Chapter 340: Facing the Dark Lord
Lupin stared at the parchment, the names of Messrs. Moony, Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail shimmering under his gaze.
A fleeting, secretive expression crossed his face, quickly buried under a wave of profound emotion. He had experienced so much this day; sometimes he felt that the appearance of this young wizard was a stroke of impossible luck.
Green's Bookstore... perhaps being a manager here for the rest of my life wouldn't be so bad after all, he thought.
"A fascinating map. What does it do?" Lupin asked with a gentle smile.
Now it was Sean's turn to wear a strange expression. Although he understood the man's position, hearing that question from the mouth of Mr. Moony himself was... surreal.
"Mmm. It helps us find secret passages. It also shows the name and location of every person within Hogwarts..."
As Sean explained the mechanics, Lupin nodded along, a soft smile playing on his lips. Finally, Sean pocketed the parchment, and his figure began to shimmer and fade into the shadows.
Lupin looked out at the falling snow. A figure was approaching through the white flurries, growing clearer with every step.
"Mr. Lupin."
It was Justin.
"Mr. Finch-Fletchley," Lupin noted, slightly surprised.
The blond boy's robes were dusted with snow. He looked at Lupin with an intensity that seemed beyond his years.
"Sean is the cleverest of us. He trusts you... but then, he finds it easy to believe in people. I just hope you realize that trust is a choice, a form of courage, and... a non-renewable resource."
With that warning, Justin turned and vanished back into the winter gloom.
Justin didn't know much about werewolves—most of what he knew had been crammed into his head over the last few hours. But he knew enough to realize that for a creature so often cast into the shadows, falling into the darkness was a very easy thing to do.
Perhaps only Sean would believe, without question, that this man named Lupin was a silver moon rising in the blackest night.
The Three Broomsticks.
Sean waited quietly for Justin. The boy had said he was going to buy sweets, but he had headed in a direction that was definitely not toward Honeydukes.
Two mugs of Butterbeer, their white foam overflowing, sat on the stained wooden table. The Three Broomsticks was a favorite among students, largely because they were one of the few establishments willing to serve the mild alcoholic beverage to minors.
The pub was crowded, but Sean tucked himself into a far corner, keeping himself as inconspicuous as possible. He had a very good reason: Professor Flitwick was currently snoring loudly in a dark booth just a few yards away.
Sean finished his drink, feeling the warmth spread through his limbs, and began to map out the situation regarding Lupin.
Peter Pettigrew was still hiding at Ron's side. Sirius Black, having spent twelve years in solitary hell, was likely a gaunt shadow of a man... Sean's plan was becoming clearer by the minute.
But first, he thought, perhaps I can learn a few charms from Mr. Lupin—the Patronus, for instance.
After a while, the bell over the door chimed. Justin returned, his face flushed red from the cold. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sean gave a sharp shake of his head.
Justin scanned the pub and his eyes went wide. Is that... Professor Flitwick?
They were literally under the Professor's nose.
The two slipped out into the snow. Before leaving, Sean surreptitiously transfigured a nearby rag into a warm woolly blanket and draped it over the dozing Charms Master.
Once they were gone, the "drunken" Professor Flitwick opened one eye. A small smile quirked his lips.
Green's Bookstore... identifying the true founder is proving to be a most entertaining puzzle, he thought.
Hogwarts Castle seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep. Only one window in the high turrets still glowed with candlelight.
Minerva McGonagall stepped into her office, shedding her snow-dusted cloak. As she approached the hearth, the fluffy white flakes on her sleeves began to hiss and melt.
Ever since the incident with the Chamber, she had fully realized that a certain young wizard was not nearly as law-abiding as he appeared. When he decided to act, the rules he so carefully followed during the day simply ceased to exist. It was exasperating and impressive in equal measure.
Perhaps Marcus was right. The boy is like me... when I was young.
On her desk lay a stack of Animagus registration forms. She tucked them into a drawer, her brow furrowed with a mixture of concern and resignation. She had been sitting on those forms since the summer.
Late November.
The grounds were buried under heavy drifts of snow. The greenhouse windows were so thick with condensation that Sean couldn't see the outside world during Herbology.
The Ravenclaw timetable was light today: just Herbology and Transfiguration. Gryffindor, however, had a brutal day: double Potions followed by Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Harry and Ron looked half-dead by lunch. Emerging from the dungeons, they were pale and sallow, looking remarkably like the exhausted version of Lupin Sean had first encountered.
"Is it actually working, Harry?" Ron asked wearily as they reached the fourth floor.
"That's the problem, Ron. If this keeps up, we'll kick the bucket before Lockhart does," Harry replied. He had lost thirty points in a single day—a record for academic-related deductions. Nearly all the points they had earned in the Chamber had been drained away by Snape's wrath.
They hurried toward the center of the fourth-floor corridor and dropped to their knees before the statue of the black cat.
"Save me, Mr. Kneazle... Snape's gone mental with the point-deductions..." Harry muttered, looking utterly devout.
"Yeah. Five points for leaving a stirring rod in the cauldron. Five points for a cold beaker..." Ron added, his head still spinning from the lecture.
"Look at that! That's the secret to how Potter sees the Kneazle in his dreams!" Hannah Abbott whispered excitedly to a group of first-years nearby.
The sight of Harry and Ron praying with such fervor was quite a spectacle. Ginny watched Harry's profile for a moment before quietly joining the line.
When Sean passed by, carrying a crate of potion ingredients, he saw a ring of students worshiping the statue as if performing a pagan rite. He quickened his pace, his satisfaction at reaching the [Adept] level in Soul Transfiguration dampened by the absurdity.
The Hogwarts Kneazle Society was now the largest club in the school. Usually, club sizes were capped, but Dumbledore had been signing expansion permits as fast as they were submitted, clearly enjoying the chaos.
If this isn't proof of the Kneazle's influence, I don't know what is, the students whispered.
Sean simply marveled at Dumbledore's mischievous nature. He turned a corner, and his Project Map hovered into view.
The architectural layout of the castle vanished, replaced by a misty soul-map. The section labeled [Harry] was pulsing with a bright red exclamation mark.
Sean knew the plan was proceeding. Today was the day he would finally face the fragment of Voldemort's soul—the fragile, parasitic thing clinging to Harry's life.
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