Chapter 441: The Pukwudgie Steward
The halls of Hogwarts were shrouded in the deepest night, save for the occasional, nearly silent footsteps of those who walked them.
Near the Chamber of Secrets, Sean moved with a purpose. He had finally retrieved the artifact he needed, a task that felt as though it had been looming over him for months.
Inside the Room of Hope, the hearth-fire crackled, shedding a warm, honeyed glow over the stone walls. Scattered across the floor were remnants of the diary—charred, ink-soaked pages that still seemed to emanate a faint, lingering cold.
Sean stood before the fireplace, his mind drifting through the memories he had harvested. He thought of the diary, of Tom Riddle, and of the path he was now walking.
The door to the room creaked open, and Sean felt a sudden presence beside him.
"The Grey Lady... Helena Ravenclaw," Sean murmured, his voice steady.
She stood in the corner, her form flickering between the translucent grey of a ghost and something more solid, more vibrant.
"You managed to find them," she said, her voice soft. "My mother... she always did have a fondness for secrets, didn't she? She kept her own counsel until the very end, even with the Founders."
Sean watched her, realizing that for a ghost, "moving on" wasn't just a metaphor. It was a literal passage into the unknown.
The Following Morning.
The Great Hall was alive with the chaotic, infectious energy of the students. The news of Lockhart's arrest had been splashed across every paper in the country.
"So, the fraud is finally gone," Hermione said, setting her copy of The Daily Prophet aside.
She and Justin had spent the better part of the morning discussing the "Specialist" methods they had used to secure the confession. Hermione felt a strange mix of relief and lingering anxiety. She knew that once the school year ended, the real danger—the return of Voldemort—would be a looming shadow over their lives.
"Think of it, Hermione," Justin said, his voice lowering. "If Lockhart can be exposed this easily, perhaps the other 'great' wizards aren't as untouchable as we fear."
They turned to look at Sean, who was sitting at the Ravenclaw table, quietly sipping his pumpkin juice. He looked completely unbothered, his green eyes as calm as ever.
"Sean," Harry called out, rushing over to their table. "We're heading to Hagrid's for tea. Are you coming?"
Sean gave a small, affirmative nod.
Hagrid's Hut.
Hagrid was in high spirits, his laughter booming as he served them tea and rock cakes.
"I've got an extra-special surprise for yeh today," Hagrid beamed, his black beard dancing. "I've been keepin' a secret, but I reckon it's time I let it out."
He reached under his bed and pulled out a heavy, iron-bound chest. With a grunt of effort, he slid it onto the table.
"Professor Dumbledore helped me with this, but it was Sean who really made it happen," Hagrid said, glancing at Sean with deep gratitude.
He unlatched the chest. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, was a set of pristine, professional-grade magical tools for the care and management of the Forbidden Forest's more... dangerous inhabitants.
"I'm startin' my assistantship properly next term," Hagrid whispered, his eyes shining. "And I wanted yeh lot to be the first to know."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione cheered, slapping Hagrid on the back. Sean simply offered a small, sincere smile. He had known this was coming for weeks, but seeing the joy on Hagrid's face made the effort feel well worth it.
After the tea, Sean took his leave, citing "urgent alchemical research."
In truth, he had a rendezvous.
Deep in the Forbidden Forest.
The air was frigid, the trees groaning under the weight of the encroaching winter. Sean followed a faint, shimmering trail—not of footprints, but of residual magical energy.
He arrived at a secluded clearing where the snow was trampled and stained dark. In the center of the clearing stood a stone vault, its lid pulled slightly ajar.
Will the Pukwudgie was waiting for him, clutching a rusted, ornate object in his small, grey-skinned hands.
It was a locket.
The Slytherin Locket.
Sean approached slowly. He could feel the pulse of dark magic emanating from the object—a cold, rhythmic throbbing that felt like a dying heartbeat. This was the second Horcrux he had successfully secured.
"Master Green," Will said, bowing low. "It was... difficult to retrieve. The guardians within the cave were quite determined to keep it."
"You did well, Will," Sean replied, taking the locket from the steward.
He didn't open it. He knew exactly what it contained: a fragment of a soul that had long since abandoned its humanity. He placed the locket into a specially prepared, lead-lined box inside his Wizard's Tome.
"Hogwarts is safe for now," Sean whispered to the trees.
The Ravenclaw Tower.
Late that night, Sean sat alone in his room. The Tome sat open on his desk, the portal to the cottage glowing with a soft, inviting light.
He reached for the final item he had retrieved that day—not a Horcrux, but a memory. It was the one he had managed to coax from the depths of the memories within the cottage.
He poured the silver thread into the Pensieve.
The scene shifted. He was standing in a dusty, dimly lit study. A young wizard was sitting at a desk, his eyes alight with a hunger for power. It was Tom Riddle. He was meticulously inscribing a series of intricate, forbidden runes onto a metal surface.
So that's how he made it, Sean realized. It wasn't just a matter of dark intent; it was an alchemical refinement of the soul.
As the memory faded, Sean felt a surge of exhaustion. He had spent his entire break operating on a razor's edge, balancing the safety of his friends against the relentless progress of the Dark Lord.
He crawled into bed, his mind finally drifting off.
The last thing he remembered was the sensation of a cold, metallic object under his pillow—a memento of a battle won, and a reminder of the ones still to come.
[End of Chapter 441]
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