Sean took something out from the deepest part of the Wizard's Book.
A locket.
He turned it over in his hands.
Compared with the one he had seen in the Pensieve, this one was smaller. It had none of the ornamental patterns, none of Slytherin's trademark lavish "S" emblem. Inside, there was nothing—except a folded piece of parchment stuffed tightly into the slot meant for a portrait.
Sean looked up. The corridor was empty now, with only him left.
Moonlight made everything cold and pale. Spring nights rarely brought rain like this, but tonight it was falling—droplets tapping the windowpane, tick-tick-tick, splashing into tiny white bursts.
He drew out the parchment, lit it with the glow of his wand, and unfolded it:
[To the Dark Lord:
I know that by the time you read this, I will be dead. But I want you to know this: it was I who discovered your secret. I have taken the real Horcrux, and I will destroy it as soon as I can.
I risk my life in the hope that when you finally meet your match,
you will be killed.
— R.A.B.]
Maybe he had been the first wizard to discover Voldemort's Horcruxes. Maybe he had also been the first who truly meant to destroy one.
Bathed in moonlight, Sean casually set the locket down on the Wizard's Book's tabletop, then carefully stored the note and the old coffin away.
Before long, Sirius Black would escape— and the magic hand mirror in Harry's possession would let Sean locate Sirius at once.
But before that, there was still a lot to do.
For example—dealing with a rat.
The sky grew darker. Outside the window was a single black mass, and the night seemed to stretch longer and longer.
Sean heard his own footsteps echoing through the corridor, and the soft hoo-hoo from the owls perched atop Hogwarts' towers.
He wasn't the first wizard to hear that sound, and he wouldn't be the last.
…
"Sean, are you there?"
In the quiet Ravenclaw Tower, a very faint voice sounded.
The voice had been processed by a special spell—only a wizard holding the other magic hand mirror could hear it.
"Harry?" Sean didn't sound surprised.
"Merlin—this is real. You made a phone. A magic phone—" Harry's voice came through in broken, forcibly hushed bursts.
"Yes, Harry. If anything happens, you can notify me right away," Sean answered patiently.
"Something special… I get it, Sean. But…" Harry lowered his voice even more. "The Justin and Professor McGonagall on the top—are they real?"
Sean lowered his head. Inside the hand mirror was a McGonagall who was much smaller than normal.
She wore her usual stern expression, but at cartoon size it looked oddly adorable.
"Not real," Sean said, a little flustered.
When he built the first prototype of the magic hand mirror, he'd idly designed Hermione's image—"mini-McGonagall"—and apparently forgotten to remove it.
Beside mini-McGonagall were a friendly badger, a chubby Neville, a Ron with two chicken legs stuffed in his mouth, and a tiny Harry.
But those wouldn't appear in Harry's mirror. They would only show up once Sean had delivered all the Easter gifts.
For now, the group only included Sean, Hermione, Justin, and Harry.
"I thought…" Harry sounded embarrassed. "So who is she?"
Harry asked again.
"Hermione," Sean admitted.
"H-Her—pfft… hah…" Suppressed laughter came from the other end of the mirror.
By the time Harry had laughed himself to tears, Sean had already hung up the "call."
"Oh!" Harry groaned in regret.
After waiting a bit, he eagerly dialed mini-McGonagall.
"Sean?" Hermione sounded pleasantly surprised.
"It's me—Harry," Harry said.
"Harry, don't interrupt me right now. I'm busy," Hermione snapped, and immediately hung up.
A moment later, Hermione called back.
"Harry—did you get yours too?" she asked, delighted.
"Of course. And I'm not busy… you can call me dozens of times…" Harry said.
"Harry—" Harry could practically hear Hermione stamping her foot.
That night, Harry's thoughts were completely captured by the magic hand mirror.
Their long-held dream had come true. For a long time now, their biggest problem had been not being able to find Sean—and now, they could pass information instantly.
Harry felt Hogwarts' safety rating jump up another notch. He slept especially soundly that night.
He didn't even notice the noises Ron's rat made.
…
At last, Easter arrived.
Trading eggs was what the students did most.
Sean prepared eggs for everyone in the cottage—most of them contained a magic hand mirror, along with an instruction booklet from Professor Terra's workshop.
A few were special: for Professor Snape, books like Ancient Herbology and Magical Liquids, found in Ravenclaw's office. Sean selected the useful parts from memory and, with Raven's permission, compiled them into booklets.
Then, with a Shrinking Charm, he packed them into an egg—so that when it was opened and touched, the full-sized books could fill an entire room.
Snape was a true potions master; the gap between him and Sean was about "ninety-nine Seans." Those books would be far more useful in the professor's hands than in his.
For Professor McGonagall's egg, Sean included his own transfiguration notes—spells like "Dragon Wingbeat" and "Vine-Stone Sentinel."
They were undeniably rooted in Sean's personal theory of magic. Raven had even remarked that perhaps only Sean could pull them off. Still, they offered new ways of thinking for the branch of Transfiguration.
And on Easter, as always, Snape was invited to the Headmaster's office.
Dumbledore, at times like these, always liked inviting people in for tea.
The headmaster's office was piled with gifts—so many they nearly reached the ceiling.
Dumbledore leisurely drank red tea and opened presents.
With a lift of his finger, the eggs cracked open on their own, revealing what was inside.
Snape tossed his own egg into the pile. Dumbledore pretended to be surprised and swapped an egg with him.
Snape's mouth twisted into a sneer. He took the egg coldly and left.
He didn't care about gifts. What he couldn't stand was seeing those disgusting, show-off grins.
Down in the dungeons…
Only a handful of eggs sat in the Potions office.
The door slammed open with a bang, and Snape swept in like a storm cloud.
He glanced at the desk out of habit. With a flick of his wand, one particular egg flew into his hand.
The tiny book inside barely brushed his fingertip—then, like a conjurer's trick, it exploded outward and flooded the entire office.
A book ended up jammed against Snape's face. Gritting his teeth, furious and helpless all at once, he snarled:
"Sean Green!"
~~~
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