Chapter 84: Quirrell
Being surrounded by portraits was a curious experience, especially when realizing they held little actual authority. The atmosphere in the Headmaster's office grew solemn. Dumbledore, his long white beard gleaming, finally waved his hand. One of the floating letters spun through the air and hovered before Sean.
The crackling fire mingled with the soft bubbling of the kettle as Dumbledore spoke, his voice kind. "Ah, a crucial element. Let us hear the professors' recommendations."
Tension filled the air. Sean remembered McGonagall explaining that the Headmaster set the scholarship criteria and made the final decision based on academic progress and faculty evaluations. These letters, he surmised, contained those very evaluations. He hadn't expected such a formal review, but then again, six hundred Galleons was no small sum.
Rip. A familiar, stern voice filled the room – Professor McGonagall's.
"It is with the utmost sincerity and strongest possible conviction that I recommend Mr. Sean Green for this special scholarship… He is unequivocally deserving of this support and possesses the potential to become one of Hogwarts's greatest prides. —Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor House."
McGonagall gave Sean a slight nod, her eyes softening considerably.
"Oh, high praise indeed, is it not?" Dumbledore twinkled. The surrounding portraits murmured in agreement. Headmaster Everard, with his circle of white beard, stroked it thoughtfully, his eyes bright beneath his dark hat.
"—Give it to him." The second envelope opened, revealing Snape's cold, clipped voice. A momentary silence descended upon the office.
The third envelope opened naturally. "Yes, I wholeheartedly recommend Mr. Sean Green for this additional scholarship, both as Head of Hufflepuff House and Professor of Herbology. Through dark and difficult days unknown to most, dear Mr. Green resiliently found his path. As he flourishes now, why should we not offer a little extra sunshine? Sincerely, Pomona Sprout."
Far away in the greenhouses, Professor Sprout instinctively looked towards the castle, a broad smile on her face. With a wave of her wand, a gentle rain fell within the greenhouse, nourishing the magical plants. Next year, she knew, they would grow even stronger.
"Mm… very good…" Dumbledore steepled his fingers as the evaluations continued, read aloud by McGonagall.
Without exception, every professor spoke highly of the young Ravenclaw. The chattering portraits fell silent, their gazes shifting from scrutiny to surprise, then to genuine interest. Until—
"M-Mr. G-Green, c-c-certainly…"
The stuttering voice made Headmistress Derwent frown. Her keen sensitivity to Dark Magic had long made her uneasy about the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.
Sean tensed slightly. While his Defence notes were consistently marked 'Outstanding,' Professor Quirrell's own thoughts were likely a tangled mess he couldn't decipher himself.
"I-I recommend Mr. Green," Quirrell's voice continued, laced with a nervous tremor. "H-His understanding of D-Dark Arts defence is excellent. H-His aptitude deserves attention… He n-needs this scholarship, needs to be seen, j-just once. Th-Therefore, I rec-rec…"
Hearing the halting words, Sean felt a strange pang. He knew the man writing this letter was still Quirinus Quirrell – the timid but intelligent, talented Ravenclaw – not yet fully consumed by the parasitic Voldemort. McGonagall had mentioned three recommendations would suffice. Sean hadn't expected Quirrell to submit one at all. It felt almost impossible.
Far away, in the empty Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, the twitching, turbaned Professor Quirrell sat staring at a perfectly organized set of Defence notes. For a rare moment, the searing pain in his head subsided. His vacant eyes briefly regained focus. A brilliant, struggling Ravenclaw needed help. An uncharacteristic surge of courage prompted him to write the letter. "Wh-what if… j-just what if… m-mine is the one that m-matters…"
"Useless thoughts… my foolish servant!" a cold, insidious voice hissed in his mind. "Still clinging to ridiculous notions of good and evil…" Quirrell clutched his head, whimpering silently.
"There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it! You will remember that! Dare to indulge in such foolish sentimentality again…"
Quirrell trembled violently, his face contorted in agony, yet he didn't dare cry out.
"One wrong choice is enough to cause permanent tragedy..." Dumbledore murmured, his gaze distant, his voice lost in the wind and the bubbling kettle.
The previously opinionated portraits were now stunned into silence. Seven professors, seven glowing recommendations. Their expressions softened, becoming openly admiring.
"Truly incredible!" one whispered.
Dumbledore tapped one of the silver instruments, and McGonagall announced, "Silence, please!"
Dumbledore rose gracefully. "In light of Mr. Sean Green's demonstrated achievements and exemplary character throughout his magical studies, I hereby declare—" He waved his wand, and a finely crafted, perfectly smooth velvet pouch floated towards Sean. "Mr. Sean Green, you have been awarded the scholarship."
Applause erupted from the portraits. Even Dumbledore clapped softly.
Outside the office door, Sir Cadogan, eavesdropping shamelessly, let out a whoop of joy and impulsively swept Lady Violet into a painted hug.
Inside, Sean caught the pouch, the weight of it grounding him. He knew that the gentle, hardworking, exciting, exhausting, urgent period of his Hogwarts life had just reached a satisfying conclusion. This wasn't the end, but the beginning of a new chapter…
"When you stand on the threshold of the best years of your life," Dumbledore said kindly, "you will find yourself drawn to the unknown. The real danger, child, is not stepping into the unknown, but refusing the call." He gestured gently for Sean to open the pouch.
Sean obediently loosened the drawstring, peered inside, and froze.
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