Chapter 314: Analytical Conviction
In the depths of the Forbidden Forest, a colossal serpent opened its maw. Even without the use of its eyes, the Basilisk could hear the crisp crackle of singed chitin and scent the heavy, enticing aroma of its prey.
As it fed, Aragog vanished into the lightless heart of the woods, flanked by the remnants of his colony.
Sean didn't pay them much mind. He surveyed the ground, which was littered with the massive carcasses of spiders, and began to harvest a few choice alchemical ingredients. In a single night, the population of Acromantulas in the forest had been reduced by more than half.
Surprisingly, only a third of that damage was directly attributable to Sean's fire. The majority had simply ended up in the Basilisk's stomach.
As the King of Serpents gave in to its savage instincts among the spider-hollow, the System notifications chimed rhythmically in Sean's mind:
[Alert: You have gained the affinity of the magical creature Basilisk at an Expert level. Proficiency +50]
[Alert: You have gained the affinity of the magical creature Basilisk at an Expert level. Proficiency +50]
Sean silently felt the strange duality of the creature—a mix of primitive affinity for him and a core of pure, radiating malice. Moonlight pierced through the scorched canopy of the forest, illuminating the hollow.
For a wizard, choice is everything, Sean thought. They must choose their own belief. But for a dark creature, their conviction is written into their very blood...
To be powerless to choose one's nature was a special kind of tragedy. The saga of the Chamber was drawing to a close; now, the only question was what to do with the Basilisk itself.
The Room of Hope.
The room was filled with the soft glow of floating candles and hand-carved pumpkin lanterns. A fire roared in the hearth, sending waves of warmth through the cozy space.
The students sat together like a small, private tea society, chatting idly about the upcoming Halloween festivities. When Sean returned, he was levitating a pumpkin so large it occupied the space of a small carriage.
It was the largest of Hagrid's crop—the one the half-giant called the "Pumpkin King." It had been given to Sean as an early Halloween gift.
"Sean! Where on earth did you find that?" Hermione asked, looking dazed.
"I've never... seen one that big..." Neville stammered.
Magic applied to food and flora often lacked "combat" utility, yet the complexity of the charms required was immense. From a purely technical standpoint, Hagrid possessed a genuine genius for agricultural charms.
"Hagrid gave it to me," Sean explained, settling the massive gourd by the fire. "He also asked me to tell you lot that he hasn't seen you at his hut in quite a while."
Justin Finch-Fletchley immediately began sketching designs for what they could carve into the Pumpkin King, while Harry, Ron, and Neville all turned a deep shade of pink. It was true; ever since the threat of the Basilisk surfaced, they had been so consumed by the crisis that they had neglected their friend.
As they stood there in sheepish silence, Sean took his seat. Since returning from the Restricted Section, the words Godelot had written in Magick Moste Evile had been echoing in his mind.
"To create a conviction of light is a grueling task, yet to forge a conviction of evil is effortless..."
How exactly should a "Wizard's Conviction" be understood?
After a long period of reflection, Sean's quill finally began to move across a fresh piece of parchment:
[Emotion: Love, Protection, Cruelty, Distortion...] These comprise the wizard's sentimental core. They correspond to the emotional power of magic. In moments of extremity, they can trigger explosive magical effects. For example: Fred, in a fit of rage, turning Ron's teddy bear into a spider; or Harry, fueled by indignation, inflating his Aunt Marge like a balloon.
Young wizards, before they encounter self-doubt, believe 'I want, therefore I can.' This belief, mixed with imagination and curiosity, makes magic as natural as breathing.
[Reason: Wisdom, Knowledge, Insight...] These comprise the logical core of magic. They are the annotations wizards have written for magic over a thousand years. They provide stability and a practical roadmap for learning. Wizards begin to build confidence through 'external rules'—spells, wand movements, and potion recipes. They believe 'Because I performed the steps correctly, the magic will work.' The belief shifts from 'Who I Am' to 'What I Do'.
[Ritual Magic:] The final synthesis of both cores. It is the ultimate expression of a wizard's magic.
As he finished the long passage, Sean felt a veil lifting from his understanding.
It explained why Voldemort was so obsessed with killing Harry Potter personally. To the Dark Lord, he was the greatest sorcerer in history; he could not accept defeat at the hands of a mere child. In fact, he couldn't accept it, because it would shatter the "Conviction" that anchored his entire existence.
According to Godelot's theory, if a wizard's conviction collapsed, their magic would wither with it. It was like Neville; because he believed he was a failure, his magic reflected that inadequacy. But when he was encouraged and his mindset shifted, his power returned almost instantly.
Regardless of whether Godelot's theory was perfectly accurate, its implications were staggering.
What about me? Sean wondered, watching Justin tinker with the pumpkin. What is my conviction?
"Can I have a minute of everyone's time?"
Noticing Sean had "returned" from his thoughts, Harry spoke up quickly. "Do you lot want to go to a Deathday Party?"
The air in the Room of Hope went still for a second before the questions started.
"A Deathday Party? What's that when it's at home?" Justin asked, always the first to show interest.
"It's Nearly Headless Nick's five-hundredth deathday tomorrow—Halloween," Harry explained. "He's holding a party in one of the larger dungeons. His friends are coming from all over the country... they're all ghosts, apparently."
"Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?" Ron asked, not looking up from his Transfiguration practice. "Sounds a bit grim and unlucky to me."
"A Deathday Party? I bet there aren't many living people who can say they've attended one of those! It'll be fascinating!" Hermione said, her eyes bright with academic curiosity.
Justin and Neville instinctively looked to Sean. Sean appeared to be thinking, but in reality, he was already mourning the loss of a proper Halloween dinner. He knew what ghost parties were like: nothing but cold, rotting food and the smell of damp stone.
He had no intention of skipping the Great Hall's feast to share moldy cake with flies and maggots. Between the drama with Tom and the Basilisk, he had already missed far too many excellent Hogwarts meals.
"I hope you all have a wonderful time," Sean said gently, a faint smile touching his lips.
He suddenly had a thought. If Harry and the others actually went, what were they supposed to say? "Congratulations on being dead for five centuries?"
Harry's eyes dimmed visibly. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, looking disappointed. If he'd known Sean wasn't interested, he wouldn't have agreed to go. Spending Halloween with his friends sounded much better than spending it with the deceased.
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