Sean fled Snape's office in quiet panic. This time, Snape's scathing sarcasm had come with such venom that it left him feeling battered both mentally and emotionally.
But deep down, Sean knew perfectly well that Snape hadn't truly meant any harm. If anything, the professor's biting words were just his roundabout way of showing a grudging sort of care. Snape had willingly helped him revise his paper, offered him ideas, even supported his experiments — yet he refused to have his name attached to any of it. All the credit would belong to Sean alone. Snape wouldn't accept even a fraction of the praise.
Still, Sean decided he'd rather not provoke that kind of affection again anytime soon.
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The next day — Saturday.
It was a Hogsmeade weekend, and the atmosphere at Hogwarts was as bright as ever. Students in third year and above were grinning, already planning what sweets to buy or which shops to visit. A few unlucky ones — like Harry — were left behind, watching the crowds go with envy.
Sean stopped to chat with Harry briefly before slipping away. Soon enough, he was among the stream of students filing out through the gates. He passed the Dementors stationed there with only a quick glance — their chilling presence had become unsettlingly normal — then waited while Filch checked his permission slip before stepping out onto the path to Hogsmeade.
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The Three Broomsticks.
Sean pushed open the door and was greeted by warm air and the hum of chatter. He scanned the room and easily picked out Aldrich sitting at a corner table, his familiar, polite smile already in place.
Aldrich stood as soon as he saw him, bowing slightly. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Master."
Sean chuckled. "I'm glad to see you too, Aldrich."
"It's an honour that you're willing to meet me here."
"Aldrich, you really haven't changed at all."
Aldrich gave another courteous bow. "Master, shall we rest here a moment, or—?"
"No need," Sean said lightly. "Let's head out straightaway. The sooner we're done, the better."
"As you wish. Please follow me."
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Hogwarts students weren't allowed to leave Hogsmeade, much less slip away to Diagon Alley — so the two of them moved quietly, both wearing plain travelling cloaks with hoods. With Sean's growing reputation at Hogwarts, they couldn't risk being recognised sneaking off.
They slipped out of Hogsmeade's busy streets and into the edge of the forest. When they were deep enough that no one could spot them, Sean stepped closer and laid a hand on Aldrich's arm.
Aldrich looked at him, a trace of concern in his eyes. "Master, your first time Apparating might be rather unpleasant — worse than travelling by Portkey for most. Please be ready. I'll do my best to keep it comfortable."
Sean shrugged lightly. "Don't worry about me, Aldrich. Just make sure you don't tire yourself out."
His strength had grown steadily — with the Troll Strength and Troll Spiked Hide still developing, his body could handle far more than most people guessed. A bit of Apparition wouldn't do him any harm.
Aldrich dipped his head. "Very well. Please hold on, Master."
Sean braced himself, hand firm on Aldrich's arm.
Aldrich exhaled softly, then raised his wand. A heartbeat later, the world around them twisted — a sudden, gut-wrenching spin. Sean felt as though he were being squeezed through a tiny tube, every atom tugged and pushed at once.
Then it was over.
They stepped out of the spinning pull and found themselves standing in the narrow mouth of an alley off Diagon Alley. The street beyond was bustling as usual — witches and wizards appeared out of thin air every few moments, others Disapparating away.
Under their hoods, they were just two more figures among many. No one paid them any mind — although here and there, Aurors in dark robes patrolled in pairs, eyes watchful. Word had it they were still hunting Sirius Black.
Sean didn't spare them a second glance. With Aldrich at his side, he headed straight for Gringotts — ready to get what he'd come for.
As soon as Sean and Aldrich stepped into Gringotts, they felt the atmosphere shift. The moment the goblins and a few wary wizards glimpsed two hooded figures pushing through the doors, the marble hall seemed to stiffen with silent tension.
It wasn't unheard of for the occasional reckless witch or wizard — often young and foolish — to think they could rob Gringotts. Every few years, there was some half-mad attempt. They all ended the same way: badly for the would-be thief, profitably for the goblins.
When Sean and Aldrich drew back their hoods, however, the wariness in the hall eased at once. Two tidy, composed young wizards — and one of them barely more than a student — weren't the sort to try their luck against Gringotts' ironclad vaults and dragons.
They strode to the nearest counter. The goblin behind it — sharp-nosed, long-fingered, and suspicious-eyed — peered at them with obvious distaste.
Sean spoke first, polite but firm. "I'm here to collect something on behalf of Mr Antonius Hopkins."
The goblin's expression darkened. He lowered his gaze to check a dusty ledger, the ink faded with age. When he looked up again, his eyes glinted with suspicion.
"Mr Antonius Hopkins has been dead for more years than you've been alive," the goblin said curtly. "His bloodline is long gone. Who exactly are you — and what claim do you have to his vault?"
Sean only smiled faintly. "I have the password."
At that, the goblin's pointed ears twitched. His scowl deepened — goblins were known to hate these old binding arrangements. But a vault sealed with a password was untouchable by Gringotts, no matter how many centuries passed. If someone arrived with the right word, the goblins had no choice but to honour it.
"Very well," the goblin growled. "Speak it."
Sean met the goblin's beady eyes. "Knowledge."
The word seemed to echo for a heartbeat. The goblin's lips curled back, baring sharp teeth in silent annoyance. With a stiff jerk of his head, he beckoned them forward. "Come with me."
They followed him down the marble hall and into the depths. They squeezed into a small cart that clattered off along winding rails, rattling and dipping through the twisting tunnels beneath Diagon Alley. Somewhere far below, they sped past the chained white dragon, its scales glinting in the lantern light as it shifted restlessly in its restraints.
At last, the cart lurched to a stop at a vault set deep in the oldest levels. The goblin stepped down, produced a heavy iron key, and slid it into the ancient lock. With a low rumble, the vault door creaked open.
Inside, the chamber glowed with a soft golden gleam. Piles of gold galleons and glittering gems were stacked in careful mounds. Shelves held curiosities — alchemical instruments, enchanted trinkets that shimmered with contained magic. But what caught Sean's eye most of all were the books. Dozens upon dozens of them, some bound in cracked leather, others wrapped in plain cloth, and countless loose parchments — the handwritten life's work of Antonius Hopkins.
The goblin stepped inside, consulting a faded list. One by one, he pulled out twenty-three books — some thin enough to slip into a pocket, others so thick they needed two hands to lift.
Sean opened his enchanted bag — the Undetectable Extension Charm swallowed the entire pile without trouble. When the last book vanished inside, he nodded politely at the goblin, who regarded them as though they might still try something foolish.
They climbed back into the cart and rattled back up through the stone tunnels, the vault door sealing behind them with a final, resonant clang.
When they emerged into the daylight of the main hall, the goblin's cold glare followed them all the way to the grand doors. Sean offered him a small nod of thanks — the goblin didn't bother to return it.