Chapter 419: Before the Move
Just as Dumbledore gave a final, mischievous twinkle of his eyes, a turning point appeared.
A brisk, capable figure marched down the corridor, her stout frame pushing through the group until she stood as a shield in front of Sean.
"Mercy me!" Madam Pomfrey gasped. She seized Sean's hand, her eyes scanning him with clinical intensity to see if the lingering curse had flared up.
"Ah, Poppy. You've arrived," Dumbledore said with a smile.
"I have indeed! Now, Professors, Headmaster—I must return my patient to his bed this instant!"
Madam Pomfrey didn't wait for a reply. She pulled Sean along, and the two vanished around the corner.
Left behind, Professor Snape shot a venomous glare at Dumbledore before turning on his heel. "You had best remember what you said, Albus."
"Hogwarts is supposed to be the safest place in Britain, Albus," Professor McGonagall added, her voice sharp with disapproval. She clearly didn't believe for a second that a boy as disciplined as Sean would simply "wander out" of his own accord—especially given the recent precedent of him returning from a trip with Dumbledore only to end up in the infirmary.
"Mmm..." Dumbledore offered no defense, maintaining his serene, practiced smile as he watched them go.
Silence reclaimed the corridor.
At the other end of the hall, the word "patient" acted like a bucket of cold water for Sean. He suddenly remembered that he was supposed to be in the hospital wing.
He had forgotten entirely.
According to his plan, he was only supposed to retrieve the Legacy Scroll and return... but the storm of memories in his mind had left him untethered. His head began to spin again.
"You need rest, child," Madam Pomfrey muttered, her voice a constant stream of concerned grumbling. "Regardless of what tasks the Headmaster sets for you... honestly, the man has no sense of caution whatsoever. Always with the dangerous errands."
She pressed a small glass phial into Sean's hand. He looked down at it. A thin, silver-white vapor was curling off the surface of the liquid.
It was the Draught of Peace—a potion used to soothe anxiety and settle a restless mind. Madam Pomfrey often used it for students before exams or for Quidditch players whose nerves were frayed by injury.
Sean's mind immediately supplied the brewing instructions: it was a notoriously difficult potion. The ingredients had to be added in a specific, rigid order; the mixture had to be stirred exactly the right number of times—first clockwise, then counter-clockwise. The flame had to be lowered to a precise temperature for a set duration before the final reagent was added. A single mistake could send the drinker into a heavy, sometimes irreversible, magical slumber.
The influx of data made Sean's vision blur.
"I'm sorry, Madam Pomfrey. It was my own doing. I left on my own," Sean managed to whisper before the lethargy took hold.
"Oh, don't you go making excuses for him! I've been the matron here for decades; I know more than you think." She looked at him with pity—Sean was currently addressing a potted plant instead of her. "Vile curse... I've rarely seen its like. Sleep now, child."
Sean downed the potion. The world went dark, and he fell into a deep, heavy sleep.
For several days, Sean remained in a state of semi-consciousness. He spent most of his time sleeping, partly due to the Draught of Peace, but mostly because Rowena Ravenclaw's memories were slowly integrating with his own.
It was not a rapid process.
During his absence, Hogwarts was a storm of rumors. Some said Mr. Green had received over a hundred Valentine's cards and had been knocked unconscious by the sheer weight of the delivery. Others claimed he had rejected a high-born witch who had subsequently hexed him into a coma.
And, of course, there was the theory put forth by the Kneazle Society: Mr. Green had fallen into a "Lucky Dream" and would return with unimaginable power.
March arrived. The winter snow finally began to melt, and the wind carried the first scent of damp earth. It was a bright, clear spring, as if nature were counting its blossoms every night.
"Is he awake yet?" Justin asked anxiously outside the hospital wing.
The group was gathered near the doors. Madam Pomfrey had tried to shoo them away three times already, but her expression softened when she saw their genuine worry.
"He is recovering from a curse," she said shortly. "I have never seen its equal for malice, but he will pull through."
"A curse..." Hermione whispered the word. Even in the Dark Arts, curses were the most unpredictable and dangerous branch.
Beside her, Harry was pale. He didn't believe it was that simple. They had faced so many dangers, yet none had been able to truly drop Sean. Now he was bedridden and unresponsive. Harry had a very strong suspicion about who was responsible.
"Is Professor Dumbledore still at the castle?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
"That is none of my concern," Madam Pomfrey snapped, finally herding them toward the stairs.
The walk back to the Room of Hope was silent. Hermione and Justin looked particularly grim. They knew more than the others; they knew that evil wasn't something that could be permanently erased.
Hogwarts had been threatened again, and once again, the danger had been neutralized in the shadows before it could touch the rest of the school. The thought made their skin crawl—as if a venomous serpent were lurking just out of sight, waiting for a chance to strike.
"He's back, isn't he?" Hermione asked Justin quietly.
Justin nodded, his eyes fixed on the horizon. They had to get rid of Lockhart. The fraud taught them nothing. Whenever they encountered real Dark Arts, they were left fumbling in the dark, relying solely on Sean's notes to make sense of the world. They were defenseless against a master. And the Dark Lord was the greatest master of all.
"Is the Veritaserum ready?" Justin asked.
"A few more days," Hermione replied.
They cast one last, worried look back at the hospital wing.
Inside the ward, two wizards had entered.
Snape stood silently in the shadows. On the nightstand before him sat a pile of sweets—Fizzing Whizbees, Fudge Flies, Chocolate Cauldrons. The pile was identical to the one he had brought three days ago; it hadn't been touched.
Behind the sweets, Sean lay on the white bed. He was no longer unconscious, but he was still organizing the labyrinth of his mind.
After days of dreaming, the memories of Rowena Ravenclaw had finally found their place. They were no longer overlapping with his own identity, making him feel as though he were the founder herself. Instead, they had been tucked into the deeper recesses of his mind.
They were dormant now, accessible only when triggered by specific magical resonance. When he reached for them, it felt as though Rowena were standing right beside him, guiding his hand.
[End of Chapter 419]
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