Hogwarts: Proficiency Panel

Chapter 401 402: The Choice

Ron's words left Sean momentarily stunned.

After a second, he offered a quiet, sincere smile. "That has very little to do with me, Ron. It was your own hard work that got you there."

"I knew you'd say that..." Ron muttered, his voice dropping so low it was almost swallowed by the draft in the corridor. "You'll never truly realize how much you've done, or how important it is."

The students in the hallway began to disperse in small groups, heading toward their next lessons. Ron followed them, disappearing down the stairs.

Sean watched him go before continuing his own climb. As he passed a frosted window on the floor above, his mind turned over what Ron had said.

The magical world's approach to education had always been maddeningly vague—a fact Sean had noticed from the very day he first picked up a wand. Perhaps it was because magic was, by its nature, mysterious and deep, but he believed there were still laws that could be mapped.

Professor Dumbledore had once said: "People fear the unknown more than they fear death."

This held true for magic as well. When wizards relied solely on "talent" and "instinct," it was like plunging into a trackless, infinite forest. They couldn't see the path ahead, nor did they truly know where they stood.

Sean's notes were the markers carved into the trees by those who had walked before. And the standards he had established via his system panel allowed young wizards to finally see which stage of mastery they had actually reached.

He hadn't considered what that level of clarity meant to a struggling student like Ron. It gave him a sense of purpose.

Sean felt a surge of quiet satisfaction. It seemed there was still much he could do for the preservation and advancement of magical knowledge.

Deep in thought, he didn't even notice Professor McGonagall striding past him a few yards away, her eyes fixed on some distant administrative crisis.

Hogwarts was once again caught in a flurry of sleet and snow. Heavy flakes drifted against the grey silhouettes of the mountains, and a biting wind rattled the windowpanes, carrying the scent of ice.

Sean used a subtle Warming Charm on his scarf, preventing it from becoming sodden with the damp air.

"Are you quite finished with your internal debate?"

The Grey Lady was waiting by a window, her translucent form outlined by the pale frost clinging to the curtains.

"I am," Sean replied honestly.

"And what story have you brought me today? If you know more about the ninth century than I do, perhaps I shall deign to listen," Helena said with a hint of weary sarcasm.

"It is a story... from the world behind the Veil," Sean said slowly.

The words made Helena visibly uncomfortable. She feared that realm, yet was barred from it forever. To describe that place to her was like describing a feast to a starving man. If anyone other than Sean had spoken those words, she would have vanished through the wall in an instant.

"My apologies... but I have been there. And I met someone quite unexpected," Sean continued.

"Sean, you are usually a boy of your word—" Helena let out a cold, hollow laugh. "Do not start lying to me now."

In response, Sean allowed the Void Rune to float into the air between them. Even a ghost could sense the ethereal, dream-like mist swirling around the stone—the unmistakable aura of the soul realm.

"A Soul Hallow?!"

Helena froze. She realized she had once again underestimated the boy. Even though she held him in higher regard than most, he continued to shatter her expectations.

"Very well. Proceed," she said, her interest finally overriding her pride.

"I met Madam Ravenclaw," Sean said.

Helena looked as though she had been struck. She went perfectly still for a long time.

"Sean... if wizards could simply use a stone to speak with the dead, the world would have descended into chaos centuries ago. But... I believe you. Speak, then. What sweet lies have you prepared? I have nothing left for you to take, so be blunt."

She tried to maintain an air of regal indifference, but the storm of emotion in her eyes betrayed her.

"She said: 'It's okay'."

Sean didn't offer any flowery speeches or elaborate comforts. But those two words were enough to leave Helena paralyzed. Tiny, pearly droplets of spectral energy fell from her eyes, evaporating before they hit the floor.

Sean lowered his gaze, giving her the privacy of her grief.

"In the world of ghosts, if no one remains to care for them, they lose their minds and their hearts," Sean said after a moment. "I only wished to tell you... that someone is waiting for you."

"A beautiful dream, my lucky Mr. Kneazle," Helena whispered, her voice cracking. "But I cannot listen to any more."

She turned to drift away, her composure finally breaking.

"Madam Isolt Sayre taught me a way," Sean called after her. "A way to grant a ghost their Final Rest."

"Stop joking, Sean!" Helena cried out, her voice echoing through the stone corridor.

Fortunately, Sean had already cast a Quietening Charm, so the outburst didn't draw the attention of any nearby students. As for Sean talking to a ghost? The student body wouldn't have blinked; they were already used to him holding conversations with the Basilisk.

Helena vanished into the walls, but before she left, she had seen the Requiem Ritual inscribed in Sean's copy of The Book of Ghosts. She had seen the raw magical power radiating from the text.

She drifted aimlessly through the corridors. The wind outside felt like a transparent river; the rain like falling, frozen stars. To her, the castle felt hollow and cramped. Her non-existent heart ached with a profound, ancient sorrow, yet she had no more tears to shed.

"Rowena..." she whispered into a dark corner, calling her mother's name just as she had when she was a small, frightened girl.

Sean followed her silently. He made sure not to watch too closely or listen to her murmurs, giving her the space she needed. He simply stayed a constant, quiet presence in her wake.

He followed her for ten hours and seventeen minutes.

Eventually, Helena grew weary. She realized she had drifted outside the castle walls. They were standing on the lawn in the deepening twilight. The air was filled with the scent of wet grass, the lake, and the comforting smell of woodsmoke drifting from Hagrid's chimney.

She had never felt more alive than in that moment of absolute despair.

"How long have you been behind me, Sean?" she asked.

"Ten hours and seventeen minutes," he replied. "So...?"

"I don't know," she said.

"Mmm," Sean hummed.

They stood together for a long time, watching the sunset turn the horizon into a wall of flame.

"I have to go to class," Sean said abruptly.

Helena couldn't help it; the corner of her mouth quirked up into a genuine smile.

Upon returning to the castle, Sean still wasn't sure how much he could actually help. The burden of the choice didn't rest on his shoulders.

However, he was soon distracted from the philosophical weight of the situation. He encountered Professor McGonagall standing by a suit of armor, her gaze slightly unfocused as if she were wrestling with a problem of her own.

"Child, is there something you wish to tell me?" she asked.

"Yes, Professor. I experienced something extraordinary in the Lands Between... I encountered Rowena Ravenclaw."

Sean saw no reason for concealment.

[End of Chapter 402]

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