Chapter 615: Apparition Without a Trace
"You've monopolized his time at the school enough as it is. To think you won't
even grant me this small window of opportunity... Minerva, you've grown
remarkably narrow-minded."
Grandpa Marcus held the young wizard by the shoulder, shielding him behind his
back like a protective lion guarding a cub.
"Then narrow-minded I shall be," Minerva McGonagall snapped, her eyes flashing
behind her square spectacles.
Three minutes later, a disheveled Marcus was grumbling his way out of the room,
nursing a fresh set of bruises. He muttered under his breath about "the nature
of women," "irrationality," "having eaten too much for a duel," and "the cruelty
of bullying a man with a limp," before letting out a long, weary sigh.
It seems Professor Minerva is much more formidable than Grandpa Marcus, Zoe
thought, watching from her perch in the doorway.
Inside the Manor.
Minerva settled into a high-backed armchair with a graceful, unhurried ease. A
miniature, enchanted fireplace trotted across the floor to her side, the
crackling of its logs softening into a respectful hum as she approached.
"Fourth-year students are technically eligible for the Apparition test," she
began, her tone shifting into her professional "Hogwarts" register. "As you
know, one cannot normally Apparate or Disapparate within the castle grounds.
This is due to the ancient anti-apparition wards woven into the very stone of
the school."
Sean sat in the opposite armchair. To his side, the fireplace bobbed
rhythmically; before him stood the formidable yet gentle Professor McGonagall.
Several Kneazles were prowling around Sean's chair, occasionally leaping onto
his arm to sharpen their claws against the wood. When they grew tired, they
slumped onto the floorboards before the fire like living rugs of ginger and
sky-blue fur.
Minerva watched them but made no move to shoo them away. In the classroom, she
was a figure of strict authority. She knew that the focus of thirteen-year-old
wizards was a fragile thing, easily shattered by the slightest distraction.
Discipline was her primary tool. But here, in the quiet of the McGonagall
estate, she allowed herself to breathe. She was a woman of logic and iron rules,
yes—but even stone eventually feels the weight of the years.
"The most important thing to remember when attempting to Apparate are the Three
D's," she said, her eyes narrowing slightly as she nudged a Kneazle away with
her toe. "Tell me, Sean—what are they?"
"Destination, Determination, and Deliberation," Sean answered instantly.
Minerva gave a slow, satisfied nod. Having a student this disciplined and gifted
was a luxury. One didn't need to waste words on the basics.
"Now, clear a space of five feet in front of you," she commanded. She gave her
wand a casual flick, and a small decorative wooden ring from the table floated
into the center of the room. "Step one: Fix your mind upon your Destination. In
this case, the center of that wooden hoop. Focus your entire being upon that
single point of space."
Sean stared at the hoop. He traced the grain of the wood, noting the tiny knots
and imperfections. He realized magic always required this: a fixed anchor.
According to Grindelwald's theories, this was the act of finding a "Material
Anchor" for the soul's intent.
"Step two: Determination. You must occupy that space with your entire will. Let
the hunger to be there flood every atom of your body," Minerva continued.
Hunger.
Sean had heard that word from Grindelwald as well. In the Dark Lord's lexicon,
"Hunger" was the prerequisite for "Belief"—the primal spark that allowed a
wizard to override the laws of physics. In the book Magical Theory, magic was
defined as a miracle that followed a wizard's desire. Hunger provided the
emotional fuel to elevate the spirit's focus.
Sean cast aside all stray thoughts. He followed McGonagall's instructions,
generating a fierce, driving need to occupy the space within the hoop. He let
the sensation spread to his very marrow.
"Step three: On my command... turn on the spot, allowing yourself to enter the
Void. Your movements must be Deliberate! Now... on three. One—"
Sean didn't feel caught off guard. He actually preferred this rapid-fire
teaching style. When a wizard heard the theory and attempted the feat
immediately, there was no time for the "Head Obstacle"—the doubt that
Grindelwald warned against—to take root.
But Sean was already analyzing the ritual. The spin... the feeling of the
void... these are just the bridge rules, he thought.
"Two... THREE!"
As the word left Minerva's lips, Sean's silhouette twisted.
In a heartbeat, Minerva saw a flash of dark hair inside the hoop.
Simultaneously, Sean appeared on the roof of the cottage, plucking a stray leaf
from the shingles; then on the lawn, shaking a drop of dew from a blade of
grass; then as a black cat leaping over a haystack in the barn.
Finally, he materialized inside the wooden hoop, his face a mask of absolute
calm.
[You have practiced Apparition at a LEGENDARY standard. Proficiency +10,000]
"Exceptional," Minerva breathed. She looked at him with a mix of pride and a
faint, lingering confusion. "Cases of success on the first attempt are rare. You
possess a staggering affinity for this magic, Sean. Use it wisely."
"Oh, come off it, Minerva! When has little Green ever had a 'low' affinity for
anything?"
Grandpa Marcus's voice drifted through the gap in the door. He was peering
through the crack with a grin. He let out a short laugh and turned to leave,
only to trip over a stray vine near the exit.
Minerva's scowl softened. She gave her hand a gentle wave, beckoning Sean
forward. Sean hesitated for a second before stepping into her reach.
The world went dark for a moment. A pair of warm, protective arms wrapped around
him. Sean could smell the faint, comforting scent of sandalwood and old
parchment.
"Innovating on your very first attempt at Apparition... it is dangerous, Sean,"
she whispered into his ear. "The next time you use it today, you do it where I
can see you."
Sean gave a quiet nod against her shoulder.
Night at the Farm.
The evening was vast and silent. The fields stretched toward the horizon under a
sky saturated with stars. Hovering fire-lanterns drifted through the air like
fallen constellations.
Sean moved through the quiet dark. One second, he was at the edge of the lake;
the next, he was standing on the dirt path leading to the barn. Under
McGonagall's guidance, his Apparition was now stable.
But it was different from the Apparition of other wizards.
Sean had discarded the "spin." He no longer required the physical ritual to
enter the void. After months of Grindelwald's "Applied Combat" training, he had
learned that the world should cater to his will, not the other way around.
Rituals were crutches for those who couldn't bridge the gap between worlds on
their own.
As long as his destination was clear and his will was firm, he simply was there.
There was no "wind-up," no tell-tale pause.
Currently, his range was limited to a single mile, but he felt himself growing
closer to the level of the true Masters—the ones who stood at the peak of the
wizarding world.
"Brother Sean!"
A squeaky voice made Sean pause. A heartbeat later, he had Apparated to the side
of the little girl.
"It's very late, Zoe," Sean said. His eyelashes caught the faint glow of his
wand-light.
"I know," Zoe said, blushing and biting her lip. "But you're still awake,
too..."
Sean watched her. He could hear her muttering to herself: "Work harder... don't
let him down... Zoe, you have to be worthy of him." Her voice was tiny and
muffled, but with his awakened senses, he heard it as clearly as a shout.
"Are you struggling with a spell?" Sean asked.
"Do you have time to explain it?" Zoe looked up, her eyes wide with hope.
"I do."
Sean felt a sudden weight against his chest as the little girl threw her arms
around him in a "McGonagall-style" hug. It was a soft night; the leaves of the
trees seemed to soak up the light of his wand like pages soaking up ink.
Back in his room, Sean settled onto his bed. His Magic Hand Mirror began to
chime. It was a group link from Justin and Hermione.
Justin was in his own room, sitting at a Victorian oak desk. Maps were spread
out before him, pinned with海绿石 (sea-green stones) from Cornwall and pieces of
driftwood. A sprig of dried heather from the Highlands sat in an old inkwell,
its shadow looking like a sleeping deer against the wall.
"You've been busy collecting," Hermione noted. It was clearly her first time
seeing Justin's private space. Then she looked at Sean's desk, which was covered
in postcards and small souvenirs. "Sean! I thought you never left the house!"
"Justin sent them," Sean explained.
"Oh..." Hermione's expression stiffened. She turned a piercing look on Justin.
"Why didn't I get any?"
Justin's grin turned into a mask of panic. "Well... you were travelling, weren't
you? I assumed you were seeing it all for yourself."
"I was," Hermione huffed, gesturing to a collection of Roman ruins fragments and
photos of the Dorset coast. "But that's not the point."
"Right," Justin said quickly, trying to change the subject. From his camera
angle, Sean could see the massive map on Justin's wall. It was covered in pins
and red thread, all leading to a central knot. To the right hung a collection of
photos, dominated by the large group shot from the Great Hall.
In the photo, the dark-haired boy in the center was looking forward, while the
two students on either side of him were looking only at him.
"Anyway," Hermione said, turning back to Sean, "is the wizarding farm
interesting? Do they use magic for the irrigation? Do the animals have spells on
them?"
"They do," Sean said.
"I can't wait to see it!" Hermione began peppering him with questions, and Sean
patiently answered each one.
The call ended with Hermione looking thoroughly satisfied. The little wizards
were careful not to take up too much of Sean's time, sensing his exhaustion.
Just as Sean was about to close the mirror, Justin's face reappeared in the
glass.
"Wait... Hermione. Did you notice?"
"Notice what?" Hermione frowned.
"I just hope you aren't too shocked when you see Professor McGonagall tomorrow,"
Justin said, rubbing his forehead.
"What do you mean?"
"Hermione... you know Marcus. Did you forget his surname?"
"Marcus McGonagall? What about it?" As she spoke, Hermione's eyes went wide. The
gears in her head finally clicked into place. "You mean—!"
"The 'McGonagall Farm.' If the estate has a name, I suspect that's it," Justin
said.
"Merlin's beard! But how is that possible? Sean... he isn't a..."
Hermione's legendary eloquence failed her. Her mouth opened and closed, no sound
coming out.
"That's the mystery, isn't it? Why?" Justin mused. In his mind, he saw an image
of a giant bat (Snape) and the sharp face of Professor McGonagall merging into
one. The implication made him look profoundly startled.
"But... but..." Hermione was still stammering. "Is Sean his grandson? But why
isn't his name McGonagall? If he's not a grandson, maybe he's a nephew? But the
Auror Marcus doesn't have any daughters!"
The McGonagall estate had become a cloud of mystery that neither of them could
penetrate.
"Maybe we should just ask him," Justin suggested.
"No! Don't you think we should find the truth ourselves?" Hermione insisted.
"I... suppose?" Justin looked uncertain. The image of the "Bat-Professor" was
becoming more vivid in his mind.
"Good. Settled then," Hermione snapped, cutting the connection.
The night felt long. As the first light of dawn touched the horizon, two young
wizards woke up with very different sets of questions, both eager to board the
train that would take them closer to the farm—and the truth.