History of Magic was, as always, an exercise in profound, soul-crushing boredom.
Professor Binns, a ghost who seemed to have forgotten he was dead, droned on, oblivious to the fact that not a single student was listening. He was a lecturer in the purest sense, unconcerned with whether his audience was engaged, or even conscious.
Sean paid him no mind. He was engrossed in a book from the Sprucewood Club, a dense text filled with advanced Transfiguration theory that was proving invaluable in his quest to master the third stage of the art.
Of course, that wasn't his only source of knowledge. Every day, he would retreat to the privacy of the Room of Requirement to consult with the diary. He would ask it questions—about Transfiguration, about Potions, about the subtle nuances of spell-casting—and the soul fragment of Tom Riddle, eager to prove its worth, would answer. Sean, for his part, offered no feedback, no praise, no indication of whether the information was useful or not. He simply absorbed it, his expression unreadable.
The diary, for its part, was clever enough not to play tricks. It knew that magic was not a purely theoretical subject. Any sabotage, any misinformation, would inevitably be discovered in practice. And unless it was confident that such a trick would result in an accident fatal enough to kill Sean outright, it was just asking for trouble.
Sean, in turn, was meticulous. Every piece of knowledge, every spell, and every potion recipe gleaned from the diary was subjected to rigorous, cross-referential verification. When he encountered something he couldn't confirm on his own, he would discreetly ask one of his professors, getting a reliable answer before attempting any practical application. This had the unintended side effect of earning him a reputation among the staff for being exceptionally diligent, inquisitive, and thoughtful. They would often remark to each other that it was no wonder he had been published in The Golden Cauldron as a first-year; his approach to magic was simply on a different level from that of his peers.
"Professor," a clear, confident voice cut through the monotonous drone of the lecture. "Can you tell us about the Chamber of Secrets?"
Professor Binns looked up, a ghostly expression of surprise on his face. He blinked. "You are...?"
"Hermione Granger, Professor."
"Miss Granger," he said, his voice a dry, wheezing sound, "my subject is History of Magic. I concern myself with facts, not with myths and legends." He was about to return to his prepared lecture when Hermione spoke again.
"But Professor," she pressed, "don't legends always have some basis in fact? I believe the legend of the Chamber of Secrets must have some truth to it."
Sean looked up from his book. He saw the expectant expressions on the faces of Harry and Ron and knew at once what this was about. They were investigating. Ever since Mrs. Norris had been petrified, a rumor had been circulating through the castle, a vicious, insidious whisper that Harry Potter was the Heir of Slytherin. The rumor had spread with a speed and efficiency that suggested it was being deliberately propagated, likely by someone within Slytherin House. Their motive was unclear—perhaps it was simple malice, a desire to torment the Boy Who Lived.
Professor Binns, surprisingly, relented. He began to speak of the founding of Hogwarts, of the four great wizards, and of the legend of the Chamber of Secrets. For the first time all year, the entire class listened with rapt attention.
Sean, however, already knew the story. He returned to his book, a small, secret smile on his face. Let them chase legends. The key to the Chamber of Secrets was tucked safely in his enchanted bag.
When the bell rang, signaling the end of class, Professor Binns simply turned and floated through the blackboard, disappearing from view. As the students began to file out, Sean and Blaise found themselves walking alongside Harry, who was being accosted by a frantic Colin Creevey.
"Hello, Harry," Colin chirped, his camera at the ready.
"Hello, Colin," Harry replied, a weary look on his face.
"Harry, Harry, a boy in my year says you're the Heir of Slytherin! Are you? Are you really?"
"No, Colin, I'm not."
"Then you were just in that place by coincidence?"
"I have to go, Colin," Harry said, trying to push past him. "Sorry, goodbye."
"Let me get a picture! Just look at me, Harry, please!"
Harry, suppressing a groan of frustration, kept his head down and tried to hurry away, pulling Ron and Hermione with him. In his haste, he bumped squarely into Sean.
"Sorry, I..." Harry looked up, and a wave of relief washed over his face. "Oh, it's you, Sean. Sorry, I bumped into you again."
"It's alright," Sean said, his expression softening slightly. "How have you been? You don't look well."
Harry scratched his head, a helpless look on his face. "Ever since Mrs. Norris was attacked... there have been rumors. It's been a bit of a headache, to be honest."
Sean put a hand on his friend's shoulder, his voice low and serious. "Harry, your defeat of Voldemort as a child has destined you to a life under scrutiny. People will misunderstand you and slander you. It's inevitable. You need to ignore them. Make yourself stronger. Show them your confidence. If you've done something, admit it openly. If you haven't, deny it directly. And if someone slanders you, you must fight back. Show them that their words have consequences."
Harry listened, a thoughtful expression on his face. He took a deep breath, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Sean, thank you," he said, a note of genuine gratitude in his voice. "Every time I talk to you, I feel like I learn something. Perhaps I really should think about what you've said."
"It's just a suggestion," Sean said with a small smile. "I'm the same age as you. My words may not be right for everyone. You can take them as a reference, but don't follow them blindly. We are different people, after all, with different experiences and personalities."
"I understand," Harry said, a new look of determination in his eyes. "Thank you, Sean."
[Chapter Complete]
***
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