Ten minutes remained before the start of Alchemy class—the sa window of ti when the upper-year students were finishing their final afternoon periods.
"Madam Ravenclaw..."
Professor McGonagall had already known the truth, yet hearing it confird by Sean's own lips still brought a peculiar, fluttering sensation to her chest.
"Yes, Professor," Sean replied.
"Would you be willing to share...?" McGonagall's usually stern tone had softened considerably.
"Of course, Professor. If you could wait just a mont?" Sean thought for a second before turning toward his bag.
"Certainly, child."
McGonagall watched him, her expression a mix of curiosity and an uncharacteristic patience.
A few minutes later, Sean returned to the suit of armor where they stood, now carrying a specific stone basin. It was shallow, its rim etched with ancient runes and cryptic symbols. The center was filled with a swirling, silver substance that was neither liquid nor gas, but sothing like captured clouds.
Minerva McGonagall recognized it instantly: a Pensieve.
"Professor Dumbledore taught the thod for extracting and viewing mory threads," Sean explained, holding the basin steady. "They are quite extraordinary."
They retreated to the privacy of the Transfiguration office. Together, they leaned over the basin, lowering their faces until they broke the surface of the shimring silver.
They tumbled headlong through a dark void before landing on the shores of a tranquil, mist-shrouded lake. A babbling brook andered nearby, winding away into the grey distance. Standing by the water was a woman—beautiful, severe, and radiating a quiet, regal authority. She wore sweeping robes of green and blue silk and held a book that looked as old as the world itself.
"Ravenclaw..." McGonagall breathed, her voice a hushed whisper of awe.
The mory played out before them. The Professor watched the exchange between the boy and the founder. When Rowena said, "You may ask many questions, but choose the most important one," McGonagall felt her heart skip a beat.
In the art of subverting expectations, the young wizard truly had no equal.
As she watched the mory-Sean answer that he sought nothing for himself because Hogwarts had already given him enough, Minerva stood frozen. The figures in the mory didn't notice her; they continued their quiet conversation in the heart of the soul-forest. She saw the black cat's ears give a small, content twitch.
The mist gradually dispersed, and Sean felt Professor McGonagall's hand steadying his arm. A mont later, they were back in her office. Outside the window, snow was beginning to settle on the ledge.
As Sean stepped out of the office, he noted that her fireplace remained the most fiercely burning in the entire castle.
The corridors were a hive of activity. mbers of the Hogwarts Kneazle Society were out in force, leaving no stone unturned in their search for secret passages. At this rate, they would soon possess a more comprehensive map of the castle than the "Hogwarts Explorers' Club" run by the Weasley twins. They had already managed to locate the entrance behind the statue of the one-eyed witch.
Bypassing the amateur detectives, Sean made his way to the familiar Alchemy classroom and took his seat upon his high-backed stool.
Unbeknownst to him, Helena Ravenclaw was watching from the branches of a tree just beyond the glass. She watched as Sean ticulously examined every material, his quill moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm as he engraved precise runic arrays. When she saw an upper-year student near him try to take a shortcut—rushing his asurents and roughly forcing alchemical components together—Helena's grey eyes flashed with a look of undisguised contempt.
She drifted away, floating past the Trophy Room. She looked at the awards, seeing the echoes of a thousand years of Ravenclaw students striving for wisdom, points, and glory. In her long vigil, she had always taken special note of the brilliant but anxious ones, or the gifted but lonely ones. She had watched them learn, grow, and eventually leave her behind.
She glided through the corridors of the castle that had been her prison and her sanctuary for a millennium. Suddenly, her gaze snapped back to the young wizard.
Class had ended. Sean was currently deep in conversation with Professor Terra.
"I've finished the modifications on the mirrors, Professor," Sean said.
"Splendid. I rember you were looking for a way to substitute the primary reagents. What did you find?" Terra asked, taking the device from him with keen interest.
"The materials I used are still quite expensive, I'm afraid." Sean's eyes dimd slightly. The task had proven remarkably difficult.
"Oh?"
Terra's interest spiked. It was rare to see Sean looking discouraged.
"I've only managed a partial modification. I adjusted the material ratios and redesigned the magical circuitry. I managed to get a single mirror to link with seven others simultaneously, but that seems to be the current limit..."
Sean produced his notebook, which was filled with complex diagrams and theoretical proofing. For an Alchemy Master, these notes were a "Master Script"—the blueprint that would allow them to replicate the feat.
"Only seven?"
Terra scanned the notes, her eyes wide. "And the cost? How much did it increase?"
"Increase?" Sean blinked. "It didn't. I managed to lower the production cost by thirty percent."
"You are going to revolutionize the magical world, child!" Terra whispered in shock.
She flipped through the pages frantically, looking for the near-extinct materials usually required for such a high-level link. Her eyes darted back and forth.
The good news: the extinct materials weren't there.
The bad news: the final ritual was so sophisticated that even she couldn't parse the logic at a first glance.
"Where are the core reagents?" she asked urgently.
"Optimized away," Sean replied. He knew exactly what she was looking for; it was the unspoken language of master alchemists.
"Optimized..."
Terra froze. A wide, uncontrollable grin broke across her face. The rarity and staggering price of Two-Way Mirrors had always been due to those specific, impossible-to-find ingredients. Very few people had ever dared to alter the ancient formulas for fear of destabilizing the entire ritual.
But Sean didn't know the "rules" he was supposed to be afraid of. In the field of Alchemy, he simply followed his intuition.
"What do you want to call it?" Terra asked, handing the mirror back.
"I've made the fra smaller. As for the na... let's call it the Magic Hand Mirror."
Sean produced the finalized version. It was no larger than his palm, the glass surface showing a faint, hazy reflection of its sister-link. It looked unassuming, almost like a Muggle trinket.
But in Sean's mind, the System chid:
[Alert: You have practiced the construction of a Magic Hand Mirror at a Novice standard. Proficiency 3]
[High-Tier: Magic Hand Mirror: Unlocked (3/30)]
Sean's breath hitched.
A High-Tier Alchemical Construct!
It seed he had finally identified all the masterworks required for his promotion to Master Alchemist. From this point on, the only obstacle between him and the title was ti.
"How many have you made?" Terra asked.
"Two sets. Seven mirrors per set," Sean recalled.
"I see." Terra nodded with satisfaction.
Keeping the production low ensured the secret wouldn't leak, giving her more ti to... maximize the strategic value of the invention.
"By the way, Professor... this one is for you."
Sean handed her one of the finished mirrors. Terra took it, her smile widening into one of pure, unadulterated pride.
[End of Chapter 403]
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