Outside the Ravenclaw common room.
"What came first: the flame or the phoenix?"
The eagle knocker's usual riddle.
"It's a cycle," Sean answered.
The door swung open, and the first thing he saw was Luna, still curled up in one of the squashy blue armchairs, reading The Quibbler upside-down. Somehow the magazine's title stayed right-side up—like someone had charmed it just to mess with people.
There was dirt smudged across her nose, and her hair was twisted into a knot on top of her head. The second she spotted Sean, those huge silvery eyes lit up.
"Oh! I saw your bookshop in the paper. I'm guessing you didn't start writing those notes for the Galleons…"
She said it like she was half-dreaming.
"Nope," Sean said. "At first they were just for me. Justin turned them into a business."
Sean still felt Justin deserved a bigger cut, but they'd stuck to fifty-fifty anyway.
"My dad never pays people to write for The Quibbler either," Luna said vaguely. "They do it because it's an honour… and because they like seeing their name in print."
She was wrapped in a blanket like a human burrito. Halfway through the sentence she nodded off, head tipping sideways.
Sean looked at her bare feet and the bird's-nest hair and just sighed quietly.
Moonlight spilled across the tower windows. The usual dreamy mist floated around the room, and if you stared long enough you could almost see a faded sign that read "Children's Home."
A black cat slipped through the mist, a faint glow pulsing from the runic stone on its chest.
It had tried—over and over—to drag both Harry and Voldemort into its boundary space at once. It couldn't. Something was resisting, weakly but stubbornly. The good news? The resistance wasn't strong. Once Soul Transformation levelled up a bit more, that frail little shard of Voldemort was getting yanked in whether it liked it or not.
Which meant Sean needed to grind Soul Transformation.
And avoid the extremely enthusiastic Hogwarts Cat Club while doing it.
Even inside the boundary he could still pull up the panel:
[Practised Soul Transformation to the standard of a proficient master. Master-tier proficiency +10]
[Material Transformation: Proficient (10/3000)]
[Soul Transformation: Beginner (210/300)]
Close enough.
Sunday morning, winter sunlight poured into the Ravenclaw dorms like liquid gold.
Down in the common room, the noticeboard was mobbed. Usually it only showed class schedules or reminders about club sign-ups, but today every Ravenclaw in the tower was crowded around it.
"New notice!"
"Duelling Club? What the—"
"Literally what it says, idiot."
Sean edged closer; the crowd parted for him without thinking.
One glance and he got the picture.
Lockhart had clearly noticed the student body (especially Hermione) turning on him after she'd roasted him with a string of brutal questions in class. Desperate to look cool again, he'd rushed to announce a Duelling Club.
Sean was ninety percent sure the Defence Against the Dark Arts curse was already flexing its muscles.
Shaking his head, he headed to breakfast.
Lockhart could wait. Tonight Sean had potions practice in the dungeons—and a very cranky Snape to face over the whole Chamber business.
In the Great Hall another crowd was clustered around the noticeboard, reading the fresh parchment that had just gone up. Harry, Hermione, Justin, and Ron were practically bouncing.
"They're starting a Duelling Club!" Ron crowed. "First meeting tomorrow night! I've been practising Transfiguration forever—this is finally gonna pay off!"
"Wonder if the Slytherin monster can duel?" a nearby Gryffindor muttered, half-joking, half-worried.
"Always good to know how," Harry said. He looked at Sean. "You coming?"
The kid had soloed a basilisk. Yesterday they'd spent an hour debriefing with McGonagall (who for some reason had looked like she'd aged ten years during the conversation). Harry was now convinced even an Auror would have trouble taking Sean in a fight.
The cottage crew automatically formed a loose circle around Sean while he read the notice.
He was curious, honestly. The basilisk was handled—so how exactly was the curse going to chase Lockhart out of the castle this time?
Later that afternoon the Great Hall had already been transformed.
Long house tables vanished. A long, gilded platform ran along one wall, lit by hundreds of candles floating overhead. The enchanted ceiling was back to velvet-black and starry. Almost the whole school had crammed in, chattering and excited.
"Looks brilliant," Justin whispered as they squeezed in near the edge of the crowd. "Wonder who's teaching?"
"People say Professor Flitwick was a duelling champion back in the day," Hermione said hopefully.
"We'll find out tomorrow—I just hope we actually get to duel," Ron said, practically vibrating. He'd spent the entire day cooped up in the cottage practising and hadn't left once.
After a year of hard work, his Transfiguration had finally scraped its way to [Proficient]. Right now he was itching for a clean, fair fight with basically any Slytherin who'd ever sneered at him.
Sean glanced around at the cottage crew and realised something.
They'd all changed—massively.
Hermione and Justin were obvious, but Harry had multiple spells at [Proficient] now, Neville's double-wand style was downright scary, and even Ron had come miles.
Environment really does shape a wizard, he thought.
Last lesson of the day: Potions with Slytherin.
The dungeon was extra tense. When the bell finally rang, students shot out of there like they'd been Confunded.
Harry, predictably, got kept behind to scrub hairy caterpillars off the desks.
Sean was already waiting at the dungeon door. He and Harry locked eyes—both looking like they'd rather be anywhere else right now.