Chapter 388: Hagrid

Life on the farm was peaceful.

From the pale blue of dawn to the pink glow of sunset, time passed as the snow melted.

White ground often saw various cat-foxes darting across—fat ones, agile ones, clumsy ones bumping into stones…

Whenever this happened, Wizard Sean would gaze down from the small room upstairs.

Compared to Hogwarts, McGonagall Manor carried an extra kind of flavor.

A faint, pine-scented comfort, like linens baked through by sunlight.

“Just a little more, but not much…”

Wizard Sean sat at the small worktable prepared by Marcus, reciting the final incantation over the fairy cookies.

Just as with potion brewing, at certain stages of alchemy, a wizard must infuse magic into it—either by waving a wand or chanting a spell.

Now, Wizard Sean had completed this step.

As for what remained incomplete, or where the ritual fell short, it was mostly the engraving of magical runes.

In such delicate and precise matters, inspiration alone was insufficient; rigorous and meticulous experimentation was one of the most critical factors for an alchemist’s success.

“My dearest, my most outstanding…”

Marcus’s voice rang up from downstairs.

“I’m coming.”

Wizard Sean cut Marcus off—he’d otherwise pile on a dozen modifiers without pausing.

By the time Wizard Sean descended, all members of the McGonagall family had gathered around the long table.

Millie McGonagall, with her deep, soft eyes; Marcus McGonagall, recently exhilarated and as vigorous as ever; Nai McGonagall, who worked for the newspaper and had hugged Wizard Sean breathless on their first meeting…

And of course, the three little McGonagalls, squishing and jostling each other.

“No matter what you say, we’re leaving, Marcus.”

At that moment, Millie McGonagall glanced at Marcus and spoke bluntly.

“I should find a way to tie you all down… alright. Just don’t forget, McGonagall Manor will always be your home, my dear Wizard Sean.”

“Millie, I want you to know, this is meant for you too.”

Marcus set down his newspaper, his voice slightly hoarse.

“The American magical community has some unique little inventions, Wizard Sean. I’ve sent them to your room, child. I hope you like them.”

“Your plan map was excellent—it saved me a great deal of time.”

Nai smiled warmly.

Wizard Sean didn’t yet know what alchemical artifacts Nai had sent him, for he’d spent the entire day studying cat-leopard cookies and hadn’t even noticed new things added to his room.

He frowned unconsciously—had he become… too relaxed?

In the magical world, letting down one’s guard or failing to think meant trouble was coming.

“If this place brings you peace, then let it bring you joy, for that is precisely what we most wished to give you.”

Nai said.

As she spoke, the black tea beside her still steamed.

And so, amid Marcus’s deeply reluctant gaze, the carriage arrived.

Through the carriage’s window, Wizard Sean caught a distant view of the small hill beside McGonagall Manor and the landscape like a painted canvas—and he subtly lifted the corners of his mouth.

…

The final dawn of the Christmas holiday arrived, cold and blanketed in snow.

Hogwarts Castle suddenly buzzed with rumors.

These rumors came from newspapers across the magical world—not just Britain.

In the Great Hall.

Jia Jia Siting and Hermione had, unusually, set aside their recent studies to read newspapers.

The headlines varied wildly, but all ultimately pointed to one person and one topic—the past murder case at Hogwarts, and the buried truth behind it, now fully exposed.

This naturally captured every student’s attention—what better way to relax at the end of the Christmas holiday than hearing a bit of Hogwarts’ secret history?

Especially over breakfast?

“Now everyone will know about our heroic deeds—”

Ron had been bursting to say it.

After learning the full story, Jia Jia Siting had warned them not to spread the news until Hagrid was fully exonerated.

Now, no need for Ron to blare it like a trumpet—nearly every newspaper had covered the story.

“If passing out from blacking out in the Chamber counts.”

Hermione cut him down without mercy.

Everyone in the Hope Cottage knew Ron was a strange little wizard.

He couldn’t even say Voldemort’s name, always wore a mournful face, yet dared face Voldemort alongside them.

“Go see Hagrid?”

Harry blurted out eagerly.

“I’m fine with that. Wizard Sean, are you free?”

Jia Jia Siting looked at Wizard Sean.

Since returning to Hogwarts, Wizard Sean had spent most of his time in the dungeons. According to the knight portrait hanging on the dungeon wall, the most interesting show in Hogwarts happened there every day.

“Let’s go together.”

Wizard Sean considered—he’d just brewed a [Expert]-level basic antidote, and Professor Snape’s expression had noticeably improved, even granting him a short break.

After agreeing to meet that afternoon to find Hagrid, the little wizards in the Hope Cottage each fell into their own tasks.

Jia Jia Siting and Hermione kept working without pause, which even pushed Ron to become more regular—he now naturally appeared with them in the Hope Cottage every day.

This didn’t fit his image of a winter-lazyboy.

So Harry became the most “lax” person in the cottage.

He trained at the Quidditch pitch every single day, rain or shine.

After their last defeat, Wood had developed a fixation: to train Harry into a Seeker surpassing some Mr. Green.

But Harry suspected his wish was unlikely to come true—if only Wood knew Wizard Sean never trained at all. In other words, if Wizard Sean showed even a hint of interest in Quidditch, they’d never beat Ravenclaw’s team.

Harry had once thought he’d be devastated—but now, to his surprise, he found it no longer felt unbearable.

Think of all they’d been through, all the times they’d faced Voldemort…

Every time he soared across the Quidditch pitch, he thought of how, in unseen nights, a little wizard carried a bloodstained Sword of Gryffindor, wore a tattered robe, and walked silently through empty corridors lashed by biting winds.

Harry suddenly felt Quidditch mattered less to him—and understood something deeper, more profound.

Think of it—if Wizard Sean asked him:

Harry, I’m going to fight Voldemort and protect everything in Hogwarts. Will you come with me?

He’d immediately cancel every Quidditch practice.

Amid these scattered thoughts, afternoon arrived.

They slowly walked toward the castle’s outer gates.

Winter sunlight warmed them as they walked.