"That will be all for today's class," Professor McGonagall said, her voice completely stripped of emotion.
She swept out of the room briskly, leaving a crowd of dumbfounded young wizards in her wake.
"What's with the Professor?" Ron muttered, leaning close to Sean.
"Class is dismissed," Sean explained simply, then hurried after her.
Before even stepping into the corridor, Sean caught McGonagall's icy tone: "Dumbledore, I suggested from the very beginning that you needed to properly evaluate our professors' teaching capabilities... rather than allowing a witch who predicts a student's death every single year into Hogwarts—even if she is the great-great-granddaughter of the renowned Seer, Cassandra Trelawney."
Stepping through the heavy elm doors, Sean saw Headmaster Dumbledore. He had appeared out of nowhere, only to be cornered by a furious McGonagall.
"Oh? And who is scheduled to die this year?" Dumbledore asked with a faint, amused smile.
McGonagall stayed silent, glaring coldly at him.
"The Potter boy?" Dumbledore guessed, clearly used to the routine. They looked like old friends catching up. When a nervous, excited student greeted the Headmaster, Dumbledore even paused to offer a kind, grandfatherly smile.
"I guessed wrong... how rare," Dumbledore murmured, turning back to see McGonagall looking like she was about to spontaneously combust.
"Oh, Minerva, give me one more try. Could it be... our dear Mr. Green—" Dumbledore spotted Sean. McGonagall saw him too, and her expression softened a fraction.
Sean froze slightly. Whenever he faced McGonagall, he always felt about two sizes smaller.
"Your next class is about to begin, child. Headmaster Dumbledore and I have some pressing matters to discuss," McGonagall said, trying to keep her voice as level as possible.
Sean walked away silently. But before leaving earshot, fine hairs sprouted from his ears, which quickly pointed upward. This was an advanced Transfiguration technique, shifting his "self" into a "living creature." For the moment, he possessed a cat's hearing.
"Dumbledore!" McGonagall snapped, enunciating every syllable.
"Green..." Dumbledore murmured, seeming to fall into a momentary trance.
"You have to strictly evaluate her teaching abilities. Up to this very day, I have never seen her make a single accurate prophecy..." McGonagall complained.
Dumbledore barely seemed to register her words. He stared blankly and asked, "We have a massive problem, Minerva. I need to know—was Professor Trelawney fully conscious when she made this prophecy?"
"Excuse me?" McGonagall thought she'd misheard him.
"Come with me, Minerva," Dumbledore said, already walking toward the castle entrance where the students were gathering. Slytherin and Gryffindor had a joint Care of Magical Creatures class that afternoon.
"Are you going to fire her?" McGonagall pressed her lips into a thin line.
"No. Quite the opposite, Minerva," Dumbledore said, gliding past a suit of armor. "As a matter of fact, Sybill has indeed inherited her grandmother's gift..."
"You know as well as I do, Dumbledore—ever since Sybill Trelawney arrived at this school, she predicts a student's death every single year. And so far, not a single one of them has died!" McGonagall fired off the words rapidly, like a cat with a stepped-on tail.
"That is true for the most part..." Dumbledore's expression was deadly serious. "But if Sybill had never proven her gift to me, how do you suppose she gained entry into Hogwarts?"
McGonagall opened her mouth, but for once, no words came out. She looked at him with sheer panic—an expression she only ever showed around Dumbledore.
"We have a massive problem, Minerva..." Dumbledore didn't elaborate; he merely repeated his earlier sentiment.
"Divination is the most imprecise branch of magic... True Seers are incredibly rare," McGonagall finally managed to say, matching his brisk pace.
"Let us hope so... Good afternoon, Mr. Finnigan. My boy, mind if I inquire about your studies today?" Dumbledore suddenly stopped in front of Seamus.
"Of course not, Professor... Headmaster," Seamus swallowed hard. He had no idea what Dumbledore wanted to know, but he obviously wasn't going to say no.
Over by the stained-glass windows, Sean trailed quietly behind them, playing the part of a student rushing to class. He was absolutely certain Dumbledore and McGonagall had misunderstood something, though he wasn't yet sure exactly what.
Dumbledore watched the trembling Finnigan kindly, but his gaze slowly darkened as the seconds ticked by. "Minerva, we need to find Sybill. Right now."
Dumbledore spun on his heel. He walked faster and faster until he simply grabbed the deeply unsettled McGonagall and Apparated.
Right in the middle of Hogwarts, where Apparition was supposed to be impossible.
Headmaster privileges, I guess? Sean mused silently.
But he finally understood what was happening. McGonagall thought Trelawney had predicted her (McGonagall's) death, but in reality, Trelawney had delivered a genuine prophecy specifically targeting Sean. Dumbledore had obviously mixed the two events up. Which meant Dumbledore currently thought he (Sean) was the one in danger...
Another sobering thought hit Sean: every single student Trelawney had "falsely" predicted would die over the years had actually ended up dying during the Battle of Hogwarts.
---
Up in the North Tower, sunlight spilled across the rungs of the silver ladder.
"She made another true prophecy," Dumbledore murmured.
"Dumbledore—" McGonagall's voice was full of denial; she sensed where this was going.
"Oh, Minerva..." Dumbledore couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.
"He's going to be alright, isn't he?" McGonagall felt the room spin.
"I cannot lie to you, Minerva..." Dumbledore finally lost his iron grip on his composure, the faintest trace of tears gleaming in his eyes.
---
Misunderstandings clear up eventually, Sean thought. Right now, he had to get to Care of Magical Creatures. Not to learn, but to teach. Hagrid had reminded him roughly a dozen times to show up early.
"Ron," Hermione said, blocking Sean's path as they reached the castle doors. "Did you hear what Professor McGonagall said?"
"I heard..." Ron replied absently, then turned to Harry with a deadly serious whisper. "You haven't seen a giant black dog anywhere, have you?"
"I have," Harry said. "We all did. Back at the Leaky Cauldron."
Ron's jaw practically hit the floor.
"It was literally just a stray dog," Hermione said calmly. Ron looked at her like she'd completely lost her mind.
"Hermione, if Harry saw the Grim, that's—that's horrible!" Ron stammered. "My—my Uncle Bilius saw one, and he—he died twenty-four hours later!"
"Coincidence," Hermione dismissed with a wave of her hand.
"You don't even know what you're talking about!" Ron flared up. "Most wizards would lose their minds if they saw a Grim!"
"Exactly my point," Hermione shot back with a patronizing tone. "They see the Grim, and they literally scare themselves to death. The Grim isn't an omen; it's the cause of death! Harry is still standing right here because he's not stupid enough to see a dog and think, 'Welp, that's it for me, guess I'll die!'"
Ron mouthed something completely silent but definitely insulting at her. Hermione unzipped her bag and pulled out her brand-new Arithmancy textbook.
"I think Divination is a complete joke," she said, flipping the pages. "If you ask me, it's nothing but glorified guesswork."
"There was nothing jokey about that Grim in his teacup!" Ron fired back.
"You didn't sound nearly so sure when you were telling Harry it looked like a sheep," Hermione replied coldly.
"Professor Trelawney said you didn't have the right aura! You're just so used to being a know-it-all that you can't handle being bad at something!"
He hit a nerve. Hermione slammed her Arithmancy book shut so violently that the surrounding students scrambled out of the way.
"If being 'good' at Divination means I have to pretend to see death omens in a pile of soggy tea leaves, then maybe I'll just drop the class! Compared to Arithmancy, that entire subject is pure garbage!" She grabbed her bag and stormed off.
Ron frowned, watching her stomp away. "What is she even talking about?" he asked Harry. "She hasn't even taken a single Arithmancy class yet."
---
Hermione had taken an alternate route down to Care of Magical Creatures. Sean saw her marching furiously across the lawns. The sky was cloudless, and the sun was blindingly bright. The grass underfoot was still wet from the recent rain, squishing softly with every step.
Sean headed down the grassy slope toward Hagrid's hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Hagrid was waiting for him outside his front door. He wore his massive moleskin overcoat, with his enormous boarhound, Fang, right at his heels. Fang looked practically vibrating with excitement to start the lesson.
"What do ya think, Sean? Bringing Buckbeak out... that'll give 'em a lesson they'll never forget, eh?" Hagrid rubbed his hands together excitedly.
"I think it's a great idea," Sean said.
"Ah—hear that, then..." Hagrid's eyes practically sparkled.
"You're going to be a fantastic Care of Magical Creatures professor, Hagrid," Sean said with a warm smile.
Hagrid honestly had an incredible wealth of hands-on experience with magical creatures. If Buckbeak hadn't attacked Malfoy... and if Hagrid could just comprehend that normal wizards weren't built like half-giants, Sean figured he'd actually make a solid teacher.
"Just... be careful, Hagrid," Sean added, an uncharacteristically serious warning.
"Oh! Right, right! I know—you've warned me a dozen times. I'll be real gentle with the little tykes." Hagrid let out a booming laugh, his tangled beard shaking with his chest. Looking at how cheerful the big man was, Sean highly doubted he actually grasped the warning.
"C'mon, c'mon, step lively!" As the students approached, Hagrid called out happily. "Got a real treat for yer today! Great lesson comin' up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!"
Harry felt a sudden spike of panic, thinking Hagrid was going to march them straight into the Forbidden Forest. He had plenty of deeply unpleasant memories in that forest, ones he'd never forget. He quickly glanced over at Sean. Seeing the younger wizard calmly trailing behind them with a book in his hands felt like an instant safety blanket.
Thankfully, Hagrid just skirted the edge of the trees. Five minutes later, they arrived at a small paddock. It was completely empty.
"Everyone gather 'round the fence!" Hagrid called out. "Make sure yer got a good view. Right, first things first, yer'll want to open yer books—"
"And how exactly are we supposed to do that?" It was Draco Malfoy's cold, arrogant drawl.
"Eh?" Hagrid grunted.
"How do we open the books?" Malfoy repeated, pulling out his copy of The Monster Book of Monsters. It was tied shut with a heavy piece of rope.
The rest of the class followed suit. Some had theirs bound up tight like Harry's; others had crammed them into tiny bags or clamped them shut with massive bulldog clips.
"Hasn't—hasn't anyone managed ter open their books?" Hagrid asked, looking crestfallen.
The entire class shook their heads.
"Sean, little help here—" Hagrid called out, sounding almost pitiful.
"Sometimes, the most aggressive things just need a little gentle treatment."
Sean flicked his finger, and a copy of The Monster Book of Monsters flew neatly into his grasp. The book immediately snapped at him, but Sean simply ran his index finger down its spine. The book shivered, then fell wide open, resting peacefully in his palm.
The students froze. But they weren't staring at the tamed book; they were staring at Sean's hand.
"What kind of magic was that?" someone whispered in awe.
"Wandless magic, you idiot," Malfoy sneered.
"I've never heard of anyone at Hogwarts doing that..." the student shot back quietly.
"That's because no Hogwarts student can cast without a wand," Malfoy said, raising his chin arrogantly.
Sean scanned the crowd. Nobody was paying the slightest bit of attention to how he'd actually calmed the book. He let out a quiet sigh. Surprisingly, Malfoy was the first to stroke his own book flat, shooting Sean a quick, eager-to-please glance. Sean gave him a subtle nod of approval. Only then did the rest of the class remember they were supposed to be dealing with their textbooks—though by then, Neville's book had already chewed through his shoe.
Hagrid looked absolutely ecstatic, as if he'd just witnessed his first lesson become a roaring success.
"Excellent!" he boomed happily. "Right, so yer've all got yer books. Now what we need is the magical creatures. I'll go fetch 'em."
With that, Hagrid turned and vanished into the treeline of the Forbidden Forest.
"God, this school has officially gone to the dogs," Malfoy declared loudly. "That oaf is actually teaching classes now. My father will have a heart attack when he hears about this—honestly, they should just let Mr. Green teach us directly."
Honestly, the students were remarkably receptive to the idea of Sean teaching. Not a single person questioned how a current student could also serve as a Teaching Assistant.
"Malfoy!" Harry yelled, forcing himself to speak up, though he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to disagree or agree with the sentiment.
"Careful, Potter, there's a Dementor right behind you—" Malfoy shot back with a nasty grin.
---