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Hogwarts : Black family bloodline...
Hogwarts, my partner is Tom…
Hogwarts : He Starts by Deconstructing Avada Kedavra...
When Sean walked over to the fireplace, he saw a ghost.
Floating beside her was a tiny, gray-skinned creature with long ears—clearly a Pukwudgie. The little creature had a bow slung over his back and shot Sean a very displeased look.
"You may call me Morrigan," the ghostly woman said.
Sean instantly understood—this must be the "mystery" Headmistress Herrera had mentioned.
"Se—Miss Morrigan…" he blurted, his mind spinning with too many thoughts at once.
"Has anyone ever told you that you're unusually observant, child?"
Morrigan—none other than Isolt Sayre herself—smiled warmly.
"Professor Dumbledore and—"
Before Sean could finish, a shocked voice cut him off.
"Isolt, your taste is as terrible as ever."
The Pukwudgie—William—stared at Sean wide-eyed. Even a Pukwudgie wouldn't answer like that.
Sean was baffled, but Baiyi, perched on the bed, let out a sharp hoot and nearly swallowed the basilisk-shaped cookie hanging from her neck.
"I apologize," the ghostly woman said with a gentle sigh. "William is always like this—William, you forgot to polish my statue today."
William huffed, then vanished on the spot.
Baiyi fluttered away indignantly, and Sean's Soul Relic gave a faint, fleeting glow.
He knew she was exhausted from days of nonstop travel, and nighttime was prime hunting time for owls. Even though Pukwudgies wielded strong magic, a basilisk's gaze wouldn't give him time to react.
"Baiyi, come back, please."
She pecked the corner of his robe in protest but eventually returned to her perch.
"You seem quite loved by magical creatures," Morrigan said with curiosity.
Sean remembered his legendary magical-creature affinity and nodded.
"In that regard, you're very much like me… You came from Hogwarts, didn't you? If it isn't too rude to ask, which house?"
"Ravenclaw," Sean replied.
"And at Ilvermorny?"
"Thunderbird."
"Wonderful!"
Isolt Sayre bounced in delight—so high she actually stuck her head through the ceiling. Sean wasn't surprised; he remembered reading that when she was young, her biggest dream was to attend Ravenclaw House.
"It seems you have questions," she said, drifting back down.
"Why are you… still here?" Sean asked carefully.
"As long as equality and justice can still be threatened by prejudice and persecution, I will not pass on.
These children are still so young… I must ensure the horrors of the past never happen again."
Her voice was calm, steady—yet in her eyes, Sean saw a sorrow ghosts weren't supposed to feel.
"You've already done more than enough," he whispered.
No wonder Ilvermorny had stayed true to its ideals for centuries—Isolt had never left.
For someone with a clear mind, death was supposed to be a great adventure. And Isolt Sayre, whose whole life was filled with adventure, family, and love—who sailed into the unknown at age twelve just to escape her cruel aunt Gormlaith—would find staying behind far harder than moving on.
"Sweet little wizard," she said with a laugh, "may I say it's because I still have knowledge left to carve?"
She waved her hand, and the room suddenly grew colder. The chill made the runes carved into the walls shimmer into visibility.
"William helps carve and keep these alive—our legacy, preserved through generations of love.
And now… I'm finally satisfied with my Ilvermorny. It's almost time for me to leave."
"Leave…?" Sean echoed, stunned.
He knew of no magic—not even the Killing Curse—that could kill a ghost a second time. They could be dispersed, but they always re-formed. Physical attacks meant nothing. And they couldn't enjoy sensations—no eating, no sleeping—eventually turning forgetful, detached, trapped in the emotions of their death. A quiet torment.
In the vast history of the wizarding world, ghosts could not "die."
But perhaps what they yearned for most was "rest."
"You don't seem surprised at all… dear child," she teased lightly. "If you're willing to attend Ilvermorny from now on—pardon me, Herrera's been hinting at it endlessly—I could teach you everything I know."
She floated closer, clearly pleased. To her, he was no longer just a prodigy—simply a lovable kid.
"Sorry," Sean said calmly. He wasn't easily shaken, but he sensed she'd need something stronger than politeness.
"Hogwarts…"
Outside, the long winter night continued falling in snow.
But it wasn't his snow.
He hesitated at the word Hogwarts, staring at the pale blue sky. Only after a long moment did he speak:
"Hogwarts is my home."
"…Very well," Morrigan said softly.
She smiled, stepped aside from the fireplace, and said:
"A few Floo connections here keep malfunctioning. Would you help me take a look? As payment, I'll tell you a few secrets… about ghostly death and the magical beings that sustain Ilvermorny."
With that, she vanished—and Sean had no idea where a ghost could go.
He walked toward the fireplace as instructed.
But then the green flames roared high. A large figure spun within them—
A moment later, Professor McGonagall stepped out, brushing soot from her robes.
"Such shabby conditions—an isolated stone hut? This is what they gave you?" she said, barely concealing her anger.
"Professor," Sean breathed. He hadn't expected Isolt to open a Floo link straight to Hogwarts.
"Where is Tayla?"
Her sharp eyes scanned the room. Baiyi flew to her shoulder and hooted complaints furiously.
"Professor…"
Sean suddenly realized—Isolt probably hadn't gone far at all. Which meant McGonagall was essentially reprimanding her to her face.
"Yes, child?" she said, looking at him.
"…Merry Christmas."