Chapter 593: A Stormy Night and the Double Agent
As June approached, the weather turned cloudless and stiflingly hot.
The heat made one long to grab a few pints of ice-cold pumpkin juice and wander
out onto the lawn, finding a shaded spot to play a lazy game of Gobstones or
simply watch the Giant Squid glide dreamily beneath the surface of the lake.
But it was impossible.
Exams were looming, and the students were forbidden from idling outdoors. They
were forced to remain within the stone walls of the castle, browbeating their
brains into concentration while the tantalizing summer breeze drifted through
the open windows. Even Fred and George Weasley were actually studying, driven by
the terror of their upcoming O.W.L.s. Percy, meanwhile, was preparing for his
N.E.W.T.s—the highest qualification Hogwarts offered.
Percy was desperate for a high-ranking Ministry post, and his stress levels had
reached a pathological peak. Anyone who disturbed the silence of the Gryffindor
common room after hours faced a punishment so severe it bordered on the
medieval.
In truth, the only person more high-strung than Percy was Hermione. Harry and
Ron no longer had the energy to ask her how she managed her overlapping classes,
but when they saw her exam schedule, they couldn't help themselves.
The first column read:
Monday 9:00 AM: Arithmancy 9:00 AM: Transfiguration LUNCH 1:00 PM: Charms 1:00
PM: Ancient Runes
"Hermione," Ron asked cautiously—knowing that interrupting her was currently as
dangerous as poking a sleeping Horntail—"er... are you sure you've copied these
times down right?"
"What?" Hermione snapped, snatching the parchment to check it. "Yes, of course I
have."
"Is there even a point in asking how you're going to be in two classrooms at
once?" Harry asked.
"No," Hermione said flatly. "Has anyone seen my copy of Numerology and
Grammatica?"
"Oh, right. I borrowed it for a bit of light reading before bed," Ron muttered,
his voice catching in his throat as Hermione fixed him with a murderous glare.
She began frantically shoving stacks of parchment aside in search of the book.
"Where's Sean?" she asked suddenly.
Harry and Ron both went quiet.
Percy was irritable, and Hermione was a whirlwind of stress, but the young
wizard with the messy black hair had become something else entirely. Lately, few
people dared to get too close to him.
It wasn't just because of Dumbledore's announcement at the feast. By now, the
entire school knew the Headmaster's plan: he intended to retire and had
practically named Sean Green his successor. Since Dumbledore had vanished on his
"business trip," Sean was the only one frequently seen entering and leaving the
Headmaster's office, while acting Headmistress McGonagall handled the day-to-day
administration from her own quarters.
Everyone knew Sean was the Headmaster-in-waiting. But that wasn't why the other
students avoided him.
The primary reason was that he had become... cold.
Harry and Ron never thought they'd associate that word with Sean. But the facts
were undeniable. Since the Easter holidays, the polite, encouraging notes Sean
used to send in return for gifts had stopped. The "Messenger of Luck" had gone
silent.
Furthermore, he no longer attended standard classes. The professors seemed to
have designed a private curriculum for him; he was rarely seen in the corridors
during the day. He only appeared occasionally at dinner, sitting in a far corner
of the High Table and finishing his meal with an elegant, focused speed before
vanishing again. On the rare occasion a student managed to greet him, he seemed
not to hear them, his eyes buried in a book.
The common consensus was that Dumbledore had placed too much weight on the boy's
shoulders. No one wanted to be the one to break his concentration.
"You haven't seen him either?" Hermione asked, packing her bags. She looked at
Justin.
"It's nearly dinner. We might find him in the Hall," Justin said, standing up as
his Magic Hand Mirror drifted out of his bag.
As they stepped into the corridor, the weather shifted with a violent
suddenness. The Scottish Highlands were a temperamental beast, and today, the
sky had decided to throw a fit.
Rain lashed against the ancient stone walls of the castle, blurring every window
into a smudge of grey mist. The Great Lake had risen to its highest level in a
decade, its waves crashing against the shore with a low, rhythmic boom. From the
high towers, the Forbidden Forest looked like a sea of black hands clawing at
the lightning-streaked sky.
Inside the castle, however, it was warm and dry.
Sean was in the dungeons. Roaring, sentient flames swept through a collection of
test-fire cauldrons before being snuffed out by a sharp word, leaving only a
coating of fine ash on the floor. A second later, a flash of blue light left
several mice in a nearby cage stone-still.
[You have practiced Fiendfyre at a Master standard. Proficiency +300] [You have
practiced Sectumsempra at a Master standard. Proficiency +300]
[Master-Tier Dark Arts:]
- Sectumsempra: Master (2,420 / 3,000,000)
- Impedimenta: Expert (200 / 30,000)
- Petrificus Totalus: Expert (340 / 30,000)
- Reducto: Expert (2,340 / 30,000)
- Fiendfyre: Expert (2,120 / 30,000)
[Evaluation: A wizard who has reached the Master tier in the Dark Arts is
superior to the vast majority of Dark Wizards.] [Advancement: Master one
'Legendary' Dark Magic spell to unlock the Legendary title.]
Sean let out a slow exhale. He had chosen Sectumsempra as his path to the
Legendary tier. Snape's tutoring had been invaluable; Sean suspected the
Professor already held the Legendary rank for that specific spell, considering
he was its creator.
Snape was absent today, his own schedule becoming increasingly erratic as he
coordinated with Dumbledore.
Sean sat in his chair, his mind calculating. Time was running out. He knew
Dumbledore was keeping Voldemort occupied, but the Dark Lord had returned to a
physical form. He was lurking in the shadows, a viper with its fangs bared,
waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Sean knew he needed at least two branches of magic at the Legendary level to
ensure the safety of the castle. For three months, he had pushed his Dark Arts
to the limit, often losing track of the transition between day and night. It was
no wonder the other students found him distant.
As for Transfiguration...
Sean pulled out a piece of jagged, broken stone. The Void Rune. It had been
unusable for months. His plan to return to the Lands Between and find the secret
of Soul Transfiguration from Rowena Ravenclaw had been indefinitely delayed.
But recently, he could feel the mist again. It felt closer, as if the connection
was finally beginning to mend.
A faint smile touched Sean's lips. He decided to attend the feast tonight to
wait for the arrival of the night.
The torches in the Great Hall were burning brighter than usual, and the
portraits were busy visiting neighboring frames to gossip about the upcoming
exams. The library had been packed from dawn until dusk, with Madam Pince
patrolling the aisles like a vulture, ready to pounce on any student who dared
to dog-ear a page.
Tonight was the final formal feast before the exam period began. Tomorrow, the
schedule would shift to revision and tutorials.
If one were to observe the High Table closely, they would notice three glaring
absences: Headmaster Dumbledore, Rubeus Hagrid, and the Defense Against the Dark
Arts chair. Professor Flitwick was currently sitting in the DADA seat to help
oversee the hall.
Sean's entrance drew a dozen hushed whispers. Hermione and Justin waved
frantically from their usual spot, and Sean began the walk toward them.
Just then, the massive oak doors of the Hall were blasted open by the wind.
Rain and freezing air surged into the room, extinguishing the nearest row of
candles. Every head turned toward the entrance.
A sodden, bedraggled owl flew into the hall. Its wing looked injured, and its
flight was erratic as it narrowly avoided the stone walls. It clutched a thick
roll of parchment in its talons—a newspaper soaked through by the storm.
The owl managed to reach the Hufflepuff table before dropping the paper and
crashing headfirst into a bowl of pudding.
Several students shrieked. The paper unfurled across the table. The headline in
massive, bold ink hit the room like a physical blow:
[DAILY PROPHET: LATE-NIGHT EXTRA]
GIANT ATTACK ON NORTHERN SCOTTISH VILLAGE: THREE DEAD. MINISTRY DECLARES LEVEL
TWO EMERGENCY ALERT.
A second later, more owls flooded into the hall. Simultaneously, Magic Hand
Mirrors began to chime and vibrate in pockets and bags across the room.
Silence fell over the Great Hall. The sound of chewing, chattering, and laughter
vanished instantly.
Then, as if a switch had been flipped, the hall erupted into a buzzing hive of
panic and debate.
Sean stood up, taking the damp paper from Snowy, who had just arrived with his
copy. He scanned the headlines.
[FRONT PAGE] GIANTS STRIKE HIGHLAND VILLAGE; MINISTER FUDGE CALLS EMERGENCY
SESSION Reported by Special Correspondent Rita Skeeter
At midnight last night, a tribe of giants descended upon the village of Glenmore
on the edge of the Scottish Highlands. Three families were lost in the carnage,
with another seven injured. Two remain in critical condition at St. Mungo's.
Witnesses say the attack was unprovoked; the giants destroyed three homes with
uprooted trees before retreating. This is the most severe giant activity on
British soil in a decade.
Minister Cornelius Fudge announced a Level Two alert at 4:00 AM, promising more
Aurors for the region. Fudge declined to comment on whether the attack is linked
to the recent surge in Dark Arts activity. When asked if he had contacted
Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore for assistance, the Minister stated: "The
Ministry possesses the resources to handle this situation without relying on
private individuals."
Sean flipped to the second page.
WEREWOLF PACKS GATHERING IN RECORD NUMBERS; DEPARTMENT FOR CONTROL OF MAGICAL
CREATURES ISSUES TRAVEL WARNING Reported by Barnabas Cuffe
The Ministry advised wizards today to avoid remote areas of Northern England and
South Wales after dark. Sources report that at least four known werewolf packs
have been seen moving across regions during a non-full moon phase. This
migration pattern is unnatural. While activists decline to comment, a Ministry
source states there is "grave suspicion" that this gathering is being
orchestrated by the known Death Eater Fenrir Greyback.
"What's happening?" "Have they gone mental?"
The students were shouting in fear. Sean caught the panicked eyes of Justin and
Hermione. He turned to the third page.
This page had no headline and no byline. It was a tiny snippet tucked into a
corner, looking like a last-minute addition to the layout. But the content sent
a chill through Sean that the Highland wind could not match.
ACCIDENT AT MALFOY MANOR Wiltshire news: The ancestral home of the Malfoy family
suffered a "magical accident" last night. Local authorities report structural
damage but no casualties. The Malfoy family is currently residing in Provence,
France. A legal representative for Lucius Malfoy stated that he is "handling
family business on the Continent" and warned against "malicious speculation"
regarding the education of his son, Draco Malfoy.
Sean slowly lowered the paper and opened his Magic Hand Mirror.
[Private Link: Sean Green & Lucius Malfoy]
[Sean Green: Mr. Malfoy, you have been silent for quite some time.]
[Lucius Malfoy: Great Mr. Green, I offer my humblest apologies. I have only just
returned to London under the cover of dusk. As you have likely guessed, the Dark
Lord knows... I have been summoned. As you predicted, he has descended into a
state of total madness. I am afraid I can no longer serve as your eyes in his
circle. However, I can confirm one thing: A Death Eater is heading for Hogwarts.
Please, watch your step. —Your loyal supporter, The Malfoy Family.]
Sean closed the mirror, his gaze narrowing. Voldemort was no longer just
waiting. The lion was back in the castle, and the snake was coming to meet him.
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