Chapter 348: The Branches of Fate
The silver-robed, silver-haired Alchemy Professor offered a curt nod to her colleagues as she stepped through the door. "Professor McGonagall. Professor Snape."
The two, who had been in the middle of a heated disagreement, returned the nod in silence.
"Albus, you know as well as I do... just as we suspected, the boy..." Professor Terra began urgently the moment she crossed the threshold.
At her words, both Snape and McGonagall turned their full attention toward her. Snape's gaze was cold and calculating, while McGonagall's brow was knit in a deepening frown.
"I am taking him with me this Christmas. Eugenia Herrera is practically begging for the visit; Ilvermorny is waiting for us..." As Terra spoke, she noticed the atmosphere in the room shift from tense to outright precarious.
Dumbledore rose from the high-backed chair behind his desk. He walked to the window, his piercing blue eyes fixed on the horizon where a lone owl was battling the wind.
"Taking him away?" McGonagall asked, her voice sharp.
Professor Terra wore a look of mild surprise. She paused for a long moment before asking, "The boy hasn't told you?"
"Speak... plainly," Snape hissed, his low voice vibrating with a dangerous, suppressed fury.
"Albus... I must say..." Terra began, originally intending to address the Headmaster alone. However, noting the presence of the other two, she hesitated before deciding to proceed with a modicum of trust. "Little Green is the most singular wizard I have ever encountered. It is possible—no, likely—that he possesses more than one Soul Revenant."
Inside the office, Dumbledore's silver beard twitched. He reached out to take a snow-dusted letter from the owl that had just landed on the sill. He watched the scene with a cheerful, detached amusement. "Ah, youth... how wonderful it is to feel so strongly, to have the capacity for such love..."
As if to prove his point, Minerva McGonagall slammed her hand onto the desk. "Impossible, Olivia! That is unheard of!"
In the legends of the Celts, the Scandinavians, and the Germanic tribes, there were ancient ties between wizards and specific animals—the boar, the hind, the stag. These entities were said to "choose to become a guardian avatar, accompanying the soul." They symbolized a person's Destiny, manifesting in both human and bestial forms.
Destiny. Such a heavy, esoteric word.
Wizards often caught glimpses of their own fate through their Soul Revenants. In Norse and Scandinavian lore, stags and does were "guiding animals, creatures of sacrifice." Therefore, how could a single wizard possess multiple animal forms? To put it another way: how could one man break the tether of a preordained fate and force it to grow new, unexpected branches?
"It is a fact, Minerva," Professor Terra said with absolute certainty.
She had deduced the situation in the office by now. She knew that, ultimately, she would be allowed to take Sean with her. The people gathered in this room were those who cared for her apprentice the most, which meant they would inevitably... yield for his sake.
Minerva McGonagall slumped back into her chair, lost in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She found herself caught in a classic parental trap: wanting him to be extraordinary, yet desperately wishing he were just a normal, safe schoolboy.
"Hmph," Snape let out a cold snort, casting a dark look at Dumbledore.
Professor Terra and Professor McGonagall began to discuss the finer details of Soul Revenants and the logistics of the trip to Ilvermorny. Professor Snape remained standing to the side, silent and brooding—looking remarkably like a student forced to listen to a lecture he already knew by heart.
In recent years, Snape rarely displayed such focused attention to anything outside of the Dark Arts or Potions. It was a curious dynamic; the two women talking had once been his own professors.
In the heart of this snowy winter, the faculty positions at Hogwarts felt like a sacred inheritance, a legacy flowing through the blood of every wizard who truly loved the craft.
The kettle whistled. The silver instruments rattled and chimed.
Dumbledore's eyes crinkled with a smile as he looked toward the student body. Nothing made him happier than seeing the castle full of life. After a moment, he looked down and broke the seal on a letter that had traveled all the way from New York:
To Professor Albus Dumbledore,
Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Professor,
I have arrived at Ilvermorny safely. All is prepared.
—Yours faithfully, Newt Scamander.
Christmas Day.
The castle's decorations had been given a fresh layer of festive charm. Multi-colored wizarding lights twinkled in every corner, despite the fact that only a handful of students had stayed behind for the holidays.
Garlands of holly and mistletoe were draped across the corridors, and mysterious, glowing lights flickered within the visors of the suits of armor. In the Great Hall, the twelve traditional Christmas trees stood tall, their golden stars shimmering. A rich, mouth-watering scent of cooking permeated the halls—so potent that even a weary Snowy, perched on Sean's shoulder, perked up her head to sniff the air.
Term had ended, and a heavy, snowy silence had settled over the castle grounds. Sean sat in the Ravenclaw common room, reading a guide to Ilvermorny by the crackling fire. He didn't find the quiet dull; he found it restorative.
When he reached the Great Hall for breakfast, his usual seat was buried under a small mountain of parcels.
"Merry Christmas, Sean," Justin said. He always seemed to spot Sean the moment he entered a room.
"Merry Christmas, Justin."
Sean enjoyed the cozy atmosphere—the snow falling thick outside while they sat huddled near the warmth of the hearth. He had received a staggering number of gifts, the pile nearly overflowing onto Justin's place at the table. Snowy had clearly spent the last forty-eight hours flying non-stop to deliver them all.
Among the gifts, the most notable was a professional-grade Potions kit containing ingredients worth several thousand Galleons. Tucked into the corner of a crystal phial was a small, scrap of parchment: [DRINK]. It was as laconic as ever.
Next to it was a gleaming, polished Nimbus 2001. Harry watched with undisguised longing as Sean unwrapped it. It was the exact model Harry saw the Slytherins using during practice—the broom of his dreams. The mahogany handle shimmered under the candlelight.
"Blimey, Sean... who sent you that?" Ron asked, his voice a hushed whisper of awe.
"Good heavens... who would spend that much gold on a student?" Hermione gasped, before pausing. "Actually, I can think of a few people. I haven't the faintest idea which one it was."
"It's from a Professor," Sean replied. He pulled a small note from the packaging. It was shaped like a tiny paper cat. When it hopped into Sean's palm, it unfolded itself into a letter:
[When there is no time for rest, that is precisely when one must rest. Do something enjoyable. I want you to know, child: there is to be no magical study during the holidays.]
Sean remained silent for a long time, carefully tucking both letters into his pocket.
Outside, the snow continued to fall in a fine, white powder. According to the papers, the entirety of Scotland was currently buried in white.
[End of Chapter 348]
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