Like a deity emerging from the night, the cat sat in silent contemplation,
deciding what kind of beautiful dream it would weave for a lucky wizard tonight.
The farm fell into shadow. Charmed lanterns hovered in the air, the dust motes
dancing around them like trapped fireflies. The shadows between the outbuildings
grew thick and dark, but inside Sean's room, the fire was roaring and the kettle
was beginning to whistle.
Everything was ready.
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