The night was long, the stars brilliant.
Hogwarts lay beneath an inky black sky, yet it still carried a calm, bluish hush.
There was hardly anyone in the corridors now—only the occasional members of the Castle Kneazle Club slipping past.
They chattered endlessly, their words full of envy for what Harry and Ginny had encountered in their dreams.
It was a shame—Christmas had been over for so long, and they still hadn't made the slightest progress.
The black cat that "ruled over good luck" never visited anyone's dreams again.
As if those stories had really been nothing more than a sweet dream.
On Sean's chest, the Wizard's Book and the Soul Relic hung together, swaying lightly with the breeze.
At his sides, Justin and Hermione walked with a spring in their step.
The diadem was destroyed.
Their joy was obvious—because even if Voldemort might return someday, if they kept fighting like this…
Fight, fight, and fight again—maybe Voldemort would never come back at all.
Still, they had countless questions.
"Horcruxes… Voldemort's method of resurrection… what's the principle behind it?" Hermione asked carefully.
Sean paused, then gave Hermione a small shake of his head. He didn't answer.
Just as Moste Potente Potions described it—this was not a topic to be discussed.
Even Headmaster Dumbledore had only told Harry and the others what they needed to know, when it was necessary.
Because it was the temptation of immortality.
A secret like that should stay buried in the hearts of people who couldn't easily be shaken.
"Hermione, please—Sean isn't omnipotent. Maybe that's something we should ask Headmaster Dumbledore?" Justin said, blinking.
Hermione didn't press further.
In truth, she and Justin both understood one thing: Sean probably did know. He always knew more than anyone else.
Whether it was his unnervingly sharp perception or his habit of thinking deeper than everyone around him, the result was the same—he carried so many secrets that he could rival even Dumbledore.
If the Castle Kneazle Club hung up a banner claiming the lucky black cat knew everything about Hogwarts, that it was the castle's true incarnation, Hermione and Justin wouldn't object at all.
But that also meant he carried more weight than they did.
So if Sean didn't want to speak, then—after a small sting of disappointment—Hermione and Justin were left with their familiar, steady trust.
Curfew was close now. More and more members of the Castle Kneazle Club drifted back in, disappointed.
The three of them walked quietly. Now and then, they heard Mrs. Norris's meow, and the soft scrape of armor shifting in place.
"Come on, guys—cheer up. We just stopped the Dark Lord from coming back again," Justin said lightly, a touch of excitement in his voice, glancing at Hermione lost in thought and Sean reading as he walked.
"Yeah. Again," Hermione murmured.
Her head was full of things. If someone actually counted it out, they'd realize that in just over a year, they'd clashed with Voldemort three times.
Each time had been genuinely dangerous.
It made her doubt—was Hogwarts really the safest place in the world?
If it was, then why did they end up looking battered and miserable every year?
First Voldemort sneaking in while possessing Professor Quirrell… then Voldemort's diary… and finally the diadem he had defiled…
She had seen that horrible, smoking black head.
She had no doubt that if Sean hadn't prepared so thoroughly, it would have caused a disaster.
"The result is—we won again," Justin said.
"But if one day…" Hermione hesitated for a long time before asking, her eyes never leaving Sean. "If one day we lose?"
The young wizard kept walking in silence, moonlight stretching his shadow long across the stones.
"Then we lose together," Justin said, smiling. He finished, then strode after him.
Hermione stood there for a beat, lips pressed tight—then hurried to catch up.
In that moment, Hogwarts had no headmaster, no professors—only the three of them.
In this winter, with firelight and books at their backs, repeating the same unchanging resolve, again and again.
The night deepened.
Outside the castle, rain fell mixed with drifting snow.
But the wizards here didn't care about the rain—
because their lives had never truly stopped being stormy.
…
Christmas holiday lasted a little more than three weeks.
During it, the students played to their hearts' content, and the newly published Green Notes let them finish their remaining homework without any effort at all.
Of course, if Mr. Green would just write out the answers directly, that would be even better—then they wouldn't even have to bother understanding the steps.
In the Hope Nook…
Hermione held the notes she'd helped compile, curious. The Daily Prophet claimed they were worthy of being filed into the Ministry's records—and the Ministry was reportedly even considering it.
She walked in with the book in her arms, and only then realized that Sean was already inside with a book of his own—and Justin looked stunned.
"…So this is what the Hope Nook is really supposed to look like," Sean murmured.
He was holding The Ghost Book, something he'd been reading often lately. He'd expected the Hope Nook to change, but he was still a little surprised.
Justin and Hermione—who had returned early—were even more so.
"What a huge kitchen," Hermione whispered, at a loss.
In front of her, the Hope Nook had changed drastically. The main room—the part they'd decorated—was unchanged. But at the back, a small new door had appeared, and beyond it was an enormous kitchen.
It was warm, polished until it gleamed.
Everything was there: a self-stirring pot set on the hearth rack; rows of ovens beside air shimmering with heat; countless ingredients stacked high on glittering shelves draped with ribbons and little lanterns…
On top of a refrigerator sat breakfast pudding—an absurd amount of whipped cream, sprinkled with sugar-frosted violets… A massive slab of roast meat hissed in an oven.
There was even a small garden—seasonal flowers blooming intensely despite the winter.
Sean instinctively understood: this was a place for gatherings.
But compared to the garden, he cared more about the ingredients that had appeared out of nowhere.
"Mr. Owl," Sean asked, "is this from Hogwarts' kitchens?"
His voice echoed—and only then did Justin, beaming with happiness, and Hermione, still staring, notice the owl portrait that had slipped in.
"Obviously. I moved it over from the portraits," Mr. Owl said, chin tipped up.
"Oh—so that's what it is?!" Justin said, suddenly enlightened.
"…Hopelessly stupid," the owl portrait muttered. It should've known this boy was far too trusting of owls.
"But the kitchens won't—" Hermione's joy cooled into worry.
"You idiot little witch—your request is nothing at all…" the owl portrait snorted, lips curling in disdain.
~~~
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