Chapter 420: Mediocrity
All things considered, it was a magnificent turn of events. To receive personal guidance from a legendary witch of old, especially regarding the profound mysteries of Ancient Magic, was a harvest Sean found incredibly fruitful.
"Hmph—awake at last?"
Snape's lips were curled into their usual sneer, but the mocking laugh failed to follow.
"Professor Snape. Professor McGonagall," Sean greeted them.
"Tell... us," McGonagall said, her tone severe yet strained. "What exactly happened? Why were you afflicted by a curse?"
Sean remained silent.
The theory of multiple Horcruxes, the existence of un-destroyed evil artifacts, the inevitability of Voldemort's return... he didn't believe his own capabilities were superior to the Professors', but there were simply things that could not be said—certain truths that were too dangerous for others to carry.
"Professors, you are upsetting my patient! He requires absolute rest!" Madam Pomfrey charged over, looking fit to burst with indignation.
As a dedicated healer, she afforded the same level of protection to her patients regardless of their house or status. Not even the Minister for Magic was permitted to cause an uproar in her ward.
"Very well, Poppy," McGonagall said, pausing. Once Madam Pomfrey had bustled off to check a tray of draughts, the Deputy Headmistress pressed her lips together and looked back at Sean. "Tell me... why did you fall into a coma?"
Her voice was no longer sharp; it was heavy with a weary concern.
"I had a dream," Sean said honestly.
"What sort of dream?" McGonagall asked.
"A dream of Ravenclaw," Sean replied.
Snape, who had been brooding in the shadows, let out a short, sharp snort of derisive laughter. The boy can't even weave a convincing lie, he thought.
"Continue," McGonagall said, sparing Snape a warning glare.
"I found a book—a vessel of knowledge in the form of a scroll. It contained the accumulated wisdom of Rowena Ravenclaw. After encountering it, I experienced a series of visions, and a vast amount of memory was transferred to me," Sean explained slowly.
"And where is this scroll now?" Snape asked, his face dark.
"It vanished," Sean replied.
"What exactly has Dumbledore been whispering in your ear, boy, that you would conjure such a patently absurd lie?" Snape's gaze locked onto Sean, his black eyes unblinking and heavy with a physical, burning weight.
"You saw Madam Ravenclaw again?" McGonagall asked, her eyes wide with shock.
Snape's head snapped toward her.
"Severus, it is the truth," McGonagall said seriously.
Snape's expression froze.
"Yes, Professor. I have learned a great deal," Sean added.
And he had. He had learned facts, yes, but more importantly, he had grasped the fundamental essence of magic. For a long time, he had been plagued by a question: why was such power always associated with the divine in Muggle legends, yet in the Wizarding World, there were only tales of ancient sorcerers?
Wizards didn't worship gods; their only common exclamation was 'Merlin.' Why? Why, in thousands of years, had wizards never developed a religion or a faith in a higher power?
The answer was simple, yet staggering: they had no need for them.
In his memories, Ravenclaw had said: Wizards only believe in themselves.
She had said: A wizard IS a god.
Sean now understood that a wizard's magic was birthed from their own Conviction. A wizard who was fanatical in their belief was, for all intents and purposes, a deity. Why were ancient wizards more powerful than those of the modern age? Because in their time, magic was a requirement for survival. It had to be lethal, raw, and unyielding.
Cruelty was mediocre. Mediocrity was easy. Beyond the path of the Dark Arts, were there other convictions capable of reaching the source of magic?
Ravenclaw's motto said: Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure.
Sean thought: The pursuit of wisdom and knowledge.
Sean thought: Omniscience is Omnipotence.
The hospital wing was silent, save for the sound of melting snow sliding down the glass outside. Professor McGonagall didn't doubt him; she knew the history of the Owl portrait and its recent disappearance. Snape, however, remained sallow and grim, lost in his own brooding thoughts.
Sean raised a finger and gave a subtle, mental tug. A book on the nightstand rose into the air and drifted toward him.
[Alert: You have practiced the Levitation Charm at a Master standard. Proficiency +300]
The use of wandless magic was grueling, forcing Sean to rely on a much deeper understanding of the spell's core logic. Fortunately, those principles were now etched into his mind by the Legacy Scroll. It meant his mastery of Charms was about to hit a massive breakthrough. He had been stuck at the Adept level for far too long.
"Wandless casting?" Snape blinked, staring at Sean with a predatory focus.
After a few seconds of silence, Snape dropped several phials of potion onto the bed and turned to leave. The proof was right in front of him; he had no choice but to... tentatively accept the impossible.
"Professor Snape," Sean called out, stopping him.
Snape turned back, his expression slightly less dark. It seemed the boy intended to offer some form of tribute.
"A Magic Hand Mirror. A variant of the Two-Way Mirror, capable of supporting a synchronized network for face-to-face communication," Sean explained as the small mirror drifted toward the Potions Master.
"Hmph—a boring trinket," Snape muttered, snatching the mirror from the air. Despite his words, his mood seemed to have lifted.
Once he was gone, McGonagall spoke. "A remarkable achievement, Sean. Hogwarts is a place of infinite secrets. Clearly, you have found one of the great treasures of our history."
The lines around her eyes relaxed. She had her answers. "But tell me... when you saw Rowena... how is the Grey Lady faring?"
"They are staying together in a cottage," Sean recalled.
"Oh... well, that is... truly lovely." McGonagall sat down, listening with rapt attention as Sean described the reunion of mother and daughter.
In her hand, she clutched a mirror of her own.
March arrived, bringing clearer skies. But whenever the students stepped outside, the biting wind still nipped at their skin, turning fingers and noses a painful shade of red. The owls were frequently delayed, the gales pushing them off course as they battled their way to the school.
Justin had taken to using a sturdy brown owl to send messages to Sean—Madam Pomfrey was still strictly limiting visitors to the wing. The owl appeared during breakfast, half its feathers ruffled and windblown. The moment Justin took the letter, the bird bolted for the Owlery, clearly terrified of being sent back out into the cold.
"What does Sean say?" Hermione asked eagerly.
"The plan can begin. Tomorrow," Justin read, a grin spreading across his face.
"Sean's finally being discharged?!" Hermione gasped.
"Er... no," Justin's smile faltered.
"He's going to sneak out again!" Hermione cried.
"Actually, Sean cleared it with Madam Pomfrey. She's allowing him out for a few hours since he's been cooped up for over a week," Justin clarified, checking the parchment.
Hermione looked suspicious but ultimately accepted it. This meant the end was near for Gilderoy Lockhart. They were going to get him sacked, once and for all.
It's for the good of the whole school, they both thought.
If they let Lockhart keep "teaching" for another few years, by the time Voldemort returned, the only thing the students would know how to do was try to defeat him with a "Most-Charming-Smile."
[End of Chapter 420]
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