Chapter 307: Be Careful
Professor Dumbledore's kind gaze grew even more profound.
He had expected such an answer, yet it still left him feeling a touch melancholic. He often asked himself what sort of education should be provided to a young wizard possessing such extraordinary talent. But the moment he asked the question, he realized he was being blinded by his own arrogance.
The old were often foolish and forgetful when it came to underestimating the young.
He looked at the boy—at the blood-stained silver sword, the weary eyes, and the tattered robes.
"Oh, will you be staying for tea, then?" Dumbledore asked with a faint smile.
"No, thank you, Professor," Sean replied, making a quick and decisive exit.
He had expected the Headmaster to subject him to a barrage of questions, but Dumbledore remained silent. Just as Sean reached the door, the old wizard's meaningful voice drifted across the office.
"Child... when you fight with monsters, be careful that you do not become a monster yourself."
The long corridors were silent, bathed in soft moonlight. Hogwarts Castle had fallen into a deep slumber.
After an indeterminate amount of time, the distant horizon turned a hazy grey, and a thin veil of mist draped over the Scottish Highlands like gossamer silk. Dumbledore sat by the window, the tea kettle on his hearth whistling and bubbling through round after round of boiling.
"Albus, you really ought to get some rest," a soft voice spoke from the wall. It was the portrait of a witch with long, silver ringlets.
"Professor Derwent, we should be more tolerant, should we not?" Dumbledore said, his voice heavy with thought.
In the end, he hadn't asked Sean anything. Such trust was, in itself, the greatest form of tolerance he could offer.
"The boy pulled the Sword of Gryffindor from the hat. We both know what that means, Albus," Dilys Derwent's portrait said slowly, her eyes full of admiration. "It only responds to and appears for a worthy successor. More importantly, Albus... he is a remarkable child. He did not raise that sword for himself."
As Dumbledore finally closed his eyes, the melodic bells of Hogwarts rang out across the grounds. Breakfast was served.
The Great Hall was once again a whirlwind of wings as owls arrived with the morning post. When Sean took his seat, he found himself sitting next to three young wizards with prominent dark circles under their eyes.
Justin cast a surprised glance at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. For most of the meal, the trio seemed completely out of sorts.
They believed they had stumbled upon the truth. Professor Dumbledore was clearly planning something, and Hogwarts was once again in mortal peril. The threat came from a terrifying Basilisk whose very gaze could kill. Feeling useless in a direct fight, they had spent the entire night scouring the library for the creature's weaknesses—with absolutely nothing to show for it.
They stole occasional glances at Sean. The young wizard was currently buried in a book about unique magical biology. They assumed he was doing exactly what they were: desperately searching for a way to stop the serpent.
This only made them feel the pressure of time even more acutely.
But Sean? He was simply finalizing the ritual for the Basilisk Biscuits.
Having effectively neutralized the threat of the snake, he was now turning his attention to the diary. Tom Riddle's Dark Arts were formidable, but Sean had a "special counter-measure": Harry Potter.
His plan was simple. He would use the dream-link to feed Harry information about the diary. After that, he would sit back and listen to Tom's screams of frustration.
With this thought in mind, Sean glanced over at the Gryffindor table. Ginny's face was flushed; it seemed Tom hadn't quite regained his strength yet.
The next two days were remarkably peaceful. Sean made frequent trips to the Chamber of Secrets to grind his affinity level with the snake. Meanwhile, Tom—who should have been controlling the Basilisk—remained suspiciously still.
The only ones truly stressed were Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
"Find anything today? My muscles are completely seized up," Ron groaned, face-planting onto the table. "Filch made me polish that Quidditch trophy fourteen times before he was satisfied. Then, while I was cleaning a 'Special Award for Services to the School' medal, I accidentally dropped it... he made me do it twenty more times!"
Harry and Hermione shook their heads in silent, weary sympathy. They had even considered asking to face the Basilisk with Sean; anything was better than this agonizing suspense.
Sean continued to vanish into the Room of Hope every evening. The trio could only watch him go with a mix of worry and desperate expectation.
October arrived, bringing a damp, biting chill that seeped through the castle walls. A sudden bout of the flu swept through the staff and students, keeping Madam Pomfrey on her toes.
Her Pepperup Potion worked instantly, though it had the side effect of making the drinker's ears smoke for several hours afterward. Ginny Weasley, looking particularly peaked lately, was forced by Percy to drink a dose. The result was a head of fiery red hair obscured by thick plumes of steam, making her look as though her brain were literally on fire.
Raindrops as large as bullets hammered against the castle windows for days on end. The lake rose, the flowerbeds turned into mudslides, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled until they were the size of garden sheds.
It was during this time, while Ginny was in a flu-induced daze, that Sean's affinity with the Basilisk finally reached the [Intimate] rank.
Now, he only lacked the final ritual preparations. However, the books concerning Dark Arts constructs were kept under lock and key in the Restricted Section—usually inaccessible to regular students.
Fortunately, Sean had passes. Many, many passes.
"The signature doesn't matter," Justin had observed. "As long as it's a piece of paper that stays still for five seconds, Lockhart will sign it."
Just moments ago, the surface of the Void Rune had flashed with a brief, ethereal light.
Sean felt a prickle of surprise. Tom, Ginny, Harry... it seemed they were all destined to collide in the Chamber soon.
As for the missing Basilisk, Sean planned to knock it out and relocate it to a secure area within the Forbidden Forest. This would leave Harry to face a Tom Riddle who was essentially unarmed.
The thought made the corner of Sean's mouth curl upward.
Not far away, Roger Davies and Toya were watching him with predatory intent.
"D'you think it'll work, Roger?" Toya asked, feeling the weight of Roger's desperation.
The Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff teams viewed Ravenclaw as the rival to beat this year. They were training like madmen, all while keeping a wary eye out for Ravenclaw's "secret weapon." They had rehearsed a hundred different tactics to shut down a Seeker named Green—yet Toya knew that Ravenclaw's secret weapon was so secret that the team didn't actually have him yet.
"It will work," Roger said firmly.
He had found the key. It all lay with a portrait—Sir Cadogan. The knight would be the one to help them bring back the pride of Ravenclaw.
Outside, the torrential rain continued to fall. The sky faded into an inky blackness as trails of mist began to rise around Ravenclaw Tower.
It looked like a perfect night for dreaming.
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