Chapter 569: The Missing Horcrux
"The Firebolt..."
Ron Weasley stared at the broom with a look of undisguised envy, his eyes practically glazed over. Their whispers were quickly drowned out by the roar of the crowd as the players began to take the pitch.
Sean easily spotted Bruce, his upperclassman, who was currently circling the Hufflepuff hoops. Bruce looked down at the stands and gave Sean a cheeky wink, silently mouthing something.
"Look to my right..."
Sean raised his omnioculars and located Leon standing near the Hufflepuff captain. Leon stood with perfect posture, radiating an air of effortless grace even in the biting wind.
"Hufflepuff is going to take this one," Bruce mouthed confidently. "It's a shame Ravenclaw had to run into us today—"
"And the match begins!" Lee Jordan's voice boomed over the commentary charms. "The highlight of the day is the duel between the two star Seekers—the stalwart Cedric Diggory for the badgers, and the stunning Cho Chang for the eagles... Merlin's beard, she's absolutely brilliant to look at, isn't she?"
"Jordan! Can we please stick to the match?" Professor McGonagall's sharp voice cut through the commentary.
"Right you are, Professor—just providing a bit of color. On a side note, she's still single—"
"JORDAN!"
"Right, right! Hufflepuff in possession! Bruce takes the Quaffle, he's heading for the hoops... he shoots... HE SCORES! Ten points to Hufflepuff!"
In the stands, Sean spent a rare moment actually observing the mechanics of the game. Suddenly, his Magic Hand Mirror vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out to see a message.
[Bruce: Piece of cake. Tell me honestly, little Green—if I'm the reason you didn't play today, I'll never let you hear the end of it! Watch this—Hufflepuff is bringing home the glory!]
Half an hour later.
"Let's hear it for Ravenclaw!"
Madam Hooch's whistle shrieked through the air. Bruce performed a frustrated mid-air spiral before descending to the soggy grass, looking thoroughly deflated. The Ravenclaw team was already huddled in a massive group hug. Bruce watched them with a piteous expression.
"Giving up after one little setback? Pathetic," Leon noted coolly, landing beside him.
"Whose side are you on?!" Bruce snapped.
"Not yours, clearly," Leon replied, beginning to wipe down his broom.
In truth, while Ravenclaw had secured the Snitch, the point gap had been razor-thin. Bruce and Leon's coordination had been flawless, putting Hufflepuff nearly ninety points ahead at one stage. It was only Cedric's split-second loss to Cho that had cost them the match.
"I suppose we won't be seeing 'The Great Green' on the pitch this season then," Bruce grumbled.
"Not necessarily," Leon said. He looked up and offered a warm smile to the young wizard approaching them.
Sean had expected a Ravenclaw victory, but he hadn't anticipated just how much his two upperclassmen would disrupt the timeline. If the match had lasted ten minutes longer, Ravenclaw would have lost even with the Snitch in hand.
"Look what I brought back from the village," Bruce said, his energy returning as he pulled an elegantly wrapped box from his robes. "Crystallized Pineapple... a little tip: this is the secret weapon for winning over Professor Slughorn."
As November drew to a close, the chill deepened into a bone-deep freeze. Snow fell in heavy, silent curtains over the castle and the grounds. In the kitchens, the house-elves were in a frenzy, preparing vast quantities of steaming stews and sweet puddings.
It should have been a normal twilight. Sean had finished his daily ritual of practicing until exhaustion and was heading to the Great Hall for dinner. But on the way, a notification flared in his mind.
He stepped outside, leaning against a massive beech tree to shield himself from the wind. He activated his Legilimency link and peered into the recent memories of Peter Pettigrew.
Suddenly, his vision shifted to the dilapidated interior of the Riddle House in Little Hangleton. He was seeing through the eyes of a rat.
"There is more in the bottle, Master. If you are still hungry, you must drink..."
"Wait a while," another voice replied. It was a man's voice, but high-pitched and cold, like a winter gale whistling through a graveyard. "Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail. I require another feeding before dawn. The journey has exhausted me."
"Master... if I may ask... how long shall we remain here?"
"Are you questioning my designs, you miserable thing?!"
A third voice cut in—harsh, biting, yet dripping with a terrifying, fanatical devotion.
The vision snapped shut.
Sean's brow knit into a hard scowl. Peter had found Voldemort. He had done it faster than Sirius, faster than Lupin. It was as if he had a homing beacon for evil in his skull. Within a single month, the rat had located his master.
But there was someone else there... a second servant. Who is he?
Sean dug deeper into the memory stream:
"The snake... she is approaching again, Master..."
"Let her pass."
"Yes, Master—away with you, you beast!"
And then Sean saw it: the blood-red eyes, the sallow, snake-like face. Voldemort stared directly at the rat, a chilling, mirthless smile stretching across his lips. Peter was visibly shaking in the memory.
Sean pulled out his Magic Hand Mirror. "Remus. Sirius."
Two faces appeared in the glass immediately.
"Mr. Green," Sirius said, his voice weary. He looked rough; his hair was a matted mess, and his robes were scorched and torn.
"We've just had a run-in with a nesting ridgeback, sir..." Lupin added, looking equally battered. He was missing half an eyebrow and was breathing heavily. "Honestly, this forest is massive. Finding someone who wants to stay hidden is—"
"Don't give up yet, old friend," Sirius said, though he broke into a fit of coughing as he patted dust from Lupin's shoulder.
Sean didn't interrupt. "I've located Nagini. Next Saturday, she and I will arrive at Little Hangleton."
The two men behind the glass went rigid, their eyes sharpening with a sudden, predatory focus.
"Do not approach the village until I arrive," Sean warned.
"As you wish, sir."
"By your command."
The connection cut. Night had fully fallen, the sky a deep ink-blue dotted with silent stars. Sean remained still, reviewing the images.
Nagini. Voldemort hadn't kept her close in the memory... was that a mistake, or a calculated move?
"He remains cunning... watch the seventh..." Trelawney's words echoed in his head.
He let out a long breath. If Nagini hadn't been turned into a Horcrux yet, it gave him room to move. The Maledictus Blood Curse was a nightmare of soul-transformation, but Sean's research into the Lands Between gave him an edge. If he could bring her back, he might be able to save her soul before it was consumed.
As for Voldemort... and his "new" servant. Sean hadn't seen the man's face. He was always hooded, his eyes hidden in shadow.
Voldemort was playing a dangerous game. Even as a ghost, he had options. He could possess any traveler who crossed his path. It wasn't that Peter found Voldemort; it was that Voldemort allowed himself to be found. He needed a wizard—not a Muggle.
Voldemort despised Muggles too much to even consider them as servants, though Sean suspected the Dark Lord's "standards" were dropping as his desperation rose.
With a servant, the path to a body was simple. Bone of the Father, Flesh of the Servant, Blood of the Enemy. If Voldemort didn't insist on Harry's blood, he could have been reborn months ago.
And the Horcruxes, Sean thought. What will he choose for the final one?
Sean hated the unknown. That was why he had allowed Peter to return. He could have stopped the rat, but then Voldemort would have remained a hidden viper, waiting to strike from the shadows.
The night grew colder. Sean knew that if he wanted to destroy Voldemort once and for all, he only had one option left.
He looked at his system panel:
[Legilimency (Special Modifier): Master (292/?)]
Friday.
Sean had a double-header: Defense Against the Dark Arts followed by Potions. It was the first time they would be attending these classes under the new staff arrangement.
To Sean's relief, he had a private session with Dumbledore scheduled for Saturday. It acted as a small light at the end of a very dark week.
"Enter," Professor Snape's voice drawled from inside the DADA classroom.
As Sean stepped inside, he noted how quickly Snape had claimed the space. The curtains were drawn tight, leaving only the flickering candlelight to fight the gloom. The walls were covered in new, macabre diagrams: victims of the Cruciatus Curse, jagged magical wounds, and distorted anatomical sketches.
The Ravenclaws and Gryffindors sat in a heavy, uneasy silence, their eyes fixed on the terrifying imagery.
"I have not yet asked you to take out your books," Snape said, closing the door and gliding toward the front of the room.
Hermione quickly shoved her copy of Facing the Faceless back into her bag.
"I have a few things to say to you, and I require your absolute focus." Snape's dark eyes swept over the room, pausing slightly longer on Sean than anyone else.
"To date, you have had four different teachers in this subject. Each brought their own 'style' and their own priorities. Given this chaotic foundation, I seriously doubt many of you will be able to keep up with the curriculum I intend to teach. My standards are significantly higher."
Snape stepped down from the dais, pacing the room. The students craned their necks to keep him in sight.
"The Dark Arts," Snape began, his voice dropping to a low, mesmerizing register. "They are many, varied, and ever-changing. Fighting them is like fighting a Hydra; cut off one head, and another appears—one that is fiercer, faster, and more cunning than the last. You are facing an unpredictable, indestructible force."
Sean listened intently. This was why he was so cautious. Voldemort hadn't just mastered the Dark Arts; he had practically become one.
"Therefore," Snape raised his voice, "your defense must be as fluid and innovative as the magic you seek to repel. These diagrams," he gestured to the walls, "show the reality of the shadows. The agony of the Cruciatus Curse..." He pointed to a screaming witch. "The hollow void of the Dementor's Kiss..." A wizard huddled in a corner, his eyes vacant. "The corruption of the Inferi..." A blood-stained floor.
Snape circled back toward the front, his black robes snapping like a whip. "Now... I suspect you are all quite illiterate when it comes to Non-verbal Spells. Tell me... what is the primary advantage of a silent cast?"
Hermione's hand shot into the air instantly.
Snape scanned the room, looking for any other option. His gaze lingered on Sean, but the boy was lost in thought, his eyes distant. With a look of profound annoyance, Snape finally snapped:
"Very well—Miss Granger?"
"An opponent does not know what magic you are about to perform," Hermione said confidently, "giving you a split-second advantage in a duel."
"A response ripped verbatim from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six," Snape sneered, ignoring Malfoy's snicker from the back. "But essentially correct. Casting without vocalizing provides the element of surprise.
"Of course, not every wizard is capable of it. It requires an immense amount of concentration and a disciplined will. Things that some of you," he looked directly at Harry, "conspicuously lack."
Harry looked down, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his desk.
"Green!" Snape barked.
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