Hogwarts.
Evening.
On the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Sean held a small, exquisitely crafted crystal phial.
This was the Veritaserum he had retrieved from his vault. It was a powerful substance used to compel the drinker to speak nothing but the truth. Just three drops were enough to force a person to reveal their innermost secrets.
The Ministry of Magic maintained strict regulations over its use, but as Professor Snape was the one who had brewed this particular batch, Sean suspected the Ministry's rules carried very little weight here.
Sean understood the potion and its formula, though he was not yet capable of brewing it himself. Even for a master like Snape, the process took a full month of simring. One of the key ingredients was the feather of a Jobberknoll—a silent bird that never utters a sound until the mont of its death, at which point it lets out a long, piercing scream, repeating every sound it has ever heard in its life in reverse order. This made its essence indispensable for Truth Potions and mory Enhancers.
A swan song of sorts? Sean thought. He tilted his head back and swallowed three drops.
"Who are you?" his Transcription Brooch asked, its voice magically pre-recorded to prompt him.
"Sean Green," Sean replied. He felt a peculiar, irresistible force taking hold of his tongue. He couldn't lie. He couldn't even manage to stay silent.
"In the branch of Transfiguration, have you reached the level of a Master?"
"Yes."
"In the branch of Charms, have you reached the level of a Master?"
"No."
"In the branch of Charms, have you reached the level of an Expert?"
"No."
Sean was silent for a mont. As he suspected, a wizard's conscious mind didn't always accurately perceive their own magical limits. In the depths of his subconscious, he believed he had not yet reached that tier.
"In the branch of Charms, is your level approaching that of an Expert?"
"Yes."
...
"Regarding magic as a whole, have you reached the level of an Expert?"
Sean felt a prickle of tension as the brooch asked the question. This was a wizard's fundantal self-image—what Sean believed to be the true level of his Conviction.
"No."
"Then, have you reached the level of a Master?"
"No."
"Are you sowhere between the two?"
"Yes."
It was a strange, illuminating dialogue. Sean realized that a wizard's magical "Faith" was a holistic thing, built from the collective progress of every magical branch. When he achieved a breakthrough in Charms or Potions, his overall magical foundation strengthened in tandem.
This brought the concept of "Mana" to mind. Perhaps wizards didn't actually increase a pool of internal energy; perhaps they simply deepened their belief in the impossible. From the very beginning, the Wizarding World had never used the term "Mana."
"The Killing Curse requires a powerful bit of magic behind it..." the fake Moody had once said. If you replaced "magic" with "conviction" or "belief," the statent remained perfectly sound. It explained why wizards required specific emotions and willpower to act as the catalyst for their spells.
The voice from the brooch dropped an octave for the final question.
"Can you ensure, at all tis, that you will never lose yourself to the Dark Arts?"
...
The sky turned a heavy, bruised purple as Sean returned from the forest. His brow was knit in a deep scowl. Behind him, the last traces of twilight had faded, leaving only a deep, inky blackness.
The Void Rune against his chest flared with a brief, white light. He noticed the moon was clear and unobstructed tonight. Soon, trails of silver mist began to coil around the furniture in the Ravenclaw dormitory.
A black cat stepped into the swirling fog. Looking closely, the dark, erald-flecked clouds of malice that usually haunted the realm had vanished.
anwhile, in Gryffindor Tower.
"This ti... this ti, it has to work..." the small, red-headed girl whispered to herself before flopping onto her bed.
"Ginny, if you see Mr. Kneazle, can you give him a ssage for ?" a dorm-mate whispered from across the room.
" too!" another girl added, sounding far too excited for bedti.
"What do you want to say?" Ginny asked curiously, before shaking her head. "Mr. Kneazle doesn't like trouble. You're better off talking to the statue."
"Ginny!" The energetic girl lunged across the gap to tickle her. After a bit of horseplay, the room finally went quiet.
In the Lands Between, a cluster of kaleidoscopic mist shot toward the black cat like a rocket.
Sean reacted instantly, darting aside. He batted at the mist-cloud and recognized Ginny's signature imdiately. But how? How was Ginny able to actively direct her dream-self?
Curiosity might not always kill the cat, but it certainly made this one restless. As Ginny erged from the mist, the cat tried to tuck itself behind a vaporous pillar.
"Mr. Kneazle!" Ginny shouted, her face flushing with excitent.
"Good evening," the cat said, stepping out from its hiding place as if it had intended to be seen all along.
"I have so many questions! It was you who took the diary, wasn't it? Since it went missing, I haven't had a single nightmare!" Ginny chirped.
"It wasn't ," the cat replied.
Sean watched her, an idea beginning to simr in his mind. The Soul Hallow possessed incredible, untapped potential. Could he use it to pull Harry and the piece of Voldemort's soul into the Lands Between together?
As a Horcrux Harry had been created by accident; his soul was entwined with the Dark Lord's in a way Ginny's never had been. In the original story, Harry's soul and the fragnt of Voldemort always appeared in the sa "way-station" between life and death.
Sean felt he was missing a vital piece of the puzzle, but the answer felt close. As he pondered, the mist in the soul realm grew thicker and more opaque.
The Next Day.
The Room of Hope.
The Void Rune was dormant. As Sean continued to use it, the bond between him and the artifact was deepening. He could feel it slowly regaining its magical charge; soon, he would be able to test his theory on the Horcrux.
If everything went smoothly, Sean would be able to neutralize one of Voldemort's tethers to life with relatively little effort. Beyond that, he needed to accelerate his own growth. His progress in Charms and Potions felt painfully slow compared to his Master-level Transfiguration.
Ti marched on.
The good news: the Basilisk Biscuits were finished. As for the giant serpent itself... Sean decided he would have to consult Dumbledore on its final relocation.
The bad news: the secrets of the Chamber couldn't be kept forever. If luck was against him, explaining the situation to Snape might result in six years of solid detention in the dungeons.
As Sean walked down the corridor, he saw Harry being cornered by Lockhart yet again.
"So, Harry," Lockhart was saying, his face a mask of patronizing joy. "Today is the first Quidditch match of the season, isn't it? Gryffindor against Slytherin? I hear you're quite the player. I was a Seeker myself, you know. They wanted to go for the National Team, but I preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of the Dark Forces. Still, if you ever feel you need a few private tips, don't hesitate to ask. I'm always happy to pass on my expertise to those... less naturally gifted..."
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