Chapter 354: The Final Rest
As Sean stepped toward the hearth, he found himself face-to-face with a ghost.
Standing beside the translucent figure was a small, grey-skinned creature with exceptionally long ears—a Pukwudgie. He carried a bow and a quiver of arrows on his back and was currently glaring at Sean with an expression of deep-seated annoyance.
"You may call me Morrigan," the ghostly lady said.
Sean knew immediately that this was one of the "mysteries" Headmistress Herrera had hinted at.
"Ma—Madam Morrigan," he said. His mind was racing through so many historical texts that his tongue nearly slipped.
"Has anyone ever told you that your powers of observation are remarkably keen, child?"
Morrigan—or rather, Isolt Sayre—smiled at him.
"Professor Dumbledore and..."
Sean was interrupted before he could finish the list.
"Isolt, your eye for talent is as dreadful as ever," the Pukwudgie barked. He stared at Sean with wide, incredulous eyes. Even by the standards of Pukwudgie bluntness, he found Sean's answer lacking.
Sean didn't quite catch the insult, but Snowy, perched on the bedpost, let out a sharp, indignant hoot. She looked ready to swallow a Basilisk Biscuit and settle the score then and there.
"My apologies. William is always like this," the ghost lady offered with a faint, apologetic smile. "William, dear, you've forgotten to polish the statues today."
The Pukwudgie, William, let out a sharp snort but vanished on the spot without another word.
Snowy, still huffing, flapped her wings as if to give chase. Sean's Soul Hallow gave a brief, pulsing glow against his chest. He knew Snowy was exhausted from the international travel and was likely just cranky—and while Pukwudgies were powerful magical beings, they wouldn't stand a chance against a Basilisk's gaze if things turned ugly.
"Snowy, come back, please," Sean called softly.
The owl gave Sean's sleeve a sharp, reprimanding peck before settling back onto her perch.
"You seem to be very well-liked by magical creatures," the ghost lady noted with interest.
Sean thought of his "Epic" tier talent for magical beasts and offered a modest nod.
"In that, you and I are much alike... You have come from Hogwarts, I take it? If I may ask—which House do you belong to?"
"Ravenclaw," Sean replied.
"And here at Ilvermorny?"
Her smile grew noticeably warmer.
"Horned Serpent," Sean answered.
"Brilliant!"
The founder of Ilvermorny actually gave a small hop of joy, her head momentarily passing through the ceiling. Sean had expected as much; history recorded that as a child, Isolt's greatest dream had been to attend Hogwarts and be sorted into Ravenclaw.
"I suspect you have many questions for me?" the ghost said, drifting back down from the rafters.
"Why... do you still linger here?" Sean asked carefully.
"As long as equality and justice are absent, as long as prejudice and persecution remain, I shall not depart. These children are still so young; I must ensure that the dark days of the past do not return," she said, her voice calm and steady.
Sean watched her, detecting a thread of sorrow in her eyes. It was a strange thing to see; ghosts were supposed to be imprints of emotion, yet she seemed to carry a very real, very heavy burden.
"You have done enough, Ma'am," Sean said after a long silence.
He finally understood why Ilvermorny had never strayed from its path in several centuries—it was because Isolt Sayre was still there, guarding it. But for a mind as sharp as hers, death should have been the next great adventure. Isolt had been a woman of immense spirit; at twelve years old, she had crossed the Atlantic alone to escape the clutches of her aunt, Gormlaith Gaunt. For someone so brave, staying behind was likely much harder than moving on.
"My dear young wizard, can I not say it is because I still have knowledge left to carve into these walls?" she asked playfully. She gave a wave of her hand, and the room grew significantly colder. The temperature drop caused the ancient runes etched into the stone walls to glow with a soft, blue light.
"William helps me engrave these truths, helping me manage the school—the legacy of love that our generation left behind. But I am satisfied with the Ilvermorny I see today. It is nearly time for me to go."
"You mean... to move on?" Sean asked, genuinely surprised.
To his knowledge, there was no spell—not even the Killing Curse—that could kill a ghost a second time. They could be dispersed, but they always reformed; physical harm was impossible. They were trapped in the loop of their death-moment, often becoming distant and forgetful over the centuries. For many, it was an eternal torment. In the vast history of magic, ghosts didn't "die," but they often craved the "Final Rest."
"You don't look nearly as shocked as most would, child. If you were willing to transfer to Ilvermorny—forgive me, Herrera has been badgering me about it for weeks—I could teach you everything I know."
She drifted closer, looking at Sean with an expression of immense pride. To the world, he was a genius who had appeared out of thin air. To her, in this moment, he was just a remarkable child.
"My apologies," Sean said. His face remained calm, but he felt the weight of his next words. "Hogwarts..."
Outside, the long winter night continued to drop snow upon the mountains. But Sean knew this wasn't his snow. He looked out at the pale blue sky and said slowly, "Hogwarts is my home."
"Very well, then."
The ghost lady offered a gentle smile and moved away from the fireplace. "A few of the Floo connections have been acting up lately. Would you mind having a look for me? In return, I shall tell you what I know of the 'Ghost-Death' and the unique beasts that call Ilvermorny home."
She vanished before he could respond. Sean had no idea where a ghost went when they "disappeared," so he followed her instruction and approached the hearth.
Suddenly, the green flames surged. Sean stared as a tall, imposing figure materialized within the fire, spinning at high speed.
Seconds later, Professor McGonagall stepped out of the fireplace, vigorously brushing ash from her robes.
"Shabby conditions, a remote stone shack—is this truly where they've put you up?!" she demanded, her voice vibrating with suppressed fury.
"Professor!"
Sean stood stunned. He hadn't expected Isolt to reconnect his fireplace to the Hogwarts network so effortlessly.
"Child, where is Terra?" McGonagall asked, scanning the room. Snowy let out a series of excited "coos" and flew onto McGonagall's shoulder, sounding for all the world like she was airing a list of grievances.
"Professor..."
Sean realized that Isolt likely hadn't gone far. In fact, she was probably watching his teacher... scold him.
"What is it, Sean?" McGonagall asked, turning back to him.
"...Merry Christmas."
[End of Chapter 354]
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