Chapter 325: The Imprint
Harry drifted into a fitful sleep.
Sean sat in the shadows of the hospital wing, waiting patiently for a specific visitor.
Soon, two large eyes, the size of tennis balls, appeared in the darkness. They peered down at Harry, and a large tear rolled down the length of the creature's long, pointed nose.
"Harry Potter has come back to school," the creature whispered miserably. "Dobby warned Harry Potter again and again. Ah, sir, why did you not listen to Dobby's warning? When Harry Potter missed the train, why did he not go home?"
Harry was jolted awake by the voice.
"Clear off!" he shouted, bolting upright. "Wait a moment... you mentioned the train? It was you? You sealed the barrier so we couldn't get through?"
Sean observed Dobby from a distance. The elf was wearing a tattered pillowcase and was currently hitting himself over the head with a water pitcher.
The elf had just finished explaining how house-elves could be freed from servitude and was now sobbing hysterically, pleading with Harry: "Go home, Harry Potter! Go home..."
The scene triggered a memory in Sean's mind.
"You're saying you tried to stop me from coming to school because the Chamber of Secrets was going to be opened?" Harry asked, letting out a sharp, frustrated laugh.
"Ah, sir, ask no more! Do not question poor Dobby... it is dangerous, so dangerous..." Dobby moaned, more tears soaking into his grimy pillowcase.
"Dobby, listen to me—you have to understand that if you keep trying to 'rescue' me, you're going to kill me," Harry said, exasperated. Then, his gaze sharpened. "How did you know Voldemort was trying to—"
Dobby let out the shrillest shriek yet.
"Dobby! The Basilisk has been dealt with!" Harry blurted out, desperate to change the subject before the elf woke the entire castle.
Dobby went quiet, cooling down like a kettle taken off the boil. "Harry Potter is mad. The great Harry Potter, so noble, so brave—and now he has lost his mind."
Harry felt as though he and the house-elf were speaking two entirely different languages. He shifted his weight, wincing as his arm throbbed, and reached into his bag on the bedside table. He pulled out a small velvet-lined box.
Inside was a Basilisk fang, given to him by the young wizard who had faced the serpent alone with a silver sword. Harry still remembered Sean's calm words: "It's alright, Harry. I have others."
In that moment, Harry had felt the same disconnect Dobby was currently experiencing.
The hospital wing was dark, but Dobby began to "boil" with excitement again. It took a massive effort on Harry's part to convince the elf that Hogwarts was now protected by a wizard of "Improved Young Dumbledore" caliber.
Eventually, Dobby was convinced. He promised to stop his lethal interventions and vanished with a soft crack.
Now, the only thing that might cause an uproar wasn't the elf, but the slumbering "King of Serpents" currently buried in the Forbidden Forest.
Sean, his mind occupied by the problem of the Basilisk and the legacy of great wizards' bloodlines, walked toward the Headmaster's office. He had only been studying magic for a short time, but he knew the field was vast, and many before him had walked this path to the very end.
"Professor Dumbledore," Sean said, knocking on the heavy oak door.
The door swung open automatically. The portraits of the former Headmasters didn't even blink; they spared Sean a brief glance before returning to their snoring.
It wasn't quite curfew yet, but the silver instruments in the room gleamed with a cold metallic luster under the light of the crescent moon. The rhythmic patter of rain against the turrets did not wake Fawkes, who remained asleep on his golden perch.
Sean walked toward the Sorting Hat. The Sword of Gryffindor, which should have been on display in the office, had apparently been "eaten" back into the hat by Mr. Hat himself.
"Ah, ah... come closer..."
Sean heard the faint, raspy voice.
"Try again..." the Hat whispered.
Sean felt a flash of confusion. He reached out and touched the brim of the crumpled hat. To his shock, his fingers closed around a hilt that slid out as smooth as silk.
"A wizard's conviction is a thing that leaves an imprint," the Hat said, its fabric body twisting. "You have shown a courage that is truly breathtaking. Such things do not simply vanish..."
Sean gripped the Sword of Gryffindor, falling into deep thought. He couldn't help but recall Dumbledore's words to Harry:
"To have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is an imprint... not a scar, not a visible mark... but a lingering shield."
Outside the office door, two figures stood in the shadows.
"How very curious. The Sword of Gryffindor, held in the hand of a Ravenclaw," Dumbledore said with a soft, knowing smile.
Professor McGonagall remained silent. She watched the dark-haired boy, whose silhouette was outlined by a faint shimmer of magic as he held the silver blade. The words she wanted to say seemed to catch in her throat. She ended up simply staring at the wriggling Sorting Hat.
"You see, Minerva, that is the way of things. When it comes to those who are truly important, people tend to be very, very careful..." Dumbledore added.
"So, Albus... the Chamber really..." McGonagall's lips thinned into a line of grim severity.
"That is not for me to explain. Let us speak instead of the tales of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw..." Dumbledore winked.
He had a deep, amused glint in his eye. Very few students realized that the Transfiguration office was actually far more difficult to enter than the Headmaster's office.
Inside, the tea kettle began to whistle. Outside, the rain turned into a torrential downpour. In the spacious, elegant room, a sense of peace prevailed. Sean slowly set the sword down, allowing it to rest on the desk as it had before.
The rain had been falling since the start of the Quidditch match; the white noise was strangely relaxing. Sean watched as a flash of light flickered across the surface of the Void Rune before he turned and walked out of the office.
As he passed the Transfiguration department, Sean came to a halt.
A warm glow spilled from the crack beneath Professor McGonagall's door. Sean knew she often worked late into the night.
Inside the office, Minerva McGonagall was poring over an ancient, leather-bound volume. Under the firelight, words like Chamber, Monster, and Heir of Slytherin were visible on the yellowed parchment. Hagrid's frantic words echoed in her mind. It felt as though a heavy black curtain were once again descending over Hogwarts.
And at the center of that curtain was the one shadow she never wanted to see again.
Just then, there was a soft knock at the door.
"Come in..." she said, closing the book and looking up. "Albus... how many times must you—"
She stopped. Her voice was calm, but carried a hint of weary irritation.
"Professor," Sean said, standing in the doorway. He felt a rare urge to be elsewhere, yet he stayed.
Outside the thick stone walls of the castle, the autumn leaves were turning yellow. Once they fell, winter would be upon them. And in winter, the bonds between people always drew tighter.
"Professor... about the Chamber..."
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