In the Forbidden Forest, a massive serpent opened its bloody maw. Even without using its eyes, the basilisk could hear the crisp crackling of roasting food and smell the delicious scent of meat.
While it was eating, Aragog—surrounded by a cluster of Acromantulas—had already vanished deeper into the forest.
Sean didn't pay him much attention. He glanced over the carpet of enormous spider corpses and took the opportunity to gather some potion ingredients.
In just a single night, the Acromantula colony in the Forbidden Forest had lost at least half its numbers.
The surprising part was: only about a third of that had anything to do with Sean. Far more of them had ended up in the basilisk's stomach.
As the basilisk rampaged through the spider colony, indulging its brutal instincts, the panel in Sean's mind kept chiming:
[You have gained basilisk affinity at expert standard. Affinity +50]
[You have gained basilisk affinity at expert standard. Affinity +50]
Sean quietly felt out that strange mix of closeness and malice from the basilisk. Moonlight pierced the charred gaps in the forest canopy and spilled into the hollow.
For wizards, faith is something you choose.
For Dark creatures, their faith is already fixed…
To have no power to choose—that was the sad part.
The Chamber story was wrapped up.
What to do with the basilisk now?
…
In the Room of Hope.
Ever-burning candles floated overhead, pumpkin lanterns hung along the beams, and the fireplace roared, throwing warm orange light across the room.
Robed students were gathered like a little tea party, chatting one after another about the upcoming Halloween feast.
When Sean came back, his wand was guiding a massive pumpkin through the doorway—easily as big as a carriage.
This was Hagrid's biggest pumpkin, his "Pumpkin King," now delivered to Sean as a Halloween gift.
"Sean, where did you even find…"
Hermione stared, dazed.
"I've never seen one this big…"
Neville stammered.
Magic on food and plants might not have combat use, but that didn't make it any less difficult.
From that angle, Hagrid was clearly talented at food magic.
"Hagrid gave it to me. Oh—and he asked me to pass on a message: it's been a long time since he's seen any of you at his hut."
Sean set the pumpkin down near the fireplace. Justin immediately started plotting what they could make out of it, eyes shining.
Harry and the others all flushed with guilt.
Ever since they'd learned there was a basilisk in the castle, their attention had been consumed by that looming danger. They hadn't visited Hagrid in far too long.
While they were spacing out, Sean had already gone to his usual seat and sat down.
Ever since he'd returned from the Restricted Section, Godelot's words in Magick Moste Evile had been echoing in his head:
[To create a positive faith is hard beyond measure, but to create an evil one is effortless…]
So what is a wizard's faith, really?
After a long stretch of thinking, Sean's quill finally began to move:
["Emotion" — love, protection, cruelty, distortion… these are the emotional aspects of a wizard.
They're the "feeling" side of magic. In certain moments, they can erupt into tremendous power.
For example, when Fred got furious and turned Ron's teddy bear into a spider; or when Harry, in anger, turned Aunt Marge into a balloon.
As children, young wizards haven't yet gone through deep self-doubt. They believe "I want it, so I can do it." That belief, mixed with imagination and curiosity, makes magic as natural as breathing.
"Reason" — wisdom, knowledge, insight… these are the rational aspects of magic.
They're the "thinking" side, the centuries of commentary on how magic works. They stabilize magic and give wizards a practical path to learn.
Wizards begin to build confidence through external rules: spells, wand movements, potion recipes. They believe "because I followed the steps correctly, the magic will work."
Faith shifts from "who I am" to "what I do."
"Ritual Magic" — is what you get when the two parts finally fuse.
It's the final form of wizard magic.]
When he finished that long passage, Sean felt something click into place.
No wonder Voldemort was obsessed with killing Harry personally.
In Voldemort's eyes, he was the most powerful Dark wizard in the world. He couldn't accept being defeated by a child.
In truth, he couldn't accept it—because that would shatter his very faith in himself.
According to Godelot's theory, when a wizard's belief collapses, their magic dries up too.
Look at Neville. When he believes he can't do something, his magic obligingly proves him right.
But once he gets some encouragement and adjusts his mindset, he succeeds quickly.
So, whether or not Godelot is perfectly correct, his theory clearly has real weight.
And what about me?
Sean watched Justin fussing over the pumpkin, feeling a ripple stir in his chest.
…
"Sorry to hijack the room for a minute," Harry said—seeing Sean "come back to himself," he jumped in quickly.
"Would you lot like to go to an execution—uh, deathday party?"
The air in the Room of Hope froze for a second, then wobbled.
"Deathday party? What's that even mean?" Justin asked first, as usual.
"Tomorrow's Nearly Headless Nick's five-hundredth deathday," Harry said. "On Halloween. He's having a party in one of the bigger dungeons. Apparently, ghosts from all over Britain are coming…"
"Why would anyone celebrate the day they died? That's grim," Ron muttered, practicing a little transfiguration as he spoke.
"A deathday party? I bet hardly any living person can say they've been to one. It's got to be fascinating!" Hermione sounded genuinely excited.
Justin and Neville both automatically turned to look at Sean. He seemed to be thinking—but in truth, he was thinking about the Halloween feast.
A deathday party didn't sound terribly interesting. The worst part was the food: rot, slime, and mold.
Sean had no intention of skipping the Halloween feast to share moldy cake with flies and maggots—especially after missing so many meals in the Great Hall thanks to Tom.
One way or another, no one was dragging him out of the feast this time.
"I hope you all have fun," Sean said softly, the corners of his mouth lifting.
Suddenly a thought struck him: when Harry and the others actually got there… what were they supposed to say?
"Congratulations on being dead for five hundred years?"
By the fireplace, Harry's expression dimmed. He opened his mouth to say something more, but his lips just moved silently.
If he'd known Sean wasn't interested, he might never have agreed to go either.
Spending Halloween with his friends sounded much better than spending it with a room full of ghosts.