When Dumbledore winked, a sudden turning point arrived.
A brisk, capable figure hurried down the corridor. Her plump body barreled into the crowd and completely blocked Sean from view.
"My poor darling!" Madam Pomfrey cried out. She grabbed Sean's hand and examined him closely, checking whether the curse had gone wrong.
"Poppy, you're here," Dumbledore said with a smile.
"Right then—Professor, Headmaster, I must take my patient back. Now. Immediately—" Madam Pomfrey seized Sean and disappeared down the corridor.
Snape stayed behind long enough to shoot Dumbledore a vicious glare, then turned and stalked away.
"Albus, you'd better remember what you said."
"Hogwarts is supposed to be the safest place, Albus," Professor McGonagall added. She clearly didn't believe that a rule-abiding wizard would simply slip out alone—especially after the "precedent" they'd just had: Dumbledore and Sean leaving Hogwarts together and returning with Sean landing in the hospital wing.
"Ah…" Dumbledore said nothing, only smiled calmly.
The corridor fell quiet again.
At the other end, once Madam Pomfrey's "patient" remark sank in, Sean finally remembered that he was supposed to be in the hospital wing right now.
He'd completely forgotten.
According to his plan, he should have only gone to retrieve the scroll…
The thoughts in his head churned and collided, and his mind started to feel dizzy again.
"You need rest, child, whatever task Headmaster Dumbledore has set you… Really… he's always doing something risky," Madam Pomfrey muttered under her breath. Then she handed Sean a glass vial.
Sean stared at it. A faint, silvery-white vapor curled up from inside.
It was a Calming Draught—a potion used to soothe agitation and ease anxiety.
Madam Pomfrey sometimes used it to settle students' emotions. Injured Quidditch players were often given it as well, to keep them from getting worked up and interfering with her treatment.
And Sean's impression of this potion was: hard to brew.
To make it, you had to add each ingredient into the cauldron in a strict order and exact amounts.
You had to stir the mixture a prescribed number of times—no more, no less—first clockwise, then counterclockwise.
When the cauldron began to boil, the flame had to be lowered to a specific temperature—neither higher nor lower—and held there for a fixed period before you could add the final ingredient. If you got careless at that last step, the drinker could fall into a dead-heavy sleep—sometimes even an irreversible one…
With so many thoughts flooding in, Sean's vision blurred.
Ravenclaw's memories weren't something you could absorb easily.
"Sorry, Madam Pomfrey… I went out on my own," Sean said, right before he sank fully into that foggy haze.
"Oh—don't cover for him. I know more than you think. I was the nurse here decades ago…" Madam Pomfrey looked pained, because Sean couldn't even see properly now—he was talking to a flowerpot.
"Such a horrible curse… I've rarely seen anything like it. Get some sleep, child."
And so Sean's head grew heavier. He drank the potion and slipped into sleep.
For days after that, he stayed woozy, always sleeping for a long time.
The Calming Draught might have contributed—but the bigger reason was that Ravenclaw's memories were slowly merging with his own.
It wasn't a quick process.
During that time, Hogwarts went into an uproar.
Some said Mr. Green had received a hundred Valentine's cards and been knocked unconscious;
some said he turned down a young witch's affection and she'd hit him in embarrassment and anger;
and some said Mr. Green had fallen into a lucky dream and would gain some tremendous benefit!
You didn't need to think hard to know which club had started that rumor.
Then came a bright day: clear sunshine, winter snow melting away.
Obviously, it was a sunny March. Wind struck the shining haystacks, and the coming spring counted its flowers every night.
"Has Sean woken up?" Justin asked anxiously outside the hospital wing, surrounded by a small group.
Madam Pomfrey shooed them away three or four times a day, but her expression had softened a little.
"He's under a curse. I've never seen one this vile—but he will recover."
"A curse…" Hermione whispered the word—the most terrifying, dangerous territory even within Dark Magic.
Beside her, Harry's face was pale.
He couldn't shake the feeling this wasn't simple.
Think about it: they'd been through so many dangers, and none had been able to bring Sean down.
Now Sean was lying in the hospital wing, unconscious. Harry felt he could guess who was behind it.
"Is Headmaster Dumbledore still at Hogwarts?" Harry forced himself to sound calm.
"That's not within my authority," Madam Pomfrey snapped—and chased them out.
On the way back to the hut, the five of them didn't say a word.
Hermione and Justin were especially colorless.
They knew more than Harry's group, and they knew evil wasn't something you could erase completely.
Maybe Hogwarts was in danger again—only this time the danger had been strangled in the cradle.
It made their skin crawl, like a venomous snake was watching from the dark, ready to sink its fangs in.
"He's back?" Hermione asked Justin.
Justin nodded, staring toward the distant horizon.
They had to get Lockhart out as soon as possible. That fraud taught them nothing.
So when they ran into Dark Magic, they were helpless—blind—relying entirely on Sean's notes just to build a basic understanding.
As for how to deal with Dark Magic, they had no idea at all.
And the enemy they might face was the most powerful Dark Lord in the current wizarding world.
"Is the Veritaserum finished?" Justin asked.
"In a few days," Hermione replied. She knew exactly what he meant.
Then the two of them, worried to the core, looked back once more toward the hospital wing.
At that moment, two more wizards entered.
Snape stood silently in the shadows. In front of him sat a pile of sweets—Fizzing Whizzbees, Fudge Flies, chocolate balls, and more.
The pile was exactly the same as it had been three days ago—untouched.
Beyond the sweets, on the pristine white bed, Sean was still sorting through the memories in his mind.
After several days of half-dreaming and half-waking, those memories had finally settled into a suitable place. They no longer overlapped with Sean's own memories so completely that he felt like he was Ravenclaw.
But a new problem appeared—those memories were now buried deeper.
Sean could only access them when a specific kind of magic triggered them.
When that happened, it felt as if Lady Ravenclaw were always at his side, guiding him.
~~~
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