Dusk was falling, and in that tense mont, a witch suddenly appeared at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Everyone let out a collective sigh of relief.
Under the beech trees, the dark forest looked even more nacing.
Professor McGonagall (tall, stern, and wearing erald-green robes) stood there like a rock. Just seeing her made the young wizards feel safe again.
"Neville… you actually got Professor McGonagall to co?" Hermione's eyes sparkled as she stared at the shrinking boy.
"N-no… it wasn't…" Neville's face went red. He flashed back to the hallway that afternoon:
"Mr. Longbottom, you should not be spreading such nonsense—"
McGonagall's face had been scary strict.
"It's n-not nonsense… everyone knows…"
Neville had stamred.
"Who's everyone?"
One sweep of her eyes, and Neville spilled the whole group.
Sean hadn't expected to run into McGonagall here. He froze, speechless.
"You're being reckless."
Only Sean heard it; the others didn't react. She was using a whispered spell.
"You should have told …"
Her sharp gaze landed on him. A flicker of worry passed through her eyes.
She didn't buy into vague prophecies (no more than Trelawney's yearly "death predictions").
Voldemort's return? She wasn't ready to believe that either.
But she believed her kids—more than ever.
"I'll stay here two nights. If I see nothing, you and Neville are getting detention until exams!"
To the little wizards, her harsh words sounded like music. They decided they'd never hate Transfiguration again.
Soon Hagrid showed up in his moleskin coat and started chatting with McGonagall:
"Professor… yeah… a unicorn got badly hurt. Never seen that before in the forest… the centaurs' prophecy… Mars is really, really bright…"
Harry had said Hagrid never heard what Firenze told him—otherwise he could've backed them up ages ago.
A cold wind swept through the forest. That night, they heard nothing strange. Whatever dark thing lurked in the trees seed to know soone was watching and stayed silent.
McGonagall's face grew graver.
She slipped away without a sound.
Just then, the eastern sky turned pale. Dawn. They'd made it.
"Day one—we survived! We'll find him eventually and kick him out of Hogwarts!" Justin cheered.
Harry was shaking with excitent. Hermione pumped a fist.
Ron was done. He'd been wired all night:
"Brilliant, Sean, Harry, Justin, Neville, Hermione…"
With every na, his eyelids drooped lower.
"I'm going to bed. You know how long we can sleep?"
Only then did they feel how wrecked they were. They'd never been this exhausted. One touch of a bed and they'd pass out.
Neville was already half-asleep on his feet. The others dragged him back to the cottage.
A pile of little wizards collapsed instantly.
Morning ca, but the storm outside hadn't fully stopped. The fireplace roared. Sean didn't sleep. He just kept thinking, thinking.
"You still worried, Sean…?" Justin plopped down beside him. He was beat too, but he always made sure his friends were okay first.
"Two days…"
Sean muttered.
"Two days? You an McGonagall's staying two days? Then detention? Sean, you forgot—she said detention with Hagrid. And once Dumbledore's back, Hogwarts will be way safer."
Justin tried to reassure him.
But Sean stayed anxious until he finally dozed off—just before afternoon classes.
Voldemort didn't show in the forest? Why?
The forest was huge. Even McGonagall couldn't watch every corner.
In the books, Voldemort killed unicorns for weeks even with Dumbledore at school.
He was greedy. Cunning. He'd broken into Hogwarts under Dumbledore's nose.
So why fear McGonagall just sitting there, not even patrolling?
Think harder. Think harder.
Sean kept pushing himself.
Night fell again. This ti the kids weren't as panicked. Harry and Justin went with Firenze. Hermione, Neville, and Ron followed Hagrid.
Sean stayed alone with the injured unicorn. He'd confird—no movent for hours.
Then it hit him.
He bolted toward the castle.
The Marauder's Map was shaking like crazy. Sean grabbed a broom and shot through the night sky.
How could he forget?!
Quirrell and Voldemort couldn't touch the Philosopher's Stone because their deepest desire was the Stone itself.
But now—was Quirrell's deepest desire still the Stone?!
Quirrell had made the right choice. Between despair and hope, he'd seen a new path.
Whether it was seeing Sean's group guarding the forest or the squirrel biscuit in his hand—he wasn't fully committed to getting the Stone for Voldemort anymore.
If Voldemort gave up on the forest and forced Quirrell to the fourth-floor room, under that pressure, Quirrell might reach the mirror in a new state:
Wanting to find the Stone. Wanting to see it. But not to use it.
That ant Voldemort would get the Stone.
Whether it could remake his body or not—this was bad.
A paper airplane sliced through the sky and landed in Justin's hand. Just a short ssage—but it made him break into a cold sweat. He grabbed his hidden broom, zood over the treetops, and raced toward McGonagall.
At the sa ti, another paper airplane streaked toward the distant International Alchemical Conference.
Professor Tela's award-winning origami plane was the perfect ergency ssenger: ignored terrain, ignored distance, blindingly fast.
Everything set, Sean appeared in the fourth-floor corridor.
In a place he never expected, Mr. Owl stepped out of a portrait.
"You've been drawn to the vast wonder of magic, yet you always see the faint, even impure lives around you. You've felt both sensations and asured the full breadth a wizard's life can hold.
That is Ravenclaw wisdom.
Know this: Ravenclaw will always be proud of you."
Mr. Owl bowed deeply. Sean saw the trapdoor open. He stepped through.
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