Chapter 307: Beware

Dumbledore’s benevolent gaze grew even deeper.

He had anticipated such an answer, yet still felt a faint pang.

He often asked himself: what kind of education should they offer to a young wizard with such talent?

But the moment he asked that question, he had already been blinded by arrogance.

When the elderly underestimate the young, they are both foolish and forgetful.

He stared at the young wizard’s bloodstained sword, weary eyes, and tattered robes.

“Oh, are you staying for tea?”

Dumbledore smiled faintly.

“No, Headmaster.”

Wizard Sean slipped away decisively.

He had expected the Headmaster to grill him with many questions…

“Child, when you fight monsters, be careful not to become one.”

As Wizard Sean left, Headmaster Dumbledore’s words, heavy with meaning, drifted out from the office.

…

The corridor was silent, bathed in moonlight.

Hogwarts Castle had fallen into deep sleep.

After some time, the distant sky turned a pale gray, and a thin mist, like gauze, draped over the Scottish Highlands.

Dumbledore sat before the window, the teakettle boiling again and again.

“Albus, you should rest.”

In the Headmaster’s office, a portrait of a witch with long silver curls spoke softly.

“Headmaster Devant, shouldn’t we be more forgiving, don’t you think?”

Dumbledore spoke in a deep tone.

He ultimately asked nothing, for such trust was itself the greatest forgiveness.

“That boy drew the Sword of Gryffindor—you and I both know, Albus.

It always responds and appears in time to aid its chosen heir.”

The witch portrait spoke slowly, her eyes filled with admiration,

“More importantly, Headmaster Dumbledore, that boy is an extraordinary child—his sword was not raised for himself.”

As Dumbledore closed his eyes, the distant bell of Hogwarts rang—breakfast time had come.

The Great Hall was once again filled with owls delivering letters.

When Wizard Sean sat down, he was flanked by three wizards with dark circles under their eyes.

Jia Jia Siting glanced at them in mild surprise.

For much of the following time, the three were out of sorts.

They believed they had uncovered the truth.

Headmaster Dumbledore was, as always, plotting something, and Hogwarts once again faced danger.

The danger came from a terrifying basilisk—anyone who met its gaze would die.

In terms of combat, they felt they could offer no help.

So the three spent the night searching for the basilisk’s weakness—and so far, found nothing.

Ask Wizard Sean?

If Wizard Sean knew, he wouldn’t have been so “disheveled.”

The three occasionally stole glances at Wizard Sean; the young wizard was reading a popular science book on unique creatures.

It seemed he, too, was searching for the basilisk’s weakness.

This made them feel the pressure of time even more.

And Wizard Sean?

He was merely studying the basilisk biscuit ritual.

After resolving the basilisk, he would turn to the diary.

Tom’s dark magic had advanced, but Wizard Sean had Harry, who could deliver a critical strike.

All he needed to do was tell Harry about the diary in his dreams.

Then he would simply listen to Tom’s screams.

With this thought in mind, Wizard Sean glanced at the Gryffindor table.

Ginny’s face was flushed—Tom had not regained strength quickly.

Thus, the next two days passed peacefully.

Wizard Sean regularly visited the Chamber to increase his affinity, while Tom, who should have controlled the basilisk, remained utterly still.

The only ones truly anxious were Harry and his three companions, who were all out of sorts.

“Any discoveries today? My muscles are stiff.”

In the Great Hall, Ron groaned, slumped over the table,

“Filch made me polish the Quidditch Cup fourteen times before he was satisfied.

Then, while polishing a ‘Special Contribution to the School’ medal, I accidentally dropped it—Filch made me polish it twenty more times!”

Harry and Hermione both shook their heads, faces heavy with worry.

They had even considered confronting the basilisk alongside Wizard Sean—anything was better than waiting here in dread.

Every night, Wizard Sean vanished early into the Hope Cottage; Harry and the others could only watch him go, anxious yet hopeful.

Thus October arrived, damp cold seeping across the grounds and into the castle.

A sudden wave of colds swept through staff and students, sending Madam Pomfrey into a frenzy.

Her stimulant had immediate effects, but those who drank it smoked from their ears for hours afterward.

Ginny Weasley had been feeling unwell lately and was forced by Percy to drink some stimulant. As a result, steam rose from beneath her bright red hair, making her head look as if it were on fire.

Raindrops the size of bullets pattered against the castle windows for days without pause. The Black Lake rose, mud flowed across flowerbeds, and Hagrid’s pumpkins swelled to the size of arbors.

And just as Ginny grew dazed, Wizard Sean’s affinity with the basilisk reached [Familiar].

Now, he only needed ritual preparations.

But books on dark magical artifacts were sealed—ordinary young wizards could hardly access them; most were locked in the Restricted Section.

Unfortunately, Wizard Sean had exactly the right permits… many permits.

“The signature doesn’t matter—as long as it’s something that stays still for a while, Lockhart will sign it,”

Jia Jia Siting summed up.

Just then, the surface of the blank rune flickered and vanished.

Wizard Sean felt a slight surprise.

Tom, Ginny, Harry…

It seemed they would soon meet in the Chamber.

As for the missing basilisk, Wizard Sean would knock it unconscious and move it to the Forbidden Forest.

That meant Harry would face Tom, defenseless…

Thinking of this,

Wizard Sean’s lips curled slightly.

Not far from him, Roger and Toya still harbored ill intentions.

“Will it work, Roger?”

Toya fully felt Roger’s pain.

The Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff Quidditch teams regarded them as their fiercest rivals, training obsessively while guarding against their secret weapon.

They had practiced a hundred tactics to contain the Seeker named Green—yet Toya had no idea how secret Ravenclaw’s secret weapon truly was—Ravenclaw’s own team didn’t even know they had one.

“It will.”

Roger said.

He had found the key—the portrait. Yes, the portrait of Sir Cadogan would Making Guide them to reclaim Ravenclaw’s pride.

Outside, the rain still poured relentlessly; the sky darkened like ink.

Thin wisps of mist rose from Ravenclaw Tower.

It looked like a night perfect for dreaming.