Hogwarts: Proficiency Panel

Chapter 535 536: The Wisdom of Crookshanks

"You wished to see me, Baron," Sean said, his voice polite and steady.

"It is I... Mr... Green..."

The Bloody Baron's voice was a jagged rasp. According to the other ghosts, his

vocal cords had never quite recovered from the day he took his own life.

"You brought her peace," the Baron whispered, his low voice barely audible over

the wind whistling through the battlements of the high tower. "Because of you,

my burden feels a fraction lighter."

"And what of you, sir?" Sean asked.

His voice was soft; had the breeze been any stronger, it would have been lost to

the night.

"My fate is of no concern to you, sir. I asked you here to be certain... can you

truly offer a ghost... deliverance?"

The Baron drifted closer. As he approached, Sean felt a wave of bone-chilling

cold radiate from the spirit's silver-stained robes.

"For those with a well-ordered mind, death is but the next great adventure,"

Sean recited quietly, echoing a sentiment written by the founders of Ilvermorny.

The words seemed to possess a unique resonance. In the Lands Between, language

was more than just sound; it was a conduit for magical intent.

"Helena... Rowena's daughter... she deserves a good ending," the Baron said,

sounding as though a great weight had been lifted from his translucent chest.

"When the Headmaster asked me to find her all those centuries ago, I knew it

then. Ravenclaw does not truly hate Ravenclaw..."

"But what about you, sir?" Sean repeated, refusing to let the ghost deflect.

"Helena hates the Baron—this blood is the proof of it!" The ghost let out a

tragic, haunting smile, followed by a series of high-pitched, neurotic chuckles.

Sean watched him. Before he could speak again, the Baron sank abruptly through

the stone floor. As he vanished, a faint, muffled whisper drifted back up to the

roof:

"A man as stained with sin as I... does not deserve the peace you offer..."

Sean frowned. He could not grant forgiveness on behalf of Helena Ravenclaw. But

he also knew that "hate" was a living thing that changed over centuries. Perhaps

Helena no longer loathed the man who killed her; perhaps she simply pitied him.

The mist was thick tonight, swirling around the Astronomy Tower like a restless

sea. Sean hoped that soon, he would find the chance to bridge that gap.

By the next afternoon, Defense Against the Dark Arts had officially become the

favorite class for the majority of the school. Only Draco Malfoy and his cluster

of Slytherin sycophants continued to disparage Professor Lupin.

"Look at the state of that suitcase," Malfoy drawled loudly as Lupin passed them

in the corridor. "Honestly, does the Ministry not have a dress code for the

help?"

No one else cared that Lupin's robes were frayed or that his luggage was held

together by string. Instead, the students were buzzing about the curriculum.

"I heard we're doing Red Caps and Kappas next week," Michael Corner told a group

of Ravenclaws. Sean listened as the rumors spread. "Actual, hands-on encounters!

Proper DADA, this is!"

Red Caps were nasty, goblin-like creatures that lurked in places where blood had

been spilled—dungeons, old battlefields—waiting to bludgeon the lost. Kappas

were water-dwellers, scaly monkey-creatures with webbed hands, famous for

strangling the unwary who waded into their ponds.

"We just have to survive Potions first," Michael added, his excitement turning

to dread.

Since the Boggart lesson, Professor Snape's mood had turned from its usual

coldness to something bordering on nuclear. The story of the Boggart taking

Snape's form and being forced into a vulture-topped hat and a green dress had

spread through the castle like Fiendfyre.

Snape did not find the joke amusing. Especially since his own Teaching Assistant

had been there to witness the aftermath.

Now, whenever anyone so much as whispered Lupin's name, Snape's eyes would snap

toward them with a look of pure, concentrated malice. He seemed to be actively

hunting for a reason to make Lupin's life miserable, starting with the next

class.

The atmosphere in the Potions dungeon was even more suffocating than usual.

Snape opened the lesson with a face so thunderous it made the first-years look

like they wanted to vanish into their cauldrons.

The students looked at Sean, standing by the dais, as if he were their only hope

for survival.

And he was. With Sean's quiet interventions and steadying presence, the class

managed to get through the hour without any major casualties. Ravenclaw and

Hufflepuff only lost twenty-five points total—a record low for a "Bad Mood

Snape" day.

"Mr. Green, thank Merlin you were there..." a Hufflepuff whispered as they

scrambled out of the room.

"I thought he was going to expel me for stirring clockwise instead of

counter-clockwise," his friend added, still looking shaky.

Sean watched them go, thinking that Snape wasn't quite as terrifying as they

believed, but he couldn't deny that the Professor's ego had taken a massive hit.

No man likes to be the punchline of a school-wide joke.

"Professor Snape is actually..." Sean started to say, but the Hufflepuffs

shivered and bolted before he could finish.

Sean looked back to see Snape heading toward Lupin's office, his robes billowing

like a dark cloud. Sean watched him for a moment before turning toward the Great

Hall.

He had his own milestone to reach tonight. He was only three hundred points away

from achieving his second Master level in a magical branch.

The dinner feast featured a magnificent spread: bacon, steak-and-kidney pie,

chicken, ham, prawns, and salmon, topped off with trifles and fresh mushrooms.

Sean checked his system panel as he ate.

[Fiendfyre Proficiency: 29,700 / 30,000]

Almost there.

Beside him, Hermione was feeding Crookshanks. The ginger cat had just leaped

onto her lap, a massive dead spider dangling from his jaws.

"Does he have to eat that in front of us?" Ron asked, looking disgusted.

"Clever Crookshanks! Did you catch that all by yourself?" Hermione ignored Ron,

stroking the cat's squashed face.

Crookshanks crunched the spider slowly, his yellow eyes fixed on Ron with a look

of supreme arrogance.

"Just keep him away from me," Ron growled, stabbing a mushroom with his fork.

"Scabbers is sleeping in my bag, and I don't want him getting any ideas."

Crookshanks didn't blink. His bottle-brush tail gave a sharp, twitchy flick.

Then, with a sudden leap that made Ron jump, the cat jumped off Hermione and

followed Sean as he rose from the table.

"Mmm?"

Sean paused as he felt the weight of the cat on his shoulder. He closed his

eyes, activating his Direct Communion talent.

"You need my help?" Sean whispered.

He could feel the cat's intent. It wasn't just a hungry animal; it was a

sentinel.

Help a traveler in the shadows? Sean thought. The man who will hunt the danger among us?

Sean smiled. Crookshanks was indeed a very smart cat. He knew exactly who the "rat" was, and he knew who had the power to stop him.

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