Chapter 417: The Legacy Scroll
Taking a portrait with you as a package deal was certainly a unique proposition.
But how exactly was one supposed to "carry" a painting away?
Sean stood in the third-floor corridor, looking at the Owl Gentleman with a look of genuine confusion. He wondered if he was expected to physically pry the heavy frame off the stone wall, but instinct told him that wouldn't be very... magical.
"Clever little wizard, you have made the right choice," the Owl declared. He began tapping his claws against the interior of the frame, the wood emitting a series of hollow thuds.
A soft breeze carrying the scent of damp earth drifted through the hall, where the warm glow of torches cast long shadows against the stone.
With a sudden, rhythmic strain, one of the Owl's claws actually poked through the surface of the canvas, emerging into the physical world.
Sean's eyes widened.
"What are you gawking at?!" Rav hooted, his voice sounding much clearer now that it wasn't muffled by the paint.
Sean quickly tapped his Wizard's Tome, the book expanding in his hands.
"Clever wizard... stupid wizard... help me! I'm stuck!"
Rav went silent for a few seconds before letting out a desperate, muffled plea for assistance. Sean realized the transition wasn't as effortless as the bird had implied. He closed his Tome, flicked his wand, and a soft, green vine erupted from the stone floor, gently coiling around the Owl's protruding claw.
With a final, frantic heave, a feathered head popped out of the frame, followed by a pair of wings and a tightly rolled cylinder of ancient, yellowed parchment.
In the corridor, festive garlands of holly and mistletoe were still draped between the suits of armor, and the vibrant flowers Lockhart had placed for Valentine's Day were still in full bloom. The Owl Gentleman—now free from his two-dimensional prison—unfurled his wings for the first time in centuries. He soared through the hall, circling the high turrets of Hogwarts again and again.
"I have fulfilled Ravenclaw's charge!" he bellowed.
"I am flying! I am actually flying!"
The commotion did not go unnoticed. High in his tower, an old wizard looked toward the arched window as the stained glass swung open of its own accord. Beside the hearth, a battered kettle bubbled; outside, a very specific owl was soaring through the winter sky.
The bird wore a pair of tiny gold pince-nez and clutched a roll of parchment in its talons.
"Ravenclaw's owl, inherited by a Ravenclaw... how very poetic," Dumbledore murmured with a soft smile. The worry caused by Professor McGonagall's recent administrative "ambush" seemed to melt away. He sat back down and returned to the mountain of paperwork that typically fell to the Deputy Headmistress, but which he had graciously offered to handle for the week.
On the third floor, a few stray snowflakes drifted through a high window, settling on Sean's brow. He looked up just as a bundle of white feathers landed firmly on his shoulder.
"This is freedom! I'm sticking with you, boy!" Rav cheered.
"You aren't a portrait?" Sean asked.
"I am a noble eagle!" Rav huffed, ruffling his feathers.
Sean was beginning to lose his grip on the logic of the situation. What exactly is he?
Alchemical? It didn't feel entirely right. Sean's alchemical intuition was rarely wrong, and every sense he possessed told him that the bird on his shoulder was a biological living thing. But the alchemical creations he had studied—from Wizard Chess pieces to standard portraits—were only "echoes" of life. They possessed personalities, but not souls or biological functions.
Yet here was Rav: preening his feathers, stretching his muscles, and breathing the cold air. He was a living owl. But no owl in history had lived for twelve centuries. If Voldemort ever discovered the secret to this kind of longevity...
"Could you always leave the frame?" Sean asked, fascinated.
"Of course! I am a free bird! The Great Rav!" the owl declared with immense pride.
"Then why...?" Sean trailed off.
"The painting preserved my time. I had to be cautious... very cautious..." Rav whispered into Sean's ear. "I'll tell you a secret: I was created specifically to safeguard Rowena Ravenclaw's legacy. I am a loyal bird."
Twelve centuries of loyalty. Sean found himself unable to find the words for such a commitment.
"Century after century, that wretched, patched-up hat failed to find a worthy successor... I was forced to wait. And wait. And wait. But now, my first mission is complete—and a new one begins!" Rav held his head high.
"What mission?"
"Following you." Rav fixed Sean with a wide-eyed stare.
"And then?"
"There is no 'and then'," Rav hooted irritably.
Sean fell silent. He realized that the Owl Gentleman was a mystery unto himself. He suspected this was an example of Biological Alchemy—one of the most dangerous and obscure branches of the craft. High-level dark creatures like Basilisks and Acromantulas were likely products of this field. Given that Rowena Ravenclaw had designed the very architecture of Hogwarts, creating a specialized, long-lived guardian owl was well within her capabilities.
The Room of Hope.
Sean was sitting inside the "Pumpkin Library"—the cozy reading room Justin had carved into the massive gourd. He had carefully installed a perch for Rav near the fire.
In Sean's hand was the ancient roll of parchment. The true legacy of Ravenclaw.
He cautiously unfurled the scroll. The yellowed surface was covered in shimmering silver threads, reminiscent of the vapors within a Pensieve. They shifted and pulsed with a dream-like, ethereal light.
Sean stared into the silver network. Within moments, the world around him began to blur.
Outside the Room.
The Room of Hope had lost its gatekeeper today.
"Where's the owl?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.
"First time I've seen the frame empty," Justin noted, looking at the blank canvas with interest.
"Maybe he's off visiting a lady-friend in the Owlery. But how are we supposed to get in?" Ron asked, letting out a long yawn.
It was late winter. Snow was falling steadily, and a layer of white frost was rapidly building on the corridor windows. The three students had clearly been waiting for some time; the tips of their hair were dusted with white.
"We're going to be late for class," Hermione said, closing her book in disbelief.
Second-year lessons began at nine o'clock. They had arrived at the Room of Hope at seven. For two hours, they hadn't seen so much as a single white feather. It was unprecedented.
Inside the room, the owl they were looking for was perched comfortably by the fire, curiously pecking at a roasted sweet potato Will had left under the grate. Occasionally, a puff of steam would escape the bird's beak.
Beside the perch, Sean slowly opened his eyes.
He felt as though he had just emerged from a vast, exhausting dream. He had experienced a lifetime of memories, and his mind felt heavy with a flood of blurred, unfamiliar knowledge.
"A one-time Magical Legacy Scroll. First time using one? How do you feel?" Rav asked, hopping onto Sean's shoulder.
Sean found he didn't have the energy to speak. His head was spinning. But one look at the spent parchment told him the principle: Rowena Ravenclaw had literally encoded her own cognitive memories into the scroll, allowing a successor to "download" a millennium of research in a single sitting.
[End of Chapter 417]
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