Chapter 263: Roland

"My lord—"

Peeves ran amok everywhere, but was finally cornered.

"I was wrong, my lord! Please forgive Peeves just this once—"

The Bloody Baron simply watched him until his heart-rending wails ceased, only then asking tentatively:

"That little wizard—oh—that Green!"

The Bloody Baron continued to gaze at him coldly; after a long while, he departed.

Left behind, Peeves became cheerful again, hopping and humming as he headed upstairs:

"Oh—a little wizard, must not provoke—"

As he walked, he loosened the carpet laid upon the stairs, hoping to make someone slip.

In the corridor, Wizard Sean knocked on the door of the Transfiguration office; he heard an exceptionally gentle voice say, "Come in, I... child."

He pushed the door open; with a wave of her wand, the professor caused all scattered letters to leap 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 make progress.

Thus, he had always persisted in recording his insights and learning progress; unsurprisingly, the professor was indeed very pleased with this.

December brought more snow; looking from the outside windows inward, one could likely see an incredibly fantastical scene.

A beetle, astonishingly, transformed into an owl with a *whoosh*; this owl flew out the window, spreading its wings against the wind.

Its wings brushed past frost-covered turrets as it steered steadily through the wind and snow, a roll of parchment clutched in its talons, finally vanishing from Wizard Sean and Professor McGonagall's sight.

After a short while, it flew back in through another window with a "hoo-hoo-hoo," the letter carried in its talons still dusted with white snow.

[You practiced Advanced Transfiguration once to the standard of a Proficient Hand; Proficiency +300]

Wizard Sean stroked the owl's feathers; he waved his wand, and the owl transformed back into a small beetle, which spread its transparent wings and flew to a spot not far from the fireplace.

Wizard Sean once again recorded his insights; in the aspect of Transfiguration, he was always skilled.

His eyes sparkled brightly as he waved his wand again.

[You practiced Advanced Transfiguration once to the standard of a Proficient Hand; Proficiency +300]

[You practiced Advanced Transfiguration once to the standard of a Proficient Hand; Proficiency +300]

What he failed to notice was that as the number of times he performed Transfiguration increased, Professor McGonagall's hand gripping the letters trembled slightly.

"I should have known..."

Her voice was faint, much like her dimmed eyes whenever she sat in the corner.

...He always managed to avoid making people worry.

After taking a sip of the honey-lemon tea in the Transfiguration office, Wizard Sean's fatigue slowly receded.

With his body mostly recovered, his fatigue was no longer as severe as before, and his recovery speed was even quite fast.

Regarding Transfiguration from "living creature" to "living creature," he had already stabilized at the Proficient Hand stage; next, as long as he proceeded with the rune carving according to Professor Terra's books, he would have completed all preparations.

Even better news was that Senior Leon had accidentally provided him with a sample, giving him a reference case.

A moment later, Wizard Sean thought of the Weisilais; they must be selling Canary Cookies... which was why Senior Bruce had suffered the consequences of his own actions.

Leaving the Transfiguration classroom, Wizard Sean decided to go to the library to find some books on Ancient Runes; he had finished reading the books Professor Terra gave him, but felt something was still lacking.

After all, even Professor Terra had not set too grand a goal for him, as could be seen from the intensity of the Howler.

But the professor seemed to have higher expectations, which was why she let him choose an object for practice himself.

What Wizard Sean did not know was that even the Canary Cookies of the Senior Wei Wei Silai twins had been carved with runes by the professor's help.

And Wizard Sean?

He intended to complete it himself.

Just as Wizard Sean stepped into the corridor, the Fat Lady and Lady Violet surrounded him, looking at him with cautious, expectant eyes.

This made him feel very strange.

"Fat Lady, Lady Violet."

He greeted them politely.

"Oh, oh, of course! Little Green, you and Roland Taylor—oh no! I mean Little McGonagall..."

The Fat Lady seemed extremely nervous, stuttering.

"Hurry up! Fat Woman, can't you see!"

Lady Violet quickly pulled the Fat Lady away.

Roland Taylor?

This was the second time Wizard Sean had heard this name.

Taylor...

Pondering this surname, he momentarily stood frozen on the spot.

After a long while, he carefully took a sheet of letter paper from his bag; one corner of it was pressed beneath a shriveled violet.

Only then did his memories flow back to the previous winter; there was nothing too memorable about it.

It was merely lying down for three months, barely dragging his gravely ill body through the winter.

Sometimes human willpower is immense, sufficient to grant a body that should have died a stubborn chance to survive.

Three months later, when he heard a *ding* from his panel, he could barely get out of bed.

The one who came to care for him then was that kind old grandmother who volunteered.

The lamplight of a December evening blurred across Professor McGonagall's square lenses, reflecting the dying flames in the fireplace.

She lowered her hand; the letter she had just read trembled lightly between her fingers, the ink on the parchment glowing brightly in the firelight.

A quill rested beside Wizard Sean's open notebook, annotations halfway written; her gaze fell upon the photo frame on the corner of the desk—those were things she had never imagined, things she had never understood...

Outside the window, heavier snow began to fall, while the wind of the Scottish Highlands howled past the castle turrets.

She removed her glasses and gently pressed the bridge of her nose with her fingertips; when she looked up again, those eyes, usually so sharp, shimmered with a rare moisture, causing the leaping flames to shatter in their depths into gentle yet painful sparks.

The desk, enveloped in warmth, was bare except for a small silver cat figurine and letter after letter.

The content of the letters was neither short nor long, yet they weighed heavily, like massive stones crashing down amidst the flying snow.

[I am very sorry, Mrs. McGonagall; as you know, the orphanage will not care for a child so gravely ill... it does not serve the masters' interests.

For three months, he was very well-behaved. God bless, he still survived. Madam, I do not mean to mention this, but he is 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; only fifty pounds and a cotton coat are enclosed; please accept them.

Five pounds can buy a ticket to St. Catherine's Dock; please give the remaining five pounds to him.

That child told my mother that with just one thick coat and five pounds, he could survive.

I am speechless.

I am poor, obscure, plain, and little; but when my soul passes through the grave, my heart will be far lighter than a feather.

May God deliver everything into his hands]

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