Chapter 325: Imprint

Harry fell asleep.

Wizard Sean was waiting patiently for something.

Soon, two large eyes the size of tennis balls appeared. They surveyed Harry in the dark, a tear rolling down their pointed, elongated nose.

“Harry Potter has returned to school,”

it whispered sadly,

“Dobby warned Harry Potter again and again. Oh, sir, why didn’t you listen to Dobby’s warning? Harry Potter missed the train—why didn’t you just go home?”

Harry jolted awake in fright.

“Get out!”

he shouted,

“Wait—you stopped me from coming to school? You sealed the wall so we couldn’t pass?”

…

Wizard Sean studied Dobby: the tattered pillowcase, the bulging eyes, now striking its own head with a water jug.

It had just finished explaining how house-elves could be freed, and now stammered and wept, pleading with Harry:

“Go home, Harry Potter, go home…”

This stirred something inexplicable in Wizard Sean.

“You stopped me from coming to school because the Chamber of Secrets is opening?”

Harry let out a bitter laugh.

“Oh, sir, don’t ask anymore, don’t press poor Dobby… it’s dangerous, it’s terribly dangerous…”

Dobby groaned, more tears spilling onto his tattered pillowcase.

“Dobby, you’re—listen, if you keep trying to save me like this, you’ll kill me,”

Harry didn’t know what to say, but suddenly his gaze sharpened,

“How do you know Voldemort wants to kill me…”

Dobby let out the sharpest scream he’d made so far.

“Dobby! The Basilisk is defeated!”

Harry hastily changed the subject.

Dobby cooled down like a kettle:

“Harry Potter is mad, the great Harry Potter, so noble, so brave—now he’s gone mad.”

Sometimes Harry felt house-elves and he spoke different languages.

He sighed, rolled over, and carefully pulled a boxed item from his bag on the desk.

It was a snake fang, from the wizard who had slain the Basilisk with one sword.

Harry still remembered his words:

“It’s fine, Harry, I’ve got more.”

Back then, he’d felt he and Wizard Sean didn’t speak the same language either.

The hospital wing was dark, and Dobby boiled over again like a kettle.

Harry had to work hard to convince it that Hogwarts had a strengthened version of young Dumbledore.

And the strengthened version of young Dumbledore had already left quietly.

Harry had fully convinced Dobby it shouldn’t cause any more disturbances.

Now, the one who might cause a disturbance was the sleeping Basilisk.

Wizard Sean thought of the Basilisk’s problem, and of what great wizards had done to leave behind strange magical bloodlines, then walked to the headmaster’s office door.

He had studied magic for a short time, but it didn’t matter—magic was vast, and many wizards had traveled far.

“Headmaster Dumbledore.”

Wizard Sean knocked.

The door opened automatically.

Several headmaster portraits were no longer surprised; they glanced at Wizard Sean and resumed snoring.

Curfew hadn’t yet begun, but silver objects still gleamed under the moonlight; rain tapped against the castle spires, not waking the resting Fawkes.

Wizard Sean walked toward the Sorting Hat. The Sword of Gryffindor had once been displayed in the headmaster’s office, but now it seemed the Sorting Hat had “eaten” it back.

“Ah, ah, come quickly…”

Wizard Sean heard the faint voice.

“Try again…”

The Sorting Hat was speaking again.

Wizard Sean felt puzzled and instinctively touched the hat’s brim—only to grasp a sword hilt sliding out.

“A wizard’s conviction is something that leaves an imprint—you have shown astonishing bravery, and it will not fade…”

The Sorting Hat wriggled.

Wizard Sean held the Sword of Gryffindor, lost in thought.

He couldn’t help recalling what Headmaster Dumbledore had said to Harry:

“Harry, the kind of deep love your mother had for you leaves its own imprint on you—not a scar, not a visible mark…”

“To be loved so deeply by someone—even if that person is dead—leaves you with a permanent talisman.”

…

Outside the headmaster’s office, two figures stood.

“How strange—the Sword of Gryffindor, in the hands of a Ravenclaw.”

Dumbledore smiled.

Professor McGonagall said nothing, staring at the young wizard holding the Sword of Gryffindor, his black hair shimmering faintly—words stuck in her throat.

Finally, she simply watched the still-wriggling Sorting Hat.

“See, Minerva, that’s precisely it—for those who matter most, people are always cautious…”

Dumbledore added.

“So, Albus, the Chamber really…”

Professor McGonagall’s lips tightened into a stern line.

“That’s not for me to explain. Let’s talk instead of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw’s story…”

Dumbledore blinked.

His eyes held deep amusement; few young wizards thought the Transfiguration office was harder to enter than the headmaster’s.

The kettle bubbled loudly; outside the headmaster’s office, rain poured heavily;

inside the spacious, elegant room, peace reigned—Wizard Sean slowly set down the Sword of Gryffindor, returning it to its place on the desk as before.

Rain had fallen since the Quidditch match began; falling asleep to this white noise was deeply relaxing.

Wizard Sean saw a flicker of light across the empty rune’s surface, then quietly left the headmaster’s office.

As he passed the Transfiguration office, Wizard Sean stopped.

A glow from the fireplace still shone through the door crack—he knew the professor sometimes worked late.

Inside the office.

Minerva McGonagall read an old book; by the firelight, words like “Chamber of Secrets,” “Monster,” and “Heir of Slytherin” were visible.

Hagrid’s words echoed in her mind—Hogwarts seemed shrouded once more in a black curtain.

And at the center of that black curtain always stood the one person she least wanted to see.

Just then, a knock came at the door.

“Come in…”

She closed the book and turned to the door,

“Albus… how many times have you come tonight…”

Her tone was calm, but held barely concealed irritation.

“Professor.”

Wizard Sean stood at the door—he rarely felt this eager to leave a place.

Outside Hogwarts’ thick stone walls, autumn leaves turned yellow without notice; when they all fell to the ground, winter would be near.

In winter, human bonds always grow closer.

“Professor, about the Chamber…”