Taking a portrait with you—packing it up and carrying it away—was a very strange idea.
But how could you even take a portrait away?
Sean didn't understand. He wanted Mr. Owl to explain more clearly.
"How am I supposed to take you with me?" Sean asked.
He studied the owl portrait. Do I just… pick it up and remove it? That didn't feel right.
That wasn't magical.
"Clever little wizard—you've made the correct choice."
Mr. Owl tapped all around the frame with his claws, thumping it so hard the frame rattled.
A light breeze carrying the damp scent of soil drifted past. The third-floor corridor was washed in a warm, amber glow.
With a grunt of effort, Mr. Owl shoved—and one claw poked out of the frame.
Sean's eyes widened slightly.
"What are you staring at?!" Mr. Owl squawked noisily.
Sean lowered his gaze as the Wizard's Book snapped open.
"Clever little wizard, stupid little wizard—help! I'm stuck—"
Mr. Owl fell silent for a few seconds, then pleaded.
Only then did Sean understand. He shut the book, tapped his wand, and a vine wrapped gently around the claw sticking out.
A moment later, a head appeared outside the frame—then a pair of wings—then an ancient roll of parchment.
Garlands of holly and mistletoe hung along the corridor, and the flowers Lockhart had arranged were still blooming richly.
Mr. Owl immediately spread his wings and took off. In the past, he could only flap helplessly inside the frame—today he circled Hogwarts' spires again and again.
"I completed Ravenclaw's task!" he shouted.
"I'm flying!" he hollered, as loud as ever.
Naturally, that drew the attention of a certain old wizard. He looked toward the window; the stained-glass panel opened on its own.
Below it, a battered kettle bubbled; beyond it, a very unusual owl soared.
He wore refined gold-rimmed glasses and clutched a yellowed parchment.
"Ravenclaw's owl, inherited by Ravenclaw… how interesting."
Dumbledore smiled, and even the irritation of the trouble Minerva McGonagall had given him seemed to fade.
He sat down and went back to processing "the paperwork the Deputy Headmistress can't possibly finish."
On the third-floor corridor, a few flakes of snow drifted in by the stained-glass and landed on Sean's brows.
He looked up. A "snowball" dropped neatly onto his shoulder.
"This is freedom! I'm following you from now on!" Mr. Owl cheered.
"Aren't you a portrait?" Sean asked.
"I'm a noble eagle." Mr. Owl huffed.
Now Sean was even more confused. What exactly was Mr. Owl?
Alchemy?
Not quite. Sean's alchemical instincts had never led him wrong.
Mr. Owl was truly alive.
The alchemical constructs Sean had dealt with—wizard chess sets, portraits—were "alive" in a way, but they were never truly living beings.
In other words, they had no life—only personality.
But look at Mr. Owl: grooming his feathers, stretching, moving as freely as any creature. Just as he claimed—he was a living eagle.
But what eagle could live for more than ten centuries?
If Voldemort found out…
"So you could always leave the portrait and move around?" Sean asked curiously.
"Of course! I'm a free eagle—Ravenclaw's noble Raven!" Mr. Owl said proudly.
"Then…"
Sean fell silent.
So Mr. Owl had chosen to live as a portrait.
"The portrait lets me stretch out my time. I have to be careful—very, very careful…" Mr. Owl whispered near Sean's ear.
"Let me tell you a secret… I was created to complete Lady Ravenclaw's task. I'm a loyal eagle."
That loyalty—spanning more than ten centuries—left Sean unable to speak for a long while.
"Century after century… that damned ragged Hat never found the right wizard… so all I could do was wait. Wait and wait…
Now my task is complete—and a new task begins—"
Mr. Owl lifted his head high.
"What task?" Sean asked.
"Following you." Mr. Owl's huge eyes fixed on him.
"And then?" Sean didn't understand.
How was that a task?
"No 'then.'" Mr. Owl grumbled.
Sean fell silent again—and then accepted it.
Mr. Owl had many secrets. He himself was the biggest secret of all.
Sean suspected this was something rarely mentioned in alchemy: living alchemy—the most dangerous and most obscure branch of the entire discipline.
Come to think of it, creatures like basilisks and acromantulas—those dark-magic-born beings—were likely part of living alchemy too.
A darker, more dangerous part.
And given Lady Ravenclaw's skill—enough to design Hogwarts itself—creating a special owl didn't seem impossible.
…
Hope Cottage.
The Pumpkin Bookhouse.
This was the space Justin had carved out. Sean sometimes came in here to sit.
Now he carefully settled Mr. Owl onto a perch.
In his hands was an ancient piece of parchment—
the true embodiment of Ravenclaw's wisdom.
He carefully unrolled it. Across the old paper ran silvery threads.
Like the strands in a Pensieve—dreamlike, floating, unsteady.
Sean stared intently at the silver lines. Before long, the world in front of him began to blur.
Outside—
Hope Cottage had lost its doorkeeper today.
"Where's Mr. Owl?" Hermione frowned.
"This is the first time I've seen Mr. Owl missing." Justin looked more curious than worried.
"Fine, let's say he went visiting—how do we get in, then?" Ron yawned.
At the tail end of winter, snow drifted down, and the windows quickly filmed over with frost.
As if they'd been waiting here forever, the three young wizards had snow caught in their hair.
"Class is about to start." Hermione closed her book, incredulous.
Second-years started at nine; they'd come to Hope Cottage at seven.
Two full hours—and they hadn't seen a single feather.
And the owl they'd been complaining about was currently on the perch, pecking curiously at the sweet potato roasting by the hearth.
Every so often, steam puffed from his beak.
Beside him, Sean slowly woke up.
He felt like he'd just had a dream—like he'd lived through countless memories, and his mind was now stuffed with hazy knowledge.
"One-time magical inheritance scroll. First use—how does it feel?"
Mr. Owl hopped onto his shoulder.
First use…
Sean couldn't even manage words. His head was spinning.
But with just one glance, he more or less understood how the scroll worked: Ravenclaw had sealed part of her own knowledge—her memories—inside the scroll.
~~~
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