Chapter 282: The Cat with Closed Eyes
"Do not judge your past self from the perspective of who you are today."
That was the only thing Sean felt needed to be said.
Dumbledore raised his pale blue eyes, and in that moment, he felt a wave of the same profound emotion that Minerva and Severus had experienced before him.
What an extraordinary boy, he thought.
To possess such formidable power and talent, yet remain so humble. To have clawed one's way through the barren soil of a life lived against the odds, yet still find the heart to be moved by the smallest, most flickering struggles of others.
If a person has known so little beauty, yet remains steadfast in their essential kindness toward the world—doing their utmost for every soul in need of help—then perhaps that person is the one truly deserving of the title "Greatest."
Because even if another stood in his place, they could not have done it better.
The Daily Prophet described him as the successor to the Greatest Wizard, but whose place was he truly taking? In many ways, he was no longer a mere student.
"If you only knew the magnitude of the mistakes I have made..."
Dumbledore spoke as if he were back in his own school days, conversing with a great soul that the Soul Hallows themselves had recognized.
"That doesn't matter, does it? If the one you wish to find is a soul..." Sean looked directly at the Headmaster. "Then please, do not pity the dead, Professor. Pity the living, and above all, pity those who live without love."
Sean's gaze told Dumbledore that there were people right here, in this room, who were in need of that very pity.
"Child—"
Dumbledore's long silver beard trembled. He was struck by the realization that these were the words he had always wanted to say, yet had never been able to visualize in his own mind. Or rather, they were words he felt he had no right to utter before the end of his own shameful journey.
"I will do it, Professor," Sean said, his voice sounding slightly raspy.
Everyone in the Wizarding World expected Dumbledore to be an unbreakable fortress, an unyielding wall. Even Dumbledore expected it of himself. But how many people cared for the broken, lonely heart of the old man himself? Did he truly want nothing more than thick woollen socks? Perhaps... but perhaps not.
Dumbledore was utterly stunned. He found himself unable to describe his feelings; his legendary eloquence had deserted him. He felt a pang of guilt for sending such a child into the perils of the Lands Between, even if he knew such a wizard could change the very course of magical history.
"Ignore..." He tried to speak several times before the words would come. "Ignore my request, child. Ignore me..."
Just then, an owl fluttered into the Headmaster's office, dropping a Hogwarts-sealed letter into Sean's lap. It felt as though a knot had been untied in Dumbledore's heart.
He crinkled his blue eyes, his usual grandfatherly warmth returning to his face. "There are many people in the Wizarding World who deserve help, but I am not among them."
Dumbledore looked into Sean's eyes again. He finally understood the tidal wave of depth hidden behind that calm exterior. Even a man such as he could be scorched by the sincerity of such a soul.
Sean remained silent. He knew exactly what Dumbledore was thinking. He knew the Lands Between were dangerous, mostly because of how helpless wizards were when dealing with the realm of the soul. But Sean was different. He had a unique advantage in learning any branch of magic. He would eventually master everything he put his mind to.
If Ariana was truly lost in the Lands Between, then... entrusting the search to Sean increased the probability of success from zero to nearly a hundred percent—far better than pinning his hopes on the Resurrection Stone.
"Forget our conversation, child. I still expect to see you here every Saturday of the summer. I may not be as clever as you think, but over a long life, even the dullest mind picks up a few tricks," Dumbledore said with a gentle smile. "For instance, learning how to speak while in the Lands Between is but a very small problem to solve."
As Sean walked out of the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore could still see the echoes of that conversation in his own mind.
"There are no coincidences in this world, Albus. If that boy sets his heart on finding something, he will find it."
Dumbledore recalled Minerva's words. Sean was a single-minded child; once he set himself on the right path, he moved forward with terrifying resolve.
So... have I just made another decision I shall grow to regret?
Sunlight spilled through the corridors, casting a pale golden glow over Sean as he walked.
He quietly moved "Soul Transfiguration" to the top of his priority list. It was impossible not to be moved by the plea of an old man who had spent decades guarding the Wizarding World.
But for now, Professor McGonagall was waiting for him. He pulled out the letter he had just received, the ink shimmering in the sun:
Come see me, child.
—Minerva
Outside the Transfiguration office, Professor McGonagall was standing by the window.
Why do all the wizards at Hogwarts love standing by windows? Sean wondered idly.
"Come here, child," McGonagall called softly. "When you experience a great joy, you should remember that there are those waiting for you to share it with them."
Sean blinked, confused. "Share what, Professor?"
"You... you truly think of it as a small matter, don't you?" McGonagall read the genuine confusion on his face. She remembered the "great achievement" Professor Terra had shared with her in the Great Hall, and she felt a mixture of shock and amusement. "You have taken a step in Transfiguration that no one has taken before. History will remember the wizard who successfully turned into a magical beast..."
"To be honest, Professor, I still don't fully understand the underlying theory," Sean admitted. "I haven't mastered the ancient runes for self-transfiguration yet, and for now, this transformation isn't exactly replicable for others."
McGonagall smiled. "Regardless, you have achieved a Magical Creature Animagus form."
The rest of the afternoon was spent under McGonagall's tutelage, focusing on mastering the Kneazle form. Like his previous struggles, he found he couldn't yet fully "inhabit" the feline body with total precision. McGonagall's help was exactly what he needed.
In his Kneazle form, Sean practiced using his whiskers to perceive his environment. Closing his eyes, he attempted to run and leap by sensing the flow of air currents. For now, this resulted in him repeatedly running head-first into the furniture.
The tabby cat (McGonagall) watched as the black Kneazle (Sean) bumped into a wall she had softened with a charm. She let out a muffled feline chortle, her long whiskers twitching with amusement.
The Transfiguration office was filled with the scent of dried herbs and sunlight, punctuated by the soft sounds of two cats communicating in the quiet afternoon.
By the time Sean left the office, his head felt a bit dizzy from the constant shifting.
However, he didn't stop practicing. If he could master the ability to run at full speed with his eyes closed, he would have a definitive escape route when facing the Basilisk. As a magical creature, a Kneazle possessed far more incredible capabilities than a mundane cat.
And Sean suspected his own Revenant was a particularly powerful specimen, even among Kneazles.
Now, he needed to find another magical creature—one that would serve as an "interesting" opponent for a giant serpent.
"Hagrid!" Sean called out as he reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
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