Chapter 153: Roland
“My Lord—”
Peeves ran wildly everywhere, but was eventually cornered.
“I’m sorry, My Lord! Please forgive Peeves just this once—”
The Bloody Baron watched it like this until its heart-wrenching cries ended, then cautiously asked:
“That young wizard—oh—that Green!”
The Bloody Baron still stared coldly at it; after a long while, it left.
Left alone, Peeves grew cheerful again, skipping and humming as it climbed the stairs:
“Oh—a young wizard, don’t provoke him—”
As it walked, it loosened the carpet on the stairs, hoping to make someone trip.
…
In the corridor, Wizard Sean knocked on the Transfiguration office door and heard a particularly soft “Come in, my… child.”
He opened the door; the professor waved her wand, and all scattered letters leapt into their envelopes on their own.
“Good afternoon, Professor.”
Wizard Sean placed his notebook on the desk; for the professor, he believed the greatest joy was seeing her students progress.
So he consistently recorded his insights and learning progress—and as expected, the professor was indeed satisfied with this.
December brought more snow; from the window, one could see an utterly fantastical scene.
A beetle suddenly zipped into an owl; the owl flew out the window, spreading its wings against the wind.
Its feathers swept past frost-laced spires, cutting steadily through the snowstorm, claws clutching a scroll of parchment, until it vanished from Wizard Sean and Professor McGonagall’s sight.
After a short while, it flew back in through another window, “hoot-hoot-hooting,” its letters still dusted with snow.
【You practiced Advanced Transfiguration to a proficient standard, proficiency +300】
Wizard Sean stroked the owl’s feathers, waved his wand, and the owl became a small beetle, its transparent wings fluttering to a spot near the fireplace.
Wizard Sean recorded his insights again; he was always skilled in Transfiguration.
His eyes gleamed as he waved his wand once more.
【You practiced Advanced Transfiguration to a proficient standard, proficiency +300】
【You practiced Advanced Transfiguration to a proficient standard, proficiency +300】
…
What he failed to notice was that as he performed Transfiguration more often, Professor McGonagall’s hand holding the letter trembled slightly.
“I should have known…”
Her voice was faint, like the dim glimmer of her eyes in the corner each time.
…He never gives anyone cause to worry.
Sipping honey-lemon tea from the Transfiguration office, Wizard Sean’s fatigue slowly faded.
After his body recovered most of its strength, his exhaustion was no longer as severe, and he recovered even faster.
He had stabilized the Transfiguration of “living being” to “living being” at the proficient stage; now, as long as he engraved Runic script according to Professor Tera’s books, all his preparations would be complete.
The better news was that Senior Leon had accidentally given him a sample, so he now had a reference.
Wizard Sean then thought of the Weasleys—they must be selling canary biscuits… which was why Senior Bruce had reaped what he sowed.
Leaving the Transfiguration classroom, Wizard Sean decided to visit the library for ancient Runic texts; he had finished reading Professor Tera’s books but felt something was still missing.
After all, even Professor Tera had given him no clear goal—evident from the strength of the Howler.
Yet the professor seemed to hold higher expectations, which was why she had let him choose his own practice object.
What Wizard Sean did not know was that even the Weasley twins’ canary biscuits had been engraved with runes by the professor.
And Wizard Sean?
He intended to complete it himself.
As Wizard Sean stepped into the corridor, Fat Lady and Violet Lady surrounded him, gazing at him with cautious, expectant eyes.
It made him feel very strange.
“Fat Lady, Violet Lady.”
He greeted them politely.
“Oh, oh, of course! Little Green, you and Roland Taylor, oh no!—Little McGonagall…”
Fat Lady seemed extremely nervous, stammering.
“Go on! Fat Woman, can’t you see?!”
Violet Lady quickly pulled Fat Lady away.
Roland Taylor?
This was the second time Wizard Sean had heard that name.
Taylor…
Thinking of the surname, he froze in place.
Long after, he carefully took out a sheet of paper from his bag; one corner still pressed a dried violet.
At that moment, his memory flowed back to last winter—nothing particularly memorable.
He had merely lain in bed for three months, barely dragging his sickly body through the winter.
Sometimes human willpower is immense enough to grant a body destined to die the strength to cling to life.
Three months later, he heard a soft chime from his panel and barely managed to get out of bed.
The kind old woman who came to care for him then was a volunteer.
The evening light of December glowed on Professor McGonagall’s square spectacles, reflecting the dying embers of the fireplace.
She lowered her hand; the letter she had just read trembled slightly between her fingers, the ink on the parchment glowing in the firelight.
The quill rested beside Wizard Sean’s open notebook, its annotations half-written. Her gaze fell on the photo frame at the desk’s edge—something she had never imagined, never known…
Outside, heavier snow began to fall; the wind of the Scottish Highlands howled past the castle towers.
She removed her glasses and gently pressed her fingertips to her nosebridge. When she looked up again, those ever-sharp eyes glistened with rare tears, turning the flickering flames into tender, aching sparks in her gaze.
The desk, bathed in warmth, stood empty except for a small silver cat figurine and one letter after another.
The letters were neither long nor short, yet weighed like boulders crashing through the snow.
【I am deeply sorry, Madam McGonagall. You understand—orphans’ homes do not care for children this ill… it does not serve the gentlemen’s interests.
For three months, he was very well-behaved. God be praised, he survived. Madam, I do not mean to bring it up, but he was a very obedient child; if you do not intend to adopt him, please do not send him back to the orphanage. I am powerless to do anything, so I send fifty pounds and a cotton coat—please accept them.
Five pounds will buy a ticket to St. Catherine’s Docks; the remaining five pounds, please pass them on to him.
The boy told my mother that with a thick coat and five pounds, he could survive.
I have no words left.
I am poor, humble, unattractive—but when my soul passes through the grave, my heart will be lighter than a feather.
May God deliver all to his hands.】
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End of Chapter
