Hope Cottage.
A roaring fire crackled in the hearth.
Mr. Owl wears a knit cap in winter—and sometimes even tiny mittens on his talons.
When Sean walked in, the owl was struggling to pull on a little jacket he'd nicked from some portrait, beak clamped tight around the sleeve.
"Little wizard!"
The jacket immediately fell off the moment he spoke.
Sean was still getting pecked and batted at while he opened the door. Everyone else had learned that if they acted scared, Mr. Owl would calm down and leave them alone for a few days.
Over by the cozy fire sat Sean's very self-aware wooden bookshelf.
Right now it was rearranging itself with a clatter, spitting out a copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.
Sean stared at it for a second. He could've sworn the thing's personality was developing a little too fast lately.
He flipped open the book. The foreword on the very first page was, of course, written by Headmaster Dumbledore:
> Newt's extraordinary work became required reading at Hogwarts the moment it was published.
> It is undoubtedly responsible for the string of Outstandings our students have earned in Care of Magical Creatures—yet it is far more than a mere classroom material.
> There is no wizarding home without a copy of Fantastic Beasts, passed down through generations until the spine is cracked and the pages fall out—from looking up the best way to get rid of Horklumps in the lawn, interpreting a Diricawl's mournful cry, or curing the family Puffskein's habit of drinking out of the toilet.
> —Albus Dumbledore
That reminded Sean of something. He pulled out a notebook crammed with cryptic scribbles.
The International Alchemical Society had been begging him to turn his Fairy-Tale Biscuits into a proper book, and Master Nicolas Flamel himself had offered to write the foreword.
Yeah, the man's still alive.
Sean wasn't sure if he'd become the butterfly that flapped its wings and changed everything, but as long as Flamel wanted to keep breathing, nobody in the world was going to let him die.
Professor Tela's take on it was simpler:
"Let a master who's chased alchemy his whole life die right when his curiosity is at its peak, Little Green? Then maybe you'll get to meet his ghost."
So the book kept growing.
Writing down the rituals themselves wasn't that hard. Explaining how they actually worked? That was the nightmare.
Sean honestly couldn't explain half the flashes of inspiration he got, which was ironically how he ended up understanding the rituals better in the first place.
(Oh, and there was an ad here in the original—101kan.com or something—consider it banished.)
As for alchemy, once you hit expert level, the bar for "master" got ridiculous.
[Advancement: Create three separate categories of master-tier alchemical objects → unlock Master Alchemist title]
His Fairy-Tale Biscuit series only counted as one category. You get the idea how brutal that is.
Even the Cat's Meow biscuits—the ones he's made the most—he'd only barely reached [Expert].
Sometimes it made Sean think about Charms:
[Advancement: Twelve expert-level spells OR five master-level spells → unlock Master of Charms title]
Every now and then he caught himself wondering, "Just how much 'practice' is enough practice?"
He set the draft aside. Even if the book ever got published, Professor Tela figured the number of people who could actually understand it could be counted on one hand.
As for anyone replicating the work? Tela just laughed.
"Give it another hundred years—still nobody'll manage it.
The Book of Abraham the Jew has been around forever, and only Nicolas Flamel ever made a Philosopher's Stone."
Top-tier alchemy demands almost the same raw talent as divination.
…
Outside, snow fluttered down in fat flakes. Another studious day at Hope Cottage drew to a close.
Justin was looking a lot better; he was experimenting with spell combinations while something sweet baked in the oven.
Hermione had become obsessed with nonverbal spells lately—Professor Flitwick had been giving her private pointers.
Ron could now reliably transfigure small objects; every so often you'd spot a mouse or a beetle scurrying across his desk.
Harry and Neville were happily swapping notes on Defense Against the Dark Arts—both of them were scary good at it.
And Sean was still nose-deep in Fantastic Beasts.
On one thick, creamy page it read:
> In 1832, a Cincinnati wizard named Abel Treetops claimed to have patented a method for taming Kneazles to guard wizard homes.
> MACUSA raided his house and caught him in the act of casting Engorgio on a bunch of regular cats. Fraud exposed.
The wizarding world has no shortage of con artists, Sean thought, flipping further.
> Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has long been rumored to have actual Kneazles on campus—probably because one of the four houses is named after the creature.
> The rumors are true.
"Ilvermorny…" Sean murmured.
Aside from the school itself, finding a Kneazle anywhere in the vast North American continent sounded nearly impossible.
Then he remembered: Professor Tela was an honorary professor at Ilvermorny.
For whatever reason, that woman had taught at pretty much every major magical school on the planet.
…
"Oh, that question…"
Professor Tela leaned down with a smile.
"I was looking for you, my apprentice."
Sean blinked.
"You seem pretty interested in Kneazles. How about we take a little trip this Christmas?
Ilvermorny is widely regarded as one of the most democratic, equal-opportunity great magical schools in the world.
Let me think—they even have a Sorting ceremony kind of like Hogwarts'."
She gave him a quick rundown of Ilvermorny's unique features, then folded a paper airplane and sent it wobbling off.
The note was short:
[Eugenia Herrera, looks like your prayers worked. I'll be visiting over Christmas break—with my apprentice in tow.]
If Sean remembered correctly, the tall, bronze-skinned, elderly witch he'd met at the alchemy conference was none other than the current Headmistress of Ilvermorny—Eugenia Herrera.
Her successor was already chosen: Agilbert Fontaine.
Ilvermorny had produced plenty of famous witches and wizards. Porpentina "Tina" Goldstein, for example—an outstanding Auror and wife to a certain very famous alumnus of Sean's, Newt Scamander.
In the corridor outside, thick snowflakes danced past the windows. The castle felt darker with all the snow blocking the light.
Sean's planning map floated up on its own, adding a new glowing marker far away from Hogwarts Castle:
[Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry]
And in tiny letters in the corner: [Christmas Break]