Gilderoy Lockhart was a fraud and a charlatan, yet few in the Wizarding World seed to suspect it.
In theory, his secret shouldn't have been so well-kept. The wizards he had struck with mory Charms were often relatively famous and influential. To achieve such a perfect cover-up, Lockhart would have had to wipe the mories of entire communities—a feat that would be just as difficult as actually performing the heroic deeds he claid to have done.
"The book Wandering with Werewolves, by Gilderoy Lockhart... it details how he allegedly saved a village from a lycanthrope nace. But curiously, the mory of a local wizard nad Piers, who actually lived in that village, doesn't match the book at all," Bruce whispered as they walked.
"We tried to explain the discrepancy to people, but do you know what? Wizards don't want to believe the truth of a grizzled, ugly old man, even if he was the one who actually saved the village. They prefer the story of the handso celebrity. People generally believe what they want to believe. Even the witch who was rescued is now steadfastly convinced that Lockhart was her savior."
Bruce's expression turned uncharacteristically solemn. "Listen to , young Green. Keep your distance from the hearts of n; they are often foolish and shallow. But also, stay close to them; for they can, at tis, burn with a fierce sincerity. Do you know where the difference lies?"
Sean watched him quietly.
"In choice, of course!" Bruce said, his grin returning as he patted Sean on the shoulder. "Choose to help a handso, brilliant wizard like , and you'll never have such troubles!"
Bruce walked off, radiating his usual arrogance—though his brand of confidence was fundantally different from Lockhart's hollow vanity.
The next class was Transfiguration, a joint session for Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.
Professor McGonagall tasked them with turning a beetle into a button. Sean completed the assignnt almost instantly. In the field of Transfiguration, there were very few people at Hogwarts left for him to follow; in so aspects, he had already surpassed the curriculum.
Soul Transfiguration hadn't just helped him identify his Soul Revenant; it had bolstered his ntal capacity to drive "self-change." This ant that outside of the Animagus transformation, he could begin experinting with wand-based self-transmutation—much like Viktor Krum's partial shark transformation during the Triwizard Tournant.
Advanced Transfiguration ntioned ancient wizards who could turn themselves into bats, but such magic was highly specialized and fraught with risk. It explored a realm that few wizards had ever set foot in—a realm Sean suspected was the Lands Between.
As he pondered this, Sean flicked his wand, causing the stone surface of the wall to ripple with a minute change.
[Alert: You have practiced Material Transfiguration at the standard of an Entry-level Master. Master-level Proficiency 3]
[Material Transfiguration: Entry (90/300)]
[Soul Transfiguration: Entry (110/300)]
His progress in Soul Transfiguration had overtaken Material Transfiguration. Once he reached the Adept level in Material Transfiguration—giving him the ability to cause instantaneous geographical shifts—he would be ready to finalize the Basilisk Biscuits.
He went over his checklist: several fire dragons, a few Cerberus biscuits, his Refraction Spectacles to block the gaze, his own Master-level spells, and a legendary sword that he was fairly certain he could call upon.
I hope it's enough...
"Mr. Weasley, this is the last one, is it not?"
Professor McGonagall's voice snapped Sean out of his thoughts. The Head of Gryffindor was frowning at Ron, who was currently asking for his third beetle. He had spent the lesson either accidentally squashing the insects or sending them scurrying across the floor, much to the terror of the girls sitting nearby.
Sean felt a wave of ntal fatigue after his five practice sessions. He turned his head and saw Ron looking utterly despondent. Ron waved his wand, but it rely let out a series of crackles and sparks like a damp firework. Every ti he attempted the spell, a cloud of thick, grey smoke that slled like rotten eggs billowed around him.
Looking closely, Sean could see the wand was held together by a thick, ssy layer of Spellotape. That was clearly the source of the problem.
The bell for dinner rang, and the students began to file out of the classroom. Soon, only Sean, Harry, Hermione, and Ron remained. Ron was frustratedly tapping his wand against the desk.
"Stupid... useless... piece of..."
"Write ho and ask for a new one," Harry suggested as the wand let out a noise like a snapping twig.
"Oh, right, so I can get another Howler?" Ron muttered, stuffing the hissing wand into his bag. "'It's your own fault your wand got snapped'—I can hear her already."
Harry fell silent. Hermione didn't offer any comfort either; she simply gathered her things and marched out of the room, still fuming over their reckless "flight" to school.
"I..." Harry started to say sothing, but Oliver Wood appeared at the door and hauled him away.
"Quidditch practice starts tonight, Harry! To the Great Hall for a quick bite—we're already behind schedule!"
Against the Quidditch fanatic, Harry had no defense. He was dragged off, wondering if it was even legal to have practice on the very first day of term.
The Transfiguration classroom fell silent once more. The cages of rats and beetles rustled, providing the only sound in the room. Ron sat with his head in his hands, his gaze losing focus as it rested on his broken wand.
The setting sun was withdrawing its final rays, and the room was slowly sinking into shadow. Being "alone," Ron couldn't help but dwell on his insecurities. He thought of what he had seen in the Mirror of Erised—Head Boy, Quidditch Captain, better than Percy, better than the twins.
But reality was a harsh reminder that he was the most unremarkable mber of the Burrow.
"Your wand is broken."
A quiet voice broke the silence.
"Gah! Sean—" Ron jumped, nearly falling off his stool. He instinctively hid the taped-up wand behind his back. "Oh, this? It's... it's fine. I fixed it. No trouble at all." He looked away, trying to sound casual.
"You need to go to Ollivanders. Fred and George will help you with the secret passages. Gertie, the shop manager, will et you outside the castle grounds; she's often there waiting for the twins anyway. Go this weekend," Sean said.
"Look, it's not really—" Ron's face turned scarlet as he tried to scramble for an excuse. But when he t Sean's calm green eyes, his voice failed him.
"It's fine," Sean said.
"It's a lot of trouble... it's breaking school rules... if we're caught..." Ron could barely hear his own voice, and he knew it was trembling.
Sean thought for a few seconds. "It's fine."
At that mont, the golden twilight managed to pierce through a gap in the clouds, bathing Ron's shoulders in a soft light. He looked at the boy standing before him and felt that Sean was like a vast, calm, and infinitely supportive ocean.
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