Overall, it could be considered a good thing.
Personal guidance from a legendary witch—especially on profound ancient magic—was a rare gift. Sean felt he'd gained a great deal.
"Heh—awake?" Snape had worn a sneer before, but this time it wouldn't quite form.
"Professor Snape. Professor McGonagall," Sean said.
"Tell us what happened," McGonagall demanded sharply. "Why were you cursed?"
Sean fell silent.
The theory of multiple Horcruxes, the surviving evil artifacts, the fact that Voldemort would ultimately return…
He didn't believe his ability exceeded the professors'. It was just that some things couldn't be said—couldn't be allowed for others to know.
"Professors! You're upsetting my patient! He still needs rest!" Madam Pomfrey stormed over.
She was a devoted healer, and she treated her patients with the same fierce protectiveness.
Even the Minister for Magic couldn't shout and argue in her hospital wing.
"I understand, Poppy," McGonagall said, checked herself—
And after Madam Pomfrey left, she pressed her lips together and asked Sean again, softer this time:
"Tell me… why did you pass out…?"
"I had a dream," Sean said honestly.
"What kind of dream?" McGonagall asked.
"Ravenclaw's dream," Sean continued.
Snape, who had been silent until now, let out a scoffing sound, fury tightly caged.
Couldn't even fabricate a decent lie…
"Go on," McGonagall snapped, shooting Snape a glare.
"I found a book—a scroll-form knowledge vessel. It held the wisdom Ravenclaw left behind…
"Then I had a dream about Ravenclaw, and… there were more memories in my head."
He spoke slowly and evenly.
"Where is the scroll?" Snape demanded, his face dark.
"It vanished," Sean replied.
"What did Dumbledore tell you that you'd rather invent such a spectacularly idiotic lie?" Snape's stare locked onto Sean without blinking, as if it had weight—heat.
"You dreamed of Lady Ravenclaw again?" McGonagall asked, startled.
Snape's eyes snapped to her at once.
"Severus—this is true," McGonagall said, utterly serious.
Snape froze.
"Yes, Professor. I learned some things," Sean said.
He had learned knowledge—but more importantly, he'd grasped something about the essence of magic.
For a long time, he'd carried a faint question:
Power like magic is so often tied to gods, yet in this wizarding world there were only legends of ancient wizards.
Witches and wizards didn't worship gods. Their favorite oath was only Merlin.
Why?
Over thousands of years, had they truly never developed a belief in deities?
Not even a handful of folk tales?
And yet—none of it existed. At all.
Ravenclaw had said in those memories: wizards believe only in themselves.
Ravenclaw had said: wizards are gods.
And now Sean believed: a wizard's faith in themself gives birth to magic, and a wizard who clings to that faith with obsession becomes something godlike.
Why were ancient wizards stronger than modern ones?
Because magic needed to be stronger then—and more ruthless.
Cruelty was so ordinary, and ordinary things were so easy.
Beyond cruelty… were there other beliefs that could reach the root of magic?
Ravenclaw said: Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure.
Sean thought: the pursuit of wisdom and knowledge.
Sean thought: omniscience… is omnipotence.
The hospital wing was very quiet. Melted snow ran in thin streams down the windowglass.
McGonagall didn't doubt him. She knew the story of the owl portrait—and she knew how it had "disappeared" recently.
Snape, meanwhile, remained grim, lost in his own thoughts.
Sean lifted a finger and flicked it lightly. A book dropped neatly into place in front of him.
[You practiced the Summoning Charm to a master's standard; proficiency +300]
Wandless magic increased the difficulty, forcing Sean to understand the principles more deeply.
Fortunately, those answers existed in Ravenclaw's memories.
And that meant Sean's Charms would soon make a major leap forward.
He'd been stuck at "competent" for a long time.
"Wandless magic?" Snape blurted, genuinely caught off guard—then he stared at Sean, hard.
Two seconds later he threw down a few potion bottles, turned, and strode out of the hospital wing.
With the answer sitting right in front of him, he had no choice but to… believe it for now.
"Professor Snape," Sean called, stopping him.
Snape turned back, and his mood seemed a fraction better—like he'd expected Sean to finally offer him something.
"The Magic Hand Mirror," Sean said. "A variant of the Two-Way Mirror. It supports face-to-face communication."
"Hmph. A pointless trinket," Snape said, taking the floating mirror anyway. Despite himself, his expression eased just a little.
After Snape left, McGonagall finally spoke.
"Very good, child. Hogwarts has countless secrets. Clearly you've touched part of them… and yes, I suppose there are still many magical treasures here to uncover."
The lines at the corners of her eyes softened. She'd gotten an answer she could accept.
"Still," she added, hesitating, "if you saw Ravenclaw… what of the Grey Lady?"
"They live in a small house," Sean recalled.
"Oh… oh, that is…" McGonagall sank down lightly, as though she knew far more of the Grey Lady's past than she ever admitted. She listened to Sean's account with quiet fascination.
A mirror now sat in her hand as well.
…
As March arrived, the weather brightened—but every time students stepped outside, the cutting wind still stung their hands and faces.
Owls struggled to deliver letters on time; the gales knocked them off course.
Justin kept sending a brown owl to Sean—Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let them crowd the hospital wing.
The owl arrived during breakfast, half its feathers blown every which way.
Justin yanked Sean's letter free, and the owl immediately took off again—clearly terrified of being sent out one more time.
"What did Sean say?" Hermione asked eagerly.
"'We can start the plan. Tomorrow,'" Justin read, eyes fixed on the letter.
"Sean's finally out of the hospital wing?!" Hermione gasped, hand over her mouth.
"…No," Justin said, his smile turning stiff.
"He's sneaking out again!" Hermione yelped.
"Actually," Justin continued, reading faithfully, "Sean reported it to Madam Pomfrey. She agreed to let him go out once, since he hasn't left the hospital wing in over a week."
Hermione was suspicious—but in the end, she accepted it.
Which meant it was time.
They were going to drive Lockhart out.
For the good of every student…
That's what they told themselves.
Because if Lockhart taught for a few more years, then when Voldemort returned, the only thing they'd be able to fight him with would be "Most Charming Smile."