Don't judge the person you were back then from where you stand now.
That was the only thing Sean wanted to say.
Dumbledore lifted his pale-blue eyes, and in that moment he finally understood the emotions McGonagall and Snape had carried for so long.
What an extraordinary child this was.
When someone possessed immense power and talent yet remained humble;
when someone had clawed their way out of barren soil, half-dead and desperate, yet still felt moved by every tiny, fragile struggle;
when someone had been shown little kindness in life yet still met the world with the purest goodwill, giving everything they had to anyone who needed help…
Only a person like that could truly be called great.
Because when he had been the same age, no one—not even Dumbledore himself—could have done better.
The Daily Prophet loved to call him the heir to the greatest wizard of the age. But whose place was he supposed to take? In a way, Sean had never really been just a student.
"If you knew the terrible mistakes I've made…"
Dumbledore felt suddenly young again, talking to a soul the Soul Relic itself had acknowledged as great.
"It doesn't matter, does it?" Sean said quietly. "If the person you want to bring back is only a soul…
then please, Headmaster—don't waste your pity on the dead. Pity the living. And above all, pity those who live without love."
Sean looked straight at him, and his eyes told Dumbledore plainly: there are people right here who need that pity.
"Child—"
Dumbledore's long beard trembled. He realized those were the exact words he'd always wanted to say but never dared to voice—not while carrying the shame of his past.
Or maybe they were the words he'd never earned the right to say before ending his own disgraceful chapter.
"I'll do it, Professor," Sean said, voice rough. Everyone in the wizarding world—even Sean himself—wanted Dumbledore to be an unbreakable wall.
But how many people ever stopped to think about the lonely, cracked heart behind that wall?
He just wants a pair of warm socks for Christmas? Maybe… maybe that really is all.
Dumbledore stood frozen, words failing him completely.
He was about to send this boy—this incredible boy—straight into the edge of danger, even though he knew exactly how much someone like Sean could change the wizarding world.
"Ignore…"
He tried several times to speak and couldn't.
"Ignore my request, child. Ignore me…"
An owl fluttered out of the office window and delivered a Hogwarts letter into Sean's hands. Only then did Dumbledore speak again, as if some knot inside him had finally loosened.
His blue eyes crinkled, gentle and kind once more.
"There are many in the wizarding world who deserve help. I am not one of them."
He looked Sean in the eye again and finally saw everything surging behind that calm surface.
Even someone like him could be burned by a soul this pure.
Sean said nothing. Of course he understood what Dumbledore was thinking. He knew how deadly the borderland between life and death was—especially because wizards were so powerless when it came to souls.
But Sean was different. He always had an edge when learning any kind of magic. Sooner or later he would master everything he possibly could.
And if Ariana really was lost somewhere in that borderland… entrusting the task to the boy in front of him raised the odds from practically zero to almost certain.
"Forget we ever had this conversation, my boy. I still want to see you here every Saturday during the holidays.
I may not be as clever as you think I am, but time is a patient teacher—even the slowest of us learn something eventually."
Dumbledore smiled warmly.
"Speaking in the borderland, for example—that's only a very small problem."
As Sean left the office, Dumbledore could still read something in those calm green eyes.
"There are no coincidences in this world, Albus. If that boy decides he's going to find something, then he will find it."
Minerva's words echoed in his memory.
He's a stubborn one—always charging forward when he knows he's on the right path.
So… have I just made another decision I'll regret forever?
…
Sunlight spilled across the corridor, wrapping Sean in a soft golden halo.
He quietly bumped Soul Transfiguration a few spots higher on his priority list. Anyone would be moved by an old man's plea after he'd spent decades guarding the wizarding world.
For now, though, Professor McGonagall was waiting.
He pulled out the note she'd sent. The handwriting shimmered a little in the bright light:
Come see me, child.
—Minerva
At the door of the Transfiguration office, Professor McGonagall stood by the window.
Why do all the Hogwarts professors love standing at windows so much? Sean thought, mind wandering.
"Over here, dear," McGonagall called softly.
"When you're happy about something, you should remember there are people waiting to share that happiness with you."
Sean blinked, confused.
"You… you really think this is a small thing?"
She read the blank look on his face and almost laughed through her shock.
She remembered Olivia bragging in the Great Hall about the monumental breakthrough this child had accidentally achieved.
"You've taken a step in Transfiguration no one has ever taken before. People will be talking about the day you turned into a magical creature for centuries," she said, smiling.
"But Professor, I still don't actually understand the theory… I haven't mastered the ancient runes for self-transformation yet, and right now it's not even replicable…"
That was when it clicked.
He'd accidentally invented magical-creature Animagus transformation.
So the rest of the afternoon was spent with McGonagall helping him get properly acquainted with his kneazle form.
The same problem he'd had before was still there—he couldn't fully "own" the body yet. McGonagall's guidance was exactly what he needed.
After enough practice, kneazle-Sean could feel the air currents through his whiskers.
Close his eyes, and he could still sprint and leap just by sensing the breeze—though he kept crashing headfirst into whatever McGonagall had softened with a cushioning charm.
The tabby cat (McGonagall) watched the black kneazle smash into yet another padded wall, clutch his head with both paws, and practically vibrate with happy whiskers.
Sunshine poured through the castle windows, potted plants on the sill gave off a clean, green scent, and soft little meows of effort kept drifting out of the warm Transfiguration office.
…
By the time Sean finally left, his head was still spinning.
But he refused to give up the experiment. If he could master running full-speed with his eyes closed, he'd have one more escape route when the basilisk came calling.
Kneazles were magical creatures, after all—they had tricks normal cats could only dream of.
And Sean had a feeling that even among kneazles, his second body was something special.
Now he needed to find another magical creature—someone who could give the basilisk a proper fight.
"Hagrid—" he called at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.