Hogwarts: Proficiency Panel

Chapter 498 499: Albania

"Safe travels then, Professor."

Quirrell offered a thin, tired smile. He cradled Tila the Bowtruckle carefully

in his palm, offered a respectful bow, and turned, disappearing into the

swirling crowd of Diagon Alley.

Sean remained where he was for a moment, watching the space where the Professor

had been. He had sent Quirrell to the forests of Albania to track the remnants

of Lord Voldemort.

After the failure to steal the Philosopher's Stone, Voldemort's spirit had fled

back to those dark woods. But finding him was one thing; destroying him was

quite another. How does one kill something that doesn't truly exist in a

physical sense?

Voldemort was a phantom, a mere shadow of a soul. When he abandoned Quirrell's

body in the underground chambers, even Dumbledore couldn't prevent his flight.

When he had briefly tried to possess Harry, Dumbledore had been equally

powerless to trap him.

Still, Sean needed eyes on him. He needed to know Voldemort's current state. His

own artifacts—the Soul Sanctities—could interact with spirits in ways standard

magic could not, but first, the target had to be located.

Quirrell's report confirmed Sean's suspicions: even if they managed to hunt down

and destroy every Horcrux, Voldemort wouldn't simply vanish. Destroying the

anchors only made him mortal again. He would still be a floating, malevolent

consciousness capable of possession. To truly end the Dark Lord, they would have

to strike at the "Main Soul" itself.

And that soul was currently lurking in Albania, jumping from the bodies of rats

to snakes to lizards, or perhaps seducing some unfortunate traveler...

Sean stepped toward the entrance of Flourish and Blotts. He knew of one wizard

who could theoretically track Voldemort with pinpoint accuracy, but "finding"

wasn't "finishing." Sean needed to be ready for the kill.

I just hope I have enough time...

The bookstore was a cacophony of noise. Sean looked up and blinked in surprise.

Usually, the shop was filled with dignified, leather-bound tomes. Today,

however, a massive iron cage sat behind the glass window, containing about a

hundred copies of The Monster Book of Monsters.

The books were in a state of total chaos, snarling and snapping at one another

in a frantic, papery wrestling match. Shredded pages flew through the air like

confetti.

Sean pulled his book list from his pocket. The Monster Book of Monsters was the

required text for Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid's prediction had come

true—his "little surprise" had arrived.

The manager of the shop came hurrying toward him, looking harassed.

"Hogwarts student?" he barked. "Here for the new term?"

"Yes," Sean replied.

"Wait... Mr. Green?!" The manager's eyes widened as he took in Sean's face.

"You've come in person? Oh, of course, how silly of me—you haven't graduated

yet!"

It seemed the manager recognized him immediately. This wasn't entirely common;

Sean usually kept a low profile. However, the very first editions of Green's

Notes had featured a small author's photo on the back—a detail the owner of

Flourish and Blotts had insisted upon. Since then, Sean had only allowed the

papers to photograph him from the back or side.

"What an absolute honor!" the manager gushed. He reached under the counter and

pulled out a well-worn copy of Green's Notes and a quill. It was an original

edition, the kind distributed through Flourish and Blotts before Sean had

established his own publishing house, The Emerald Workshop.

"Mr. Green, if you wouldn't mind... just a quick signature?"

Sean flicked his wrist, and his eagle-feather quill drifted out of his pocket.

It hovered in the air, scratching Sean Green across the title page in a sharp,

elegant script.

"Blimey... thank you, thank you!" The manager beamed, clutching the book like it

was made of solid gold. He knew that an authentic Sean Green autograph could

fetch fifteen Galleons among certain circles of collectors and society witches.

"As you know, Mr. Green, you get the standard forty-percent 'Author's Discount'

here. And if you're ever interested in expanding your distribution channels,

Flourish and Blotts would be more than happy to discuss a partnership."

"I'll keep that in mind," Sean said politely.

"Right then! Let me get your books." The manager scurried off, pulling on a pair

of thick dragon-hide gloves and grabbing a large, knotted walking stick. He

marched toward the cage of Monster Books.

"Wait, sir—don't bother with those. I already have mine," Sean called out.

The manager stopped, looking profoundly relieved. "Thank Merlin for that. I've

been bitten five times this morning already—"

A loud RIP echoed through the shop as two Monster Books teamed up to tear a

third one in half.

"STOP THAT! GET OFF!" the manager yelled, poking the stick through the bars to

pry them apart. "I'm never stocking these again! Never! It's been a nightmare!

We thought it was bad when we ordered two hundred copies of The Invisible Book

of Invisibility—cost us a fortune and we never found a single one of 'em—but

this is worse! Anything else for you?"

"Yes," Sean said, looking back at his list. "I need Unfogging the Future by

Cassandra Vablatsky."

"Ah, taking up Divination, are we?" The manager stripped off his gloves and led

Sean toward the back of the shop, to a corner dedicated to the mantic arts.

A small table was piled with heavy volumes like Predicting the Unpredictable:

Insulating Yourself Against Shock and Broken Balls: When Fortunes Turn Foul.

"Here we are," the manager said, climbing a ladder to pull down a thick,

black-bound book. "Unfogging the Future. A very solid guide. Covers all the

basics—Palmistry, Crystal Balls, Bird Entrails..."

He trailed off, his gaze falling on a student crouching on the floor nearby.

Sean recognized the messy black hair immediately. It was Harry. He was staring

intensely at a book on a lower shelf, looking as though he had seen a ghost.

"I wouldn't touch that one if I were you," the manager said to Sean, nodding

toward the book Harry was looking at. "Read that, and you start seeing omens of

death in your tea leaves and your breakfast porridge. Enough to scare a man to

death, it is."

He wasn't speaking quietly, but Harry didn't seem to hear him. He remained

frozen, staring at the cover of a book titled Death Omens: What to Do When You

Know the Worst is Coming.

On the cover was a black dog as large as a bear, with glowing, baleful eyes. It

looked terrifyingly familiar to Harry.

The manager pressed the copy of Unfogging the Future into Sean's hand. "Anything

else, Mr. Green?"

"Yes. Intermediate Transfiguration and The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3,"

Sean rattled off the rest of his list from memory.

As the manager went to gather the items, Sean stepped forward and stood silently

in front of Harry, his shadow falling over the book and shielding Harry from the

busy crowd.

While he waited, Sean let his gaze drift toward the front window of the shop.

His sharp eyes caught sight of a small, hunched figure—Will the

Pukwudgie—leading a large, shaggy black dog through the shadows of the alley.

The "Grim" wasn't a prophecy, Sean thought. It was just a very tired man trying

to keep an eye on his godson.

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