Hogwarts: Proficiency Panel

Chapter 387 388: Hagrid’s Innocence

Life at the farm was idyllic.

From the moment he opened his eyes to the pale blue horizon at dawn until he watched the twilight fade into pink over the fields, time flowed by to the rhythm of the melting snow. Various Kneazles often darted across the white ground—fat ones, agile ones, and clumsy ones that ran into boulders because they weren't looking where they were going.

Whenever he saw them, Sean would look down from his second-floor window. Compared to the ancient weight of Hogwarts, the McGonagall Villa had a different atmosphere—a light, pine-scented comfort, like bedsheets that had been thoroughly dried in the summer sun.

"Still a bit to go, but not much..."

Sean sat at the small workbench Marcus had personally prepared for him, intoning the final incantation for the Fairy Tale Biscuits. Just like brewing a potion, specific stages of alchemy required the wizard to infuse the object with magic—either through a precise wand movement or a spoken charm.

Sean had just completed that phase. As for what remained, or where the ritual was still imperfect, it was likely the runic engraving. In such delicate and meticulous work, raw inspiration wasn't enough; rigorous, careful experimentation was the hallmark of a successful alchemist.

"My dearest, most brilliant, most extraordinary—" Marcus's voice boomed from downstairs.

"I'm coming, Uncle Marcus!" Sean shouted back, cutting him off before the old wizard could pile on another dozen adjectives without taking a breath.

When Sean reached the dining room, the entire McGonagall clan was gathered around the long table. There was Minerva McGonagall, her eyes deep and softening; the elderly yet sturdy Marcus; and Nai McGonagall, who worked in publishing and had hugged Sean so hard upon their first meeting that he'd nearly turned blue.

And, of course, the three "Little McGonagalls," who were currently shoving and elbowing each other for the best seat.

"Regardless of what you say, Marcus, we are leaving today," Minerva said firmly, sparing her relative a sharp look.

"I ought to find a way to tie you lot to the chairs... well, fine. Just don't forget, Sean, the Villa is always your home. And Minerva," Marcus added, his voice turning a bit raspy as he set down his newspaper, "that goes for you too."

"I brought a few unique inventions from the American wizarding community for you, Sean. I've left them in your room, child. I hope you find them useful," Nai said with a kind smile. "The Project Map you gave me is wonderful; it's saved me hours of administrative headache."

Sean hadn't realized Great-Aunt Nai had brought him alchemical gifts. He had spent the entire day immersed in the Wampus Biscuit research, so focused that he hadn't even noticed new items appearing in his room. He frowned slightly. Was I... getting too relaxed? In the Wizarding World, a lack of vigilance was often the first step toward trouble.

"If this place makes you feel at ease, then please, allow yourself some joy," Nai added, as if reading his mind. "That was our primary goal in bringing you here."

She took a sip of her steaming tea. In the reflection of Marcus's lingering, regretful gaze, the carriage arrived. Through the gap in the curtains as they drove away, Sean caught a final glimpse of the small hills and the oil-painting-like fields of the Villa. A faint, nearly imperceptible smile touched his lips.

The final dawn of the Christmas holidays arrived, cold and white. Hogwarts Castle was suddenly a-buzz with news. These reports weren't just from the British papers, but from across the international magical community.

The Great Hall.

Justin and Hermione had finally taken a break from their frantic studying to pore over the newspapers. The headlines varied wildly, but they all pointed to one person and one topic: the cold case of the Hogwarts murder and the truth that had remained buried for fifty years. It had finally been laid bare.

It captured the attention of every student. There was nothing more relaxing at the end of a holiday than a bit of high-stakes Hogwarts scandal, especially over breakfast.

"This is it! Everyone's going to know how heroic we were!" Ron said, practically vibrating with excitement.

Justin, having understood the full scope of the investigation, had warned them not to speak of it until Hagrid was officially cleared. Now, there was no need for Ron to act as a town crier; nearly every publication in the country was running the story.

"If you count passing out in the middle of the Chamber as 'heroic,' then sure, Ron," Hermione noted dryly, popping his bubble.

Everyone in the Room of Hope knew that Ron was a contradiction of a wizard. He was a boy who was too terrified to even speak Voldemort's name, yet he had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with them to face the Dark Lord himself.

"Let's go find Hagrid!" Harry said eagerly.

"I'm in. Sean, are you free?" Justin asked, turning to the Ravenclaw.

Since returning to the castle, Sean had spent the vast majority of his time in the Potions dungeon. According to the portrait of Sir Cadogan hanging on the dungeon wall, the interactions between Snape and Sean were currently the "most entertaining show in the castle."

"I'll go," Sean nodded. He had just finished a batch of Expert-level Antidotes. Professor Snape's mood had improved significantly as a result, even granting Sean a small reprieve from his usual duties.

With the plan for the afternoon set, the group returned to their respective tasks. Justin and Hermione remained tireless, their focus pulling Ron along in their wake. Ron was now showing up at the Room of Hope every morning like clockwork—a massive departure from his usual habit of sleeping until noon during the winter months.

This left Harry as the "slacker" of the group. He spent every day on the Quidditch pitch, regardless of the sleet or wind. After their recent loss, Oliver Wood had become obsessed with training Harry to be a Seeker who could surpass a certain Mr. Green.

Harry suspected that Wood's dream was a lost cause—especially since he knew Sean didn't even bother to train. In other words, if Sean ever developed even a passing interest in Quidditch, the Ravenclaw team would be invincible.

Harry had expected to feel resentful about this, but to his surprise, he didn't. He had realized that Quidditch, while important, paled in comparison to the things they had already faced.

Whenever he was soaring through the air, his mind would drift back to the secret, silent nights... the image of a young wizard carrying a blood-stained Sword of Gryffindor and walking through the bone-chilling cold of the corridors alone.

Harry suddenly understood a deeper, more profound truth. If Sean ever asked him: "Harry, I'm going to fight Voldemort to protect this castle—will you come with me?" he knew he would drop his broom and walk away from Quidditch in a heartbeat.

Lost in these thoughts, the afternoon arrived. The group gathered and began to walk out of the castle. The winter sun shone down on them, feeling surprisingly warm against their robes.

[End of Chapter 388]

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