"Firebolt—"
Ron stared at it with a trace of envy.
Their whispers were soon drowned out by the sound of the players entering the pitch.
Sean easily spotted Senior Bruce, who even smiled and winked at him from the stands.
Then he mouthed:
"Look to my right—"
Sean raised his binoculars and easily spotted Leon beside Senior Bruce.
He stood straight-backed, looking graceful and composed.
"Hufflepuff is going to win big."
Senior Bruce mouthed.
"What a shame Ravenclaw had to run into us—"
"The match has begun! The biggest excitement in this game is the two rookie Seekers: Cedric from Hufflepuff, and Cho Chang from Ravenclaw—Merlin, she's absolutely gorgeous—"
Lee Jordan commentated passionately.
"Jordan, could you please tell us what is happening in the match?"
Professor McGonagall's voice cut in.
"No problem, Professor, just giving a little background information. Incidentally, this young lady is still single—"
"Jordan!"
"Right, right. Hufflepuff has possession now. Bruce of Hufflepuff is preparing to shoot—he scores! Ten points to Hufflepuff!"
In the stands, Sean was, for once, carefully observing the players' movements.
Suddenly, a loud voice came from his magic hand mirror.
"Piece of cake, piece of cake—oh, my dear little Green, if you say the reason you aren't playing is because I'm here, then I can't believe that anymore—watch carefully, Hufflepuff is going to win big!"
It was Senior Bruce. He had actually snuck a quick use of his magic hand mirror.
Half an hour later—
"Let us congratulate Ravenclaw!"
Madam Hooch's whistle sounded. Senior Bruce turned once in the air, then drooped all the way back down to the ground.
All the Ravenclaw players were hugging each other, while Bruce stood there looking pitifully at them.
"Losing heart over one little setback—"
Leon criticized him without mercy.
"Whose side are you on?!"
Bruce rarely got this worked up.
"Not yours, anyway."
Leon shook his head.
"Merlin's Itching Powder—this is the Seeker's game! Even though we were leading Ravenclaw by so many points—"
Bruce said, dejected.
"It was close."
Leon packed up his broom.
In truth, although Ravenclaw had caught the Golden Snitch, they had not widened the points gap against Hufflepuff.
Hufflepuff's new members, Bruce and Leon, had worked together with remarkable chemistry, at one point leading Ravenclaw by ninety points.
Unfortunately, Cedric had lost to Cho in the end.
"Looks like we won't be meeting little Green on the pitch after all."
Bruce muttered.
"Not necessarily."
Leon said.
Then he put on a smile and looked at the young wizard walking toward them.
Sean had known long ago that Ravenclaw would beat Hufflepuff.
But he hadn't expected these two seniors, who had appeared out of nowhere, to almost rewrite the ending.
If the match hadn't ended quickly enough, Ravenclaw might very well have caught the Snitch and still lost the game.
"Look what I brought?"
Bruce seemed to recover his energy at once. He pulled an elegantly wrapped candy box from his pocket.
"Crystallized pineapple—secretly telling you, this works wonders on Professor Slughorn."
November was nearly over, and the weather was growing colder and colder.
Heavy snow drifted down over the castle and grounds.
The house-elves in the kitchen were busier than ever, preparing steaming stews in all kinds of flavors and sweet puddings.
It seemed like another ordinary dusk. As usual, Sean trained himself until he was exhausted, then headed to the Great Hall for dinner.
But on the way there, a message came that Sean had not expected.
He quickly walked outside the castle, leaned against a beech tree, and began checking Pettigrew's memories.
And so, far away at the Riddle House in Little Hangleton, it was as if a pair of eyes had suddenly appeared out of thin air and begun watching what had happened last night.
"There's still some in the bottle, Master. If you're still hungry, drink a little more."
"Stay a while."
Another voice spoke.
It was also a man's voice, but strangely high-pitched, and as icy as a winter wind.
"Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail. I'll need another meal tonight. This journey has exhausted me."
"Master, may I ask how long we'll stay here?"
"Are you questioning the master's decision, you stupid thing?!"
Another man's voice sounded, cruel yet devout.
The memory ended there.
Sean's brows drew tightly together.
Peter had found Voldemort.
Before Sirius. Before Lupin.
It was as if he had grown an antenna on his head that said "Voldemort, come here," finding Voldemort in less than a month.
And more than that, someone else had appeared by Voldemort's side.
Who was he?
Sean immediately checked older memories.
"That snake, it's coming closer again, Master—"
"Let it go."
"Oh, I'll go right now—get away, you mongrel!"
Then Sean saw it.
Those bloodshot eyes. That pale, noseless face.
It stared at Pettigrew and gave a chilling smile.
Pettigrew shook uncontrollably in terror.
A few seconds later,
Sean raised his magic hand mirror.
"Mr. Lupin. Mr. Sirius."
Sean spoke into the mirror, and two faces immediately appeared above it.
"Honored Mr. Green."
Sirius's voice sounded weak and drained.
He really didn't look very good. His hair was a mess, his robes were torn, and there were several burnt holes in them.
A questioning look appeared in Sean's eyes.
"We just fought a few resting dragons, Mr. Green—this forest really has everything—"
Lupin looked even more battered. Half his eyebrow had been burned off, and he was panting.
"To be honest, sir, this forest is too large. Finding someone deliberately hiding in it—"
"Don't sound so defeated, old friend."
Sirius patted Lupin's shoulder and knocked off a cloud of dust, then started coughing himself.
Sean listened to their exchange without interrupting.
"Sir, what are your instructions?"
Once he seemed to have caught his breath, Sirius asked.
"We've found Nagini's whereabouts. Next Saturday, she and I will both arrive at Little Hangleton."
Sean said.
On the mirror, both men's eyes visibly sharpened.
"Please do not go lightly to Little Hangleton before then—"
Sean added.
"As you command."
"As you command."
The connection cut off.
Night descended at that very moment. The sky was deep ink-blue, and now and then a few birds crossed it.
Sean remained silent for a long time, carefully reviewing the images in his mind.
Nagini had not been brought along by Voldemort.
Was that deliberate, or accidental?
"He remains cunning—beware—the seventh—"
That sentence kept echoing in Sean's mind.
He let out a long breath.
In any case, if Lady Nagini had not yet been made into a Horcrux, Sean had much more room to maneuver.
A blood curse was, in essence, a curse of soul transformation. Very few people would have any way to deal with it.
But Sean happened to have studied the soul rather deeply.
He himself could freely turn into animals in the Borderland.
As long as he could bring Nagini back, Sean had some confidence.
As for Voldemort—and that other servant who had suddenly appeared—
Sean had not been able to see his face clearly.
He always wore a hood, only revealing shadowed eyes.
And so, just as Sean had expected, Voldemort remained cunning.
Even as a wandering spirit, he still had no small number of choices.
He could pick any passerby at random. If they were not a wizard, Voldemort would be able to control them even more easily.
Rather than saying Peter had found Voldemort, it would be more accurate to say Voldemort had found him.
Otherwise, how could someone who had blindly run into a forest so conveniently stumble straight upon his former master?
As for why Voldemort had wandered in the forest for so long, Sean suspected it was because he needed a wizard.
Yes, a wizard.
Voldemort despised Muggles so much he wouldn't even consider taking one as a servant.
Otherwise, with his ability to manipulate Quirrell, it was hard to imagine he couldn't charm some passing Muggle.
Especially after Sean had confirmed that magic originated from a wizard's soul.
Voldemort certainly looked down on Muggles, but that was under ordinary circumstances. A Voldemort driven to desperation, Sean believed, would lower even the bottom line he barely possessed.
Once Voldemort had a servant, what came next would be too easy.
The components of the rebirth potion were not complicated.
Bone of the father, flesh of the servant, blood of the enemy.
If Voldemort's target was not Harry, this would be far too easy to accomplish.
And that was not even mentioning the fact that Sean had no idea whether Voldemort had any other resurrection magic.
On the path to immortality, Voldemort had gone farther than anyone.
More urgent than that was Voldemort's Horcrux.
What would he choose?
Sean did not want to face the unknown.
That was why Peter had returned to Voldemort's side.
As for whether Sean could stop Voldemort from making a Horcrux in advance—
in theory, yes.
But what if he failed?
Voldemort had appeared. He had found Peter.
But before that, Sean had clearly seen that he had found another servant.
Had he already made a Horcrux?
Would Sean's appearance only alert him?
If they failed and Voldemort went into hiding, would they have to stay on guard forever against a serpent in the dark?
The night grew deeper and deeper.
Sean knew that if he had to find the final Horcrux and destroy Voldemort completely,
he always had one final method.
He looked at the panel:
[Legilimency (Special Enhancement): Master (292/?)]
On Friday, Sean had one Defense Against the Dark Arts class and one Potions class.
Interestingly, after both subjects had changed professors, today would be his first class with each of the new arrangements.
What improved Sean's mood slightly was that tomorrow, he had a private lesson with Headmaster Dumbledore.
That diluted a little of the heaviness he had felt these past few days.
"Come in."
Professor Snape's voice sounded from inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
Sean entered and looked around carefully.
Professor Snape had already stamped his own personality onto this classroom.
The curtains were drawn tightly shut, leaving only the faint light of candles. The room was darker than usual.
There were new pictures on the walls that had never been there before. Many showed people in agony, hideous wounds, and strange, twisted body parts.
Once the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors sat down, no one spoke. Everyone was staring at the grim and horrifying pictures on the walls.
"I did not tell you to take out your books."
Snape shut the classroom door and walked behind the lectern to face the class.
Hermione hurriedly threw her copy of Facing the Faceless back into her bag and shoved it under her chair.
"I have something to say to you, and I expect your full attention."
His black eyes swept over the upturned faces, lingering a little longer on Sean's than on the others.
"So far, this course has had, I believe, four teachers. Needless to say, each of them had their own teaching methods and priorities. In this state of chaos, I question whether you will be able to keep up with my class, as what I teach will be considerably more advanced."
Snape stepped down from the lectern and began pacing around the classroom, his voice lowering. The students stretched their necks one by one to keep him in view.
"Dark Magic,"
Snape said,
"is varied, numerous, ever-changing, and endless. Fighting it is like fighting a many-headed beast. Cut off one head, and another emerges immediately, fiercer and more cunning than the one before.
What you face is something unpredictable and indestructible."
Sean grew thoughtful.
This was also why he treated Voldemort so cautiously.
Voldemort had nearly lived himself into being a form of Dark Magic.
"Therefore, your defenses,"
Snape said, raising his voice slightly,
"must be as flexible, varied, and inventive as the Dark Magic you must face. These pictures—"
as he walked, he pointed casually at several of them,
"vividly display the conditions of victims. For example, someone struck by the Cruciatus Curse—"
He gestured to a witch who was clearly screaming in agony.
"Someone who has suffered the Dementor's Kiss—"
A wizard was curled in a corner, eyes vacant.
"Or someone attacked by Inferi."
A pool of blood lay on the floor.
Professor Snape crossed to the other side of the classroom and walked back toward the lectern, black robes swaying behind him. The entire class's gaze followed him once more.
"Now—I imagine most of you are still unfamiliar with the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?"
Hermione's hand shot up at once.
Snape slowly scanned the whole class, saw that there were no other options—including a certain young wizard—and paused.
These past few days, that boy had been visibly more diligent, yet always absent-minded.
So Snape said stiffly,
"Very well—Miss Granger?"
"Your opponent doesn't know what magic you're about to use,"
Hermione said.
"Which gives you a split-second advantage."
"That answer was copied word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six,"
Snape said contemptuously, while Malfoy snickered from the corner.
"But it is basically correct. Yes, casting spells without saying the incantation aloud can achieve an element of surprise.
Of course, not every wizard is capable of doing this. It requires great concentration and willpower, things some people—"
his gaze stopped on Harry's face—
"do not possess."
Harry lowered his eyes, intensely irritated.
"Green!"
Snape said.