After the mist rolled away, Ravenclaw Tower was left with nothing but that pale, pre-dawn blue.
Thin threads of morning light slipped into the common room. A wizard with slightly messy hair jolted upright, instinctively scanned his surroundings, then lowered his eyes—brows drooping with a hollow, wistful disappointment.
Madam Issolt—who had once dreamed of entering Ravenclaw—had truly met Rowena Ravenclaw herself. Hearing the delight in her words, Sean couldn't help feeling a shared, secondhand joy.
But the moment he realized he'd been just seconds away from meeting one of the four greatest witches and wizards of thirteen centuries ago—possibly the most learned of them all—he grew properly irritated.
On instinct, he snatched up Hogwarts: A History from his bedside table. In the dim blue before dawn, the text seemed to glimmer faintly:
[The founders of Hogwarts were the four greatest witches and wizards of their time:
Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff.
The school's four Houses bear their surnames. They built the school far from Muggles' prying eyes…]
"Rowena Ravenclaw…" he murmured.
And it wasn't hard to connect the dots: Rowena Ravenclaw really was still wandering in the Interstice.
As for whom she was waiting for—that was obvious.
So if he could meet her, maybe he could do what he could to help.
No matter what, he owed a great deal of gratitude to the woman who had founded Hogwarts.
"Hogwarts…" Sean said without thinking.
He looked at the walls draped in blue and silver, at the bookshelves by his bed that seemed to keep filling as time passed.
He lifted his gaze a little. Blue silk hung at the arched window; beyond it lay the beautiful Quidditch pitch and the vast, thriving Forbidden Forest.
Through stone and distance, he felt as if he could see the Transfiguration office with its roaring fire, and the dungeons with their cauldrons breathing steam.
Was Professor Binns still dozing in the staff room?
Were the Mandrakes throwing another party in the greenhouse?
And suddenly, with absolute clarity, Sean realized Hogwarts Castle was becoming more familiar every day—more like… home.
…
Morning.
After a night of sleet and snow, the castle wore a thin coat of white frost.
The corridors slowly regained warmth and movement, along with wandering ghosts.
Sean passed the brooding Bloody Baron, passed the kindly Fat Friar chatting with the Gryffindors, and after thinking for a moment, walked to the Grey Lady.
She was gazing at the outline of distant mountains, radiating an aura that warned the living to keep their distance.
"Green," she said.
"Good morning, Helena," Sean said.
"You don't need to deliberately avoid that title."
The Grey Lady's face held neither sorrow nor joy.
The proper form of address was Lady Ravenclaw—yet the boy before her always thought an extra step ahead.
Just like last time, when he destroyed the diadem.
But for the Grey Lady, she hadn't heard that title in a long, long time.
It could make her panic in shame—and also kindle an inexplicable, unwanted hope.
"Lady Ravenclaw," Sean said smoothly.
"Lady Ravenclaw… ha."
The Grey Lady gave a self-mocking laugh.
"Have you ever thought about death?" Sean asked.
"A holiday for ghosts—one you can't even hope for? Sorry. That's the thing I fear most."
"And if I said someone still remembers you—still cares about you—would you be willing to celebrate a 'holiday' then?"
Sean chose his words carefully.
"Green… foolish and sincere."
Her mood seemed to lift a fraction; for once, there was even a trace of teasing in her tone.
"These are my days of disgrace, and the punishment I deserve. For countless centuries, ghosts have existed—there has never been any way for a ghost to escape despair.
Even you, Green—the one she chose.
As for waiting… would anyone still wait for me? In this world, not a single tear will ever be shed for me again. I brought that on myself."
Her voice drifted, heavy with self-derision.
"Would you celebrate?" Sean asked, staring into her eyes.
For once, the Grey Lady showed a flicker of panic. To touch a ghost's obsession was always to unbalance it.
Even if the boy was describing something impossible, Helena Ravenclaw still couldn't stop herself from thinking.
"Of course… but she would never forgive me."
Helena Ravenclaw's smile turned bleak. She floated away.
Sean remained where he was—his gaze deep, yet lit with a faint spark.
A few seconds later, he headed for Hope Nook.
He had his answer.
…
Hope Nook.
It changed a little every day.
Justin and Hermione never stopped remodeling it. Now it didn't just have a place to practice spells, a kitchen, and a garden—there was also a round table etched with a deep, solemn pattern.
Around it sat pale, translucent chairs.
Compared to the old round table, this one felt far more austere.
Sean swept his eyes over it once, then returned to his seat and began the day's study.
Top priority was still the Wampus Cat biscuits—because they would let him use that distinctive Legilimency, Confundus, and Memory Charm capability.
Second was raising his combat strength: Dark Arts, Transfiguration, and spell practice—none of it ever paused for even a moment.
Now there was one extra side task: testing his own strength.
Naturally, Sean thought back to last Christmas, when the retired Marcus had taught him a great deal of practical combat technique.
…
As the end of Christmas break approached, the younger students rarely went out.
Day after day they buried themselves in coursework and homework.
Green Bookshop's sales shot through the roof.
In the Great Hall, the crowd carried a sharper, tighter edge.
Hogwarts didn't reduce its workload for the holidays—if anything, it became terrifyingly heavy.
Even before joining Hope Nook, Harry and Ron had suffered plenty.
Now, with only three days left, it didn't look like a time for messing around.
Ron had developed a habit of drifting over to other Gryffindors' desks to ask how their work was going.
But he didn't really need to ask—those frantic, fluttering quills told the story.
Still, Ron acted as if he hadn't noticed, and would casually drop lines like:
"Oh, Dean—surely you've basically finished, right?"
"Not even close. I've only just started," Dean snapped back, then frowned in confusion. "You're done?"
Ron had been waiting for that. He immediately launched into loud, extravagant bragging—until Dean was left blinking in disbelief.
"If Voldemort comes back, Ron will be the first to go down," Hermione declared. "He doesn't know how to protect himself sensibly, and he spends all day on meaningless things. He can't fight Voldemort."
~~~
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