Chapter 623: The Tallest Among Us
The torrential white flames had scorched the clearing to a cinder, leaving
behind nothing but drifts of pale, ghostly ash.
Sean knelt beside Sirius Black, watching the man's hand tremble as it gripped a
Magic Hand Mirror. Sirius's voice was a weak, airy rasp.
"Don't look so grim, Mr. Green. I'm not quite ready for the shroud yet."
The surface of his mirror was glowing a violent, pulsing red—a signal that the
device's emergency fail-safe was seconds from triggered.
"You should have used it earlier," Sean said, his eyes lowering.
"Ha! And let those two dogs slip away? Cough... cough..." Sirius broke into a
fit of hacking, a thin line of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
Gradually, the mirror's glow faded, the surface returning to its usual polished
calm.
Alchemy, as a specialized branch of magic, might lack the raw, immediate
destructive power of a combat spell, but its utility in every other field was
absolute. The Sixth-Generation Magic Hand Mirror Sean had prototyped included a
function that would make any Auror green with envy: Silent Warp.
Utilizing the unique spatial properties of Diricawl feathers, the new iteration
of the alchemical device granted a wizard the ability to vanish from any
situation instantly, even without a wand. It was their primary insurance policy
for this mission.
"Go see how Remus is faring, sir... I'm fine, truly..." Sirius managed a weak
grin before his head lolled onto his shoulder. He was drifting toward
unconsciousness, his unbandaged wounds still seeping dark red onto the grass.
Sean Apparated to Lupin's side. The werewolf immediately reached out with his
one functional hand and pulled the boy into a brief, tight embrace.
"Mr. Green... accidents are the only certainty in this life," Remus whispered.
He didn't mention that by the time the battle had turned, his left hand had been
too shattered to reach his own mirror. Sirius had known this; the reason the
fugitive had refused to retreat, charging headlong into a two-on-one melee, was
to buy Remus the seconds he needed to survive.
For a heartbeat, Remus had looked death in the face.
"I could have prevented this," Sean said, his voice dropping to a somber
whisper.
"Oh? And how could you have predicted a feral wolf and a madman? Mr. Green, we
cannot do everything. We gave it our all—isn't that enough?"
To Remus, the jagged teeth of a werewolf were far less painful than the hollow,
dark look in the boy's eyes. He's done enough, Remus thought. He's still just a
child.
Healers from St. Mungo's came charging into the clearing, their white robes
stark against the ash. Sean turned his head toward the perimeter, his gaze
meeting that of Rufus Scrimgeour for a split second. Then, his form twisted, and
he vanished from the site.
Walking down the pitch-black trail into the deeper woods, Sean struggled to
regain his composure.
A battlefield was a living, breathing variable. He had underestimated the sheer
lethality of the inner circle Death Eaters. He closed his eyes and saw it again:
Remus's mangled hand, and the empty, hollow look in the man's eyes as he hit the
ground.
In that moment, the concept of "Death" had become tangible.
Sean felt a heavy, suffocating pressure in his chest. They shouldn't have been
the ones to face it, he thought. When the sky falls, it's the tall ones who
should hold it up.
In the past, that "tall person" had been Albus Dumbledore. Now, the weight had
shifted to Sean.
Further down the path, he spotted a group of Goblins huddling over a bag of
gold, laughing and chatting, entirely indifferent to the carnage in the
campsite. They were likely counting their winnings from the match.
He walked further, entering a clearing bathed in a soft, silvery luminescence.
Through the trees, he saw three tall, ethereal Veela standing in the center of
the grass. A group of young wizards had surrounded them, shouting over one
another in a desperate bid for attention.
"I make a hundred bags of gold a year!" one of them bellowed. "I work for the
Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures! I'm a professional
dragon-slayer!"
"Liar! Pull the other one!" his friend jeered. "You're a dishwasher at the Leaky
Cauldron! Now me... I'm a vampire hunter! I've put down ninety-two of 'em
personally—"
A third wizard interjected—his acne-scarred face clearly visible even in the
Veela's faint silver glow. "I'm going to be the youngest Minister for Magic in
history!"
Sean recognized the boy with the spots: it was Stan Shunpike, the conductor of
the Knight Bus. He also spotted Ron Weasley nearby, who was currently shouting
at the top of his lungs:
"Did I tell you I've designed a broomstick that can fly all the way to Jupiter?"
Seeing Ron told Sean that the Professors weren't far. He turned his head, his
gaze accidentally locking with the eyes of a Veela.
"I will save everyone," Sean whispered to himself.
His pupils contracted into sharp slits, and his mind snapped back into focus,
shattering the allure of the Veela's charm in a heartbeat. He cast one last look
at the clearing before vanishing back into the timber.
More than the Dark Mark itself, what truly panicked Minerva McGonagall was the
realization that her ward had vanished.
"Severus! Have you seen him?"
Snape's expression was more thunderous than she had ever seen it. "Marcus! He
was right next to you!"
The old Auror was frantically scanning the crowd as people streamed out of the
stadium.
"Sean is with me," a calm voice said. Justin Finch-Fletchley stepped out from
behind a large oak tree, Sean trailing just behind him. "The crowd was too
thick. we got separated for a moment."
Snape shot Justin a cold, scrutinizing look but said nothing. Sean noticed
Justin's face was slightly flushed; the boy wasn't a natural liar, but his
devotion to Sean made him a capable one when necessary.
"Sean! Justin!"
Hermione burst from behind Minerva, her face set in a mask of stern fury that
perfectly mirrored the Professor's.
"You have no idea!" she shouted, her voice trembling. The moment she spoke, both
Justin and Sean felt themselves instinctively "shrink" an inch. "That is the
Dark Mark! Heavens... and you two just go running off into the dark!"
Tears were beginning to well in her eyes.
"The Aurors have found the primary suspects, we should go..." Mr. Weasley
interjected, looking profoundly relieved as he joined the group.
Snape and McGonagall shared a sharp nod and vanished in a blur of Apparition,
leaving Grandpa Marcus leaning against a tree, his face a map of self-reproach.
"What exactly is the Dark Mark?" Justin asked, trying to steer the conversation.
"It's You-Know-Who's sign!" Hermione replied, her voice shaky. "I read about it
in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. It's—"
"It hasn't been seen in thirteen years," Marcus said, finally finding his
breath. He spoke softly. "Naturally, people are terrified. Seeing that in the
sky... it's like seeing Voldemort himself standing over the camp."
"I don't follow," Justin said, frowning—though inwardly he exhaled, thankful
that Hermione's attention was shifting away from Sean's disappearance. "I
mean... it's just a shadow in the air, isn't it?"
"Justin... every time Voldemort or his followers committed a murder, they would
cast that mark over the house," Marcus explained. "The terror it brings...
you're too young to understand. Imagine coming home, finding that skull hovering
over your roof, and knowing exactly what you'll find when you step through the
front door."
Marcus went silent for a moment.
"It is every wizard's greatest fear. The absolute worst of the worst. Let's get
back to the farm. With Moody there, we'll be as safe as can be."