Chapter 554: A Special Halloween
The vault was anything but dim. The air was thick with the shimmer of mountains
of jewelry and gold coins.
At the very center of the hoard sat a golden bookshelf, its drawers illuminated
by small, glowing pearls. Verne, the elderly Goblin, stepped up to the innermost
shelf and tapped his gnarled knuckles against the frame.
With a heavy metallic CLANG, the shelf transformed. Drawers slid out under their
own power as Verne's shrewd eyes scanned the labels. Most of them retracted
instantly, leaving only a single drawer marked [Security Level: Absolute -
No. 7].
Inside lay an ancient, soot-stained scroll tied with silver thread.
"This is it, Most Respected Friend," Verne said, offering a deep bow. "The
legendary Hermes... you may take it."
Sean stood his ground. He watched as Verne offered him a pair of dragon-hide
gloves, likely the only way to handle the item without triggering the Flagrante
or Gemino curses.
However, Sean didn't take the gloves.
He simply fixed his gaze on the scroll. A second later, as if gripped by an
invisible hand, the parchment rose into the air and drifted steadily toward
Sean's waiting palm.
"Few wizards can manage such a feat," Verne noted, his eyes wide with a mix of
surprise and delight. his posture grew even more humble. "That is a talent
usually reserved for my kind."
"The talent of Goblins..." Sean repeated softly, looking at the scroll.
"To find the source of that talent," Professor Quirrell added, quoting a passage
from Sean's own Wizarding Magical Annals, "one must look to the extension of the
magical bloodline. Just as the Phoenix has its rebirth, the Demiguise its
invisibility, and the Dragon its fire... Goblins and elves possess a bloodline
naturally suited for the forge, for wandless casting, and for the weaving of
Absolute Contracts. They possess a biological imperative toward the Law of the
Vow."
"A wizard of exceptional vision," Verne noted, eyeing Quirrell. A strange light
flickered in the Goblin's dark eyes. "You have studied us deeply. But tell me,
Wand-Bearer... have you wizards ever studied yourselves with such intensity?"
"Perhaps not in the past," Quirrell said, offering a respectful bow to Sean.
"But we do now."
Sean was busy examining the scroll. He could feel the pulse of ancient, raw
magic radiating from the parchment. It felt similar to a high-tier alchemical
artifact—something with a singular, unyielding purpose.
[The Bound Party shall not speak the Master's name... shall not betray... shall
not inflict even a shadow of harm... The life and death of the servant are held
in the Master's hand. Even the thought of resisting death is but a delusion.]
The words echoed in Sean's mind. This was exactly what he needed for Peter.
"And this book...?" Verne asked, pointing to the manuscript in Sean's bag.
"The Wizarding Magical Annals. It covers the history of magic from the dawn of
time to the present," Quirrell explained.
"And you are selling such secrets in the street?!" The Goblin looked genuinely
horrified.
"Perhaps these secrets were always there for those who cared to look. The
difference," Quirrell said, stalling the Goblin while Sean finished his
inspection, "is that in wizarding history, greatness and mediocrity coexist. A
powerful wizard is a force of nature, while a weak one can barely cast a Spark
Charm. You Goblins chose to align yourselves with a destined Legend. I suggest
you fulfill your duties perfectly if you wish to see a return on your
investment. My Master will be evaluating your contribution."
Quirrell stepped forward, shielding Sean from the Goblin's gaze like a loyal
sentinel. Verne said nothing more, his humble expression remaining fixed until
Sean and Quirrell departed the bank.
With the contract in hand, the final piece of the puzzle was in place. On the
streets of Diagon Alley, Sean released Snowy.
"Go to the Leaky Cauldron, Room 10. Tell Padfoot and Moony: Tomorrow. Then tell
Mr. Will: Your mission is complete. You have done well."
The silver-white owl took to the sky. As she crested the rooftops, her form
shifted, briefly becoming a sleek, flying dragon that cut a graceful arc through
the clouds.
"Try to keep the fire-breathing to a minimum, Snowy," Sean muttered, activating
the Void Rune.
"I'll leave the return to you, Professor," Sean told Quirrell.
"As you wish, sir." Quirrell nodded, pointedly ignoring the dragon-owl circling
overhead.
The Leaky Cauldron, Room 10.
Will the Pukwudgie was currently the occupant of the room, playing host to his
"pet"—a large black dog. The local wizards thought the pair were a couple of
eccentrics, as the green-skinned creature often carried on full conversations
with the animal.
The room was cozy, featuring a roaring fire and polished oak furniture.
Suddenly, a white blur appeared at the window.
"The Master's messenger!" Will chirped, reaching out to take the letter from
Snowy's beak.
Before he could grab it, a black paw lashed out, trying to snatch the parchment.
Snowy let out a thunderous, unnatural HOOT.
"CLOSE YOUR EYES, YOU FOOLISH WIZARD!" Will shrieked.
Simultaneously, the floorboards groaned under a massive weight. A slick, scaled
body seemed to press against the Pukwudgie and the dog. They could feel the
cold, predatory aura of a giant predator. Sirius (in his dog form) stopped
breathing entirely. Will kept his eyes squeezed shut and hissed, "He's with us!
He's Sirius! An Animagus!"
The weight vanished. With a final hoot, Snowy settled onto a perch. Only then
did Will dare to open his eyes. He looked in horror at the cracked plaster of
the walls and the stone-cold, petrified mice in the corner.
"You are not permitted to seek death until the Master's task is done!" Will
yelled at the now-human Sirius.
"I... what was that?" Sirius gasped, his heart hammering.
"That was the Master's messenger. She has been granted the power of multiple
beasts," Will huffed, glaring at him. "If you weren't so ignorant, you'd
recognize a Basilisk's aura when you feel it. Remember this, wizard: you belong
to the Master's plan. I will be watching you."
Sirius remained silent, his hands trembling as he reached for the letter. Before
he could even break the seal, Will was already heading for the door with a skip
in his step.
"Oh, I didn't even do that much..." Will muttered to himself, looking
uncharacteristically bashful.
"Where are you going?" Sirius called out.
"My job is done, dunderhead! I'm going back to Mr. Green. Do you really think I
want to spend another minute in this dusty hole with you?"
Will vanished with a sharp crack.
Sirius turned back to the letter, his eyes scanning the elegant script.
[Respected Mr. Black, the tide has reached the shore. Please come to the
Shrieking Shack tomorrow...]
Sirius's breath turned heavy. He could hear his own heartbeat thudding in his
ears.
[On a side note, Professor Lupin will arrive shortly to assist your entry into
the castle. One last thing: prepare a set of decent clothes and rest well.
Tomorrow, we restore the truth to the world. —Sean Green]
Knock. Knock.
Sirius opened the door with shaking hands. Remus Lupin stood in the hallway,
looking frantic.
"You got the letter?" Lupin asked, rushing inside.
"You too?" Sirius grinned.
"Prepare yourself. We're going back. Back to Hogwarts," Lupin said, clapping a
hand on his friend's shoulder. "As an innocent man."
Sirius felt the air leave his lungs. He didn't dare let himself believe it yet.
"I'm glad for you, Moony."
"But before we go," Lupin's face darkened, his joy turning to a deep, brooding
worry. "There is one more thing."
"Always hesitating, Remus. You haven't changed a bit," Sirius noted.
"It's about Sean..." Lupin closed the door and lowered his voice to a whisper.
"What about Mr. Green?" Sirius asked, his defensive instincts flaring.
"Snape," Lupin said flatly.
"Did Snape find out about the plan?" Sirius hissed, his hand going to his belt.
"No," Lupin replied. "It's about who the boy is. They're calling him... Sean
Snape."
Sirius felt his heart drop into his stomach. "What?"
"I hate to say it, but it's the truth," Lupin whispered. "His background is more
complicated than we thought. He grew up in an orphanage... and Snape is... well,
he's acting as his father. Or close to it."
Sirius let out a raspy, horrified breath.
"We have to be sure, Padfoot. Dumbledore vouches for Snape, but do you trust
him? I try to follow the Headmaster, but if we're wrong... we can't afford the
price of failure. You know that better than anyone."
Lupin looked out the window. The sky was turning a velvet blue, the streetlamps
of London flickering to life in the distance.
"I know what kind of man he was," Sirius said, his voice dropping to a
terrifying register. "Dumbledore trusts him, but I don't. I don't care what
games he's playing—there cannot be a single shadow of doubt around Mr. Green.
What are you asking, Moony? You didn't tell me this for nothing."
"You were the Secret Keeper, Sirius. You knew the circles they ran in. What
caused Snape to change? Why did he defect to Dumbledore? I need to know the
truth of the Prophecy. You know more about it than any of us."
"Dumbledore told me... parts of it," Sirius said, his eyes lost in memory.
"Because I had to know the stakes." He gestured for silence, and Lupin quickly
cast a Muffling Charm. "A boy born at the end of July. He would be the Dark
Lord's equal. That is why he hunted them."
Sirius stopped. A realization struck him, and his words began to tumble out in a
rush. "What could make a man like Snape change? This! It has to be this! How did
I not see it? He knew... he must have known!"
Lupin's face turned grim. "Then we have a problem..."
"What?"
"How many people knew that prophecy? Who was the link between Dumbledore and
Voldemort? If the Dark Lord heard it, he would have killed the source. If
Dumbledore heard it, he would have buried it. And yet... we had a traitor. Maybe
it was Peter, but I don't think he was smart enough. Someone else knew."
The night outside felt heavier as the two men stared at each other in the gloom.
"We have to warn him," Sirius rasped. "Mr. Green needs to be away from the
risk."
"Nothing is decided yet," Lupin shook his head. "Dumbledore will know the truth.
We must go to the Headmaster's office the moment we arrive."
Hogwarts.
The Halloween feast was a sea of orange and black. The students were in high
spirits, watching the ghosts perform. Nearly Headless Nick had just finished a
spectacular re-enactment of his own botched execution to thunderous applause.
Sean sat at the High Table. To his left, Professor Snape was fastidiously
ignoring the festivities, though he occasionally spared a sidelong glance at his
Assistant. To his right, Professor McGonagall was beaming, watching Sean eat
with a look of pure contentment.
Sean was focused entirely on his steak-and-kidney pie, unaware that further down
the table, Professor Lupin was watching him with a look of profound, aching
sorrow.
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