Chapter 598: The Mists Return
Stepping through the early morning dew, Sean left Hagrid's hut.
He could easily imagine the shift in the wizarding world now that Fudge had
finally begun to take proper measures. As the dominant force of the magical
realm, the Ministry—provided it was sufficiently prepared—was more than capable
of handling isolated riots.
The fear among the public was unavoidable, but the reality was that people had
already been living in fear. By actively courting the Giants, containing the
radical Werewolf packs, and securing Azkaban, the Ministry could finally move
from a state of reactive panic to proactive defense. Every minute of preparation
meant another innocent life saved.
Hogwarts was unnervingly quiet in the dawn light. Sean's footsteps made a crisp,
crunching sound against the frost-covered grass. Beneath the dew-soaked lawn,
the earth was soft and saturated; the grass flattened under his boots and then
sprang back as he passed.
The storm had raged for a long time, and the newly risen sun hadn't yet managed
to pull the moisture back into the sky. But finally, the clouds were breaking.
Sean intended to return to Hope Cottage to continue his relentless grind of Dark
Arts and Transfiguration while waiting for the mists of the Lands Between to
thicken once more. On his way, he spotted a tall, familiar silhouette.
"Mr. Grindelwald," Sean said, stopping in his tracks.
The wizard standing on the embankment of the Black Lake turned. A wide, reckless
grin cut across his face before he materialized instantly beneath the shadow of
a beech tree next to Sean.
"You're here for the Azkaban garrison, aren't you?" Sean asked, stowing his
book.
Grindelwald offered neither a 'yes' nor a 'no.' His predatory, piercing gaze
swept over the towering spires of the castle. "I heard a saying once in a
far-off land: when a great man dies, they say his library has closed its doors
forever."
Sean didn't quite follow the metaphor, but he listened patiently.
"Tell me," Grindelwald continued, "in Albus's 'library,' how many volumes do you
think are dedicated to the name Gellert Grindelwald?"
"I couldn't say, sir," Sean replied honestly.
"You should know. After all, you and he are very much alike." Grindelwald stared
at the boy with an intense, almost offensive heat in his eyes.
"Alike?" Sean frowned.
He knew Dumbledore and Grindelwald had long since parted ways—a fundamental
schism of the soul. You cannot force a fish to fly among the clouds. Albus had
woken up from their shared madness and chosen a different path without
hesitation.
In that regard, the same applied to Snape and Lily. Sean often thought of how
Snape had eventually adopted Lily's path as his own. Their wills had become a
joint conspiracy only after her death.
But Grindelwald was a different enigma entirely. His actions were as
unpredictable as Fred and George throwing snowballs at Voldemort's face, or Ron
trying to swallow three chicken legs at once and ending up in the hospital wing.
"Green... you are a fascinating little wizard," Grindelwald said, his white hair
fluttering in the breeze. "I suspect you don't even know who you truly are. Some
would call a wizard like you 'Great,' wouldn't they? To possess a heart that is
impossible to reach, yet impossible to extinguish."
Sean privately wondered if decades of imprisonment had finally addled the Dark
Lord's brain. He offered a polite bow, intending to make his escape.
"I'll send the men for the Azkaban guard," Grindelwald said, stopping him. "But
don't you wish to talk? Albus told me that in all these years, you are his only
'meritorious achievement' worth praising. He chose you. He'd probably print a
hundred volumes about you in his library."
Grindelwald's lips curled into a cold smile. "Is that not enough? He has
practically handed you to me. He asked me to come, and so I came. He asked me to
watch over you specifically. Quite a rare request... and I have been watching.
My eyes, though they've rested for a long time, have seen quite a bit."
"What do you mean?" Sean asked. He suddenly remembered that Gellert Grindelwald
was a world-renowned Seer.
"I noticed that he cares for you," Grindelwald said in a low, resonant tone.
Sean realized he and this legendary Dark Lord were operating on two entirely
different frequencies.
"He doesn't care for himself," Grindelwald whispered. "If the day comes when he
is required to die, he will sacrifice himself without a thought."
"Perhaps you're right, sir. But what exactly did you see?" Sean asked. He was
worried. Given Dumbledore's current reckless hunt for Voldemort, Sean knew that
if he didn't grow powerful enough soon, the Headmaster might still fall.
Voldemort was a master of traps—if he could use the Gaunt Ring to lure
Dumbledore, he could use anything.
"Heh... exactly that. I saw you. You aren't curious about your own fate; you
think his safety is more important than yours. But the irritating thing is... he
thinks the same of you." Grindelwald leaned against the beech tree, his tone
self-deprecating.
Sean grew more confused by the second. Was Grindelwald disapproving of
Dumbledore's manhunt? And what did he see in Sean that made him so pensive?
"I've looked into the hearts of many," Grindelwald grumbled. "Filthy, crude,
disgusting things... but your kind? I can't read you. He was once just like me,
but then he became... this."
He looked at Sean with a predatory focus. "I need to understand it. And I'll
have my chance. Starting this summer, you will be studying under me.
Understood?"
Sean's ears practically perked up. Studying under a Dark Lord? High-tier Dark
Arts?
Watching the boy's eyes brighten with a sudden, intense hunger, Grindelwald felt
a flicker of annoyance. The brat didn't listen to a word of my warning.
"Hmph. Greedy little wizard. Did you hear me?"
"I heard you perfectly, Professor Grindelwald," Sean said, nodding frantically.
"A quick pivot... but I'm satisfied. Albus may have begged me to take you on,
but you'd better not embarrass me."
Hagrid's Hut.
Inside the small dwelling, the fire was still crackling in the hearth.
"You heard?" a voice asked.
"Naturally," a second voice replied with clipped, sharp precision.
"It is time you returned," the first, older voice said.
"What?" the lower voice asked in confusion.
"Does he have any other instructions?" Albus Dumbledore stepped into the light
of the window.
"He asked me to find... Green..."
"There are only two men in this world who should not address him by that name,
Severus."
"Albus... that isn't funny."
"Severus, it's been long enough. Stop torturing yourself."
Snape went silent. He clearly had no desire to discuss the matter further.
"You see? If you were to die out there, people would mourn you," Dumbledore said
gently. "You chose him yourself. Or perhaps you stole him."
"Don't—" Snape hissed. The memory of the night he had confronted Minerva
McGonagall was as shameful to him as the night he had gone to the Gryffindor
Tower... but he had never once regretted it.
"You should understand, Severus. There is only one thing in this world that can
never be hidden. Even for a thief, a murderer, or a spy." Dumbledore pressed on.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY?!" Snape roared. "I will tell him nothing, Albus.
There isn't a man on this earth who would sell out his own..."
His voice caught, the final word dying in the air.
"...Son," Dumbledore finished. He looked at Snape as if seeing him for the first
time, studying him from head to toe before letting out a soft, melodic laugh.
"Enough!" Snape snarled, turning for the door.
"You have to tell him," Dumbledore said, a single sentence anchoring Snape to
the floorboards.
"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!" Snape spun around, his eyes wild with disbelief.
"This 'weight' you carry has made you slow, Severus," Dumbledore said, his eyes
twinkling. "Even if you don't tell him, he will find out. It's too easy for him.
He is a Thrice-Greatest Hermes, remember?"
"I can delay it... I can just..." Snape trailed off.
"Can you? I suspect it will take him the length of a Sunday newspaper to piece
it together," Dumbledore countered. "You'll be returning soon. Voldemort needs a
spy, now that his links to the Ministry have been severed. He will call for
you."
"I know," Snape said, his face a mask of shifting shadows.
"He will plan to kill them all—not just Harry. As for Lucius... I hope we can
keep that game going a bit longer."
Dumbledore spoke of his plans with the casual air of a man chatting with an old
friend.
"I can handle the Defense post," Snape noted.
"Oh, I'm sure you can, Severus. You are quite capable. But tell me—how many Dark
Wizards have you actually fought to the death? We are no longer dealing with
simple 'pests.' I've found a very experienced wizard to assist you. You won't
object, will you?"
If Snape were a cat, his fur would have been smoothed down perfectly by
Dumbledore's "compliment." He let out a huff and gave a sharp nod of agreement.
"Then we part ways for now," Dumbledore said, his gaze full of warmth. "Be
careful, Severus. You know someone is watching over you."
Snape didn't answer. With a swirl of his black robes, he vanished from the hut.
Watching the fire, Dumbledore's lips curved upward. Even a heart made of stone
can be warmed, he thought. Eventually.
Following that morning, the storms finally receded.
The Great Hall returned to its usual noisy state, especially now that Professor
Snape had returned to the staff table.
"He's back—" Ron groaned. To him, Snape's return was far more terrifying than
Voldemort's.
"Who? You-Know-Who?" Harry asked, jumping in his seat. Rumors had been flying
through the school for weeks. The Ministry's mobilization and the change of the
Azkaban guard were headline news on every Magic Hand Mirror in the castle.
The group had been practicing their magic with a desperate intensity. Despite
Sean's absence and Hermione acting like a powder keg of stress, Justin had shown
a remarkable talent for teaching. Though his practical magic wasn't on Sean's
level, his role as the editor of Green's Notes meant he had a profound grasp of
theory. He spent his evenings in the Kneazle Society rooms, giving free
tutorials to the younger years. Most of them had started calling him "Professor
Finch-Fletchley."
Harry's mood remained heavy, however. The resignation of Lupin and the return of
Snape felt like a double blow. But seeing Sean in the Hall for meals again was a
huge relief—not just for Harry, but for everyone.
On the final day of term, the exam results were posted.
Sean, as expected, received perfect marks across the board. Sitting at the
table, he allowed himself a rare moment to just listen to the school gossip. It
was his only way to relax.
Percy had secured top marks on his N.E.W.T.s, and even Fred and George had
scraped through their O.W.L.s. Ravenclaw, largely thanks to Sean's performance
throughout the year, won the House Cup for the third year in a row. The Hall was
draped in blue and bronze, and the celebrations were rowdy enough to make even
the ghosts join in.
During the breakfast, Sean caught Snape's eye. The Professor sat at the High
Table, his gaze drifting toward Sean whenever the boy appeared to be dozing off
over his eggs.
As they prepared to leave, Hermione dropped a bombshell.
"I went to see Professor McGonagall this morning," she told Sean and a stunned
Justin. "I've decided to drop Muggle Studies."
"But you got a 320% on the final!" Justin gasped.
"I know," Hermione sighed. "But I can't do another year like that. That
Time-Turner is driving me around the twist. I've handed it back. Without Muggle
Studies and Divination, I can have a normal schedule again."
"I support that," Justin said quickly.
They both looked at Sean, who was currently nodding off. Justin didn't need to
ask the question—Hermione knew what he was thinking.
"I tried to convince him to drop a few, too," Hermione whispered, looking both
annoyed and worried. "But he... well."
They both remembered the school's description of Mr. Green: An unshakable
wizard.
Sean, however, was having a rare experience.
He was dreaming.
He dreamed that tonight, the mists would rise once more.
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