Harry's back!
The news hit like a Bludger, dragging everyone who'd planned to crash upstairs at the pub right back down to the street.
Of course, since none of them had brought any Galleons, Justin was footing the bill for the overnight stay.
"Merlin's beard, Harry! What happened to you? Almost a month—no replies to any of our letters!"
They all huddled around the dim, rickety bar counter. Ron was the first to blurt it out.
"I ran into a monster..."
Harry started spilling the whole story, and the group kept gasping at every twist.
Sean was getting ready to head back to the McGonagall villa—it was just past ten, not too late.
But first, they had to sort out where Harry was crashing.
Ron offered right away, then Justin and Neville chimed in.
Harry glanced at Sean, then picked Ron's place—Ron was his first real friend, and it just felt more comfortable.
That's when Ron realized how late it was. He grabbed Harry and bolted out of the Leaky Cauldron.
Next up: Justin and Hermione—their parents were even waiting outside.
Finally, Neville Flooed out. That's when Sean hopped on his broom and streaked across the sky like a shooting star.
...
After the whole Harry rescue mission, the group started writing letters nonstop. The McGonagall villa's living room turned into owl central—feathers and parcels everywhere.
Sean didn't sweat it. He was counting down the days: almost a month. Step one of the Animagus transformation was about to wrap.
But before that, Fairy Tale House was opening for round two.
Early that morning.
Sean was out by the lake practicing transfiguration like always. He levitated a rock, and in a flash, it morphed into a stone guardian statue.
Still pretty short—under three meters tall. Nothing compared to Professor McGonagall's four- or five-meter behemoths.
And hers had that reinforced edge—they could leap off multi-story heights without a scratch. Regular rock? No way.
Sean's couldn't pull that off.
He figured McGonagall's skills were beyond expert level, even among masters. One more push and she'd be brushing up against Headmaster Dumbledore's territory.
By the time he was wiped out from practice, his mind started wandering.
Dobby showing up meant the basilisk was about to get unleashed from the Chamber.
To whip up those basilisk biscuits and keep everyone safe, he'd need power on par with the thing.
But where did he actually stack up?
He hadn't seen much real combat. Trolls? Professors? He'd speedrun those.
No real benchmark.
As sunlight poured into the room, Sean slowly turned to Marcus McGonagall, who was sipping his tea.
Professor McGonagall had mentioned the old wizard used to be an Auror.
...
Marcus couldn't say no to a young wizard's training request.
Hell, his mustache practically twitched with excitement.
Sure, the kid was a prodigy, but Marcus McGonagall had been an Auror.
After heartbreak that cut deep, he'd channeled all that rage into fighting the Dark Lord.
Back then, You-Know-Who was on his first rise. Death Eaters were racking up atrocities—blackmail, bribes, straight-up violence to swell their ranks.
Anyone who got in the way? Crucio, Imperio, Avada Kedavra—pure torture and murder. Innocent Muggles got offed just for kicks.
Magic Ministry had to step up. Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Barty Crouch Sr., made the call: Aurors could use Unforgivables on Death Eaters.
That's how bad Voldemort's influence got.
And Marcus? He'd fought through that whole decade—and lived.
What set him apart from today's Aurors? He'd been forged in real war, on the front lines.
Even after his injuries, he hadn't lost much edge.
Only downside: no one to pass it on to.
He'd flat-out refused to let his own kids near those battlefields. Couldn't survive that pain again.
But deep down, he knew: if you love a kid, you teach 'em to face danger. You build their wings. You make sure they can protect themselves.
Especially one with this kind of talent—destiny and responsibility waiting. You can't hover like a mother hen forever. You've gotta train 'em like an eagle.
"Bring it on, kid! Hit me with your strongest spell! Don't worry about hurting me—I've seen it all as a veteran Auror!"
Marcus stood in a wide-open field not far from the farm. He'd warded the whole area—perfect spot for real combat training.
"I'll go all out."
The brooch hummed to life.
Sean's eyes sharpened. Wand flicked.
No incantations—he was silent-casting only.
But that didn't hold him back. Most of his go-to charms were already nonverbal.
A burst of flame shot from his wand tip. Seconds later, it stretched into a two-meter fire dragon roaring toward Marcus.
The old wizard watched it barrel in, his body trembling just a bit.
Even he'd never seen anything like this. His sweet little first-year kid?
"Finite Incantatem!"
Red light hit the dragon—but it didn't vanish. Lizard-skin patterns rippled across its body.
Transfiguration layered on top.
Marcus went for Apparition without a second thought.
Couldn't move.
Way off, Sean had his wand up—silent Obsta barrage. Master-level blocking spells that could stall an elite Auror like Marcus for seconds.
Flitwick had drilled that charm combo into him—letting him fire off two spells at once.
Marcus was thrown for a loop, but his eyes snapped sharp. He broke the block and bellowed:
"Protego!"
A shimmering shield flared up, stopping the now-smaller dragon. But it still slammed him hard, sending him flying with a cloud of dust.
Close call—almost ate it...
Marcus staggered out of the haze, looking a little roughed up.
He was about to get dead serious—
When Sean plopped right down on the ground.
"Grandpa Marcus, you're amazing."
The brooch delivered it in that deep, grown-up voice.
Marcus's old cheeks flushed red.