Roger might have been right—but did the wizarding world even have a concept like mercenaries?
"Quidditch always makes people feel younger, don't you think?"
Dumbledore said with a smile, casually glancing at Minerva, who looked close to tears.
"Perhaps you're right, Headmaster."
Sean accepted the trophy at an angle, and the enormous thing nearly smashed him on the head.
"Oh, careful there."
Dumbledore reached out with a chuckle.
Behind him, the other professors were practically laughing themselves sick.
Sean felt a little embarrassed and staggered off, struggling to hold the trophy upright.
Dumbledore looked delighted, turning to McGonagall and chatting about the days when she had played Quidditch herself.
"Minerva, I don't remember you ever thinking the trophy was heavy."
Dumbledore said wistfully.
"Albus, back then the trophy hadn't been weighted by you."
McGonagall shot him a look, then turned back toward the young wizard being jostled along by the crowd, her excitement barely contained.
After finally winning the Quidditch Cup, Ravenclaw stayed giddy for at least a full week.
Even the weather seemed to join the celebration. As June drew closer, the days turned bright and cloudless and pleasantly hot—the kind of weather that made people want to grab a few pints of chilled pumpkin juice, wander out onto the grounds, flop down in the grass, maybe play a few casual rounds of Gobstones, or just watch the giant squid glide dreamily across the lake.
And there, by the edge of the Black Lake, Roger was rubbing his hands together in excitement.
"You mean," Roger said, "it really does that?"
"It does have that effect," Sean replied. "It can show you certain illusions drawn from your heart—but you need to remember they're only illusions."
In his hand was a deep black stone. The mark of the Elder Wand cut straight through it, while the triangle and circle of the Cloak and the Stone were still clearly visible.
Sean concealed the pattern almost without thinking.
The Resurrection Stone—rather than fulfilling a wizard's desires, it seemed more accurate to say it tempted them toward death.
For a wizard who was mentally sound and didn't carry too many regrets, it could at least let them glimpse the image of a loved one.
But for those living in especially deep pain, it was a messenger sent by Death itself, luring them toward the grave.
So Sean had chosen several Ravenclaw Quidditch players who were, in his judgment, "happy enough." At the very least, they wouldn't recognize the disguised Resurrection Stone, and they wouldn't be seduced by the shades it summoned.
"It's a very unusual alchemical object, Captain Davies. Please be careful."
Sean handed Roger the stone.
"It just summons a few illusions, right? As long as it's not mice, I'll survive."
Roger Davies said it with a grin, but he was still careful.
He closed his eyes and turned the stone three times in his hand.
The result came quickly. Both he and Sean heard faint sounds around them—like light footsteps moving over the dirt beneath the lakeside trees.
Roger could tell they were neither ghosts nor living, flesh-and-blood people.
They were more like… memories given almost-solid form.
Not as tangible as the living, but far more real than ghosts.
They walked toward Roger, every face wearing the same warm, loving smile.
"Grandpa…"
Roger said in surprise.
Sean, meanwhile, couldn't see anything at all.
"So I'm the only one who can see you?"
Roger glanced at Sean and asked.
"No one else can, because you're part of me. I think I understand now…"
Roger seemed to be muttering to himself.
Sean knew that whatever had appeared was the embodied form of those memories.
Roger spoke for a long time, excitedly talking to the grandfather only he could see.
An hour later, he wiped at the corner of his eyes.
"How can something this wonderful even exist?"
Roger still looked like he could hardly believe it.
"Can you describe it to me in detail?" Sean asked.
Roger didn't seem to have suffered much from it.
Did that mean that, for a relatively happy wizard, the Resurrection Stone wasn't actually as agonizing as people imagined?
"Of course," Roger said eagerly. "I knew it was only an illusion, but it was unbelievably real. He felt just like my grandfather's actual soul. Though… he didn't seem to have much emotion. If my grandpa had heard that I won both cups, he'd have laughed himself silly…"
…
For quite a while, Sean kept testing the Resurrection Stone's effects.
One after another, Ravenclaw's Quidditch players saw dead relatives by the lakeside.
Their descriptions helped Sean complete an important step.
He came to understand the Resurrection Stone—and to fully realize that he truly possessed a legendary alchemical object.
Each summer day grew more comfortable than the last.
The wizards wanted nothing more than to stretch out on the lawn and spend the entire day basking in the sun.
But they couldn't. Exams were approaching, and the students had no choice but to stay inside the castle, forcing their minds to focus while the warm summer breeze drifted temptingly in through the windows.
Only a small number of wizards still moved about freely—among them, one very well-known Ravenclaw named Green.
He would occasionally appear somewhere in the castle, calmly going about his business.
Sometimes, a sobbing Ravenclaw would cling to him and babble something strange about wanting to "test the stone just one more time."
Unfortunately, no one had time to pay much attention to that anymore.
Exam week began, and the castle fell unnaturally quiet.
At lunchtime on Monday, some of the second-years staggered out of the Transfiguration exam looking exhausted and pale. They compared answers while complaining bitterly that the paper had been too hard—one question had actually required them to turn a teapot into a turtle.
Hermione made a huge fuss because her turtle had looked too much like a sea turtle, which thoroughly irritated everyone else, since from their point of view that was a problem nobody needed to worry about.
"My turtle's tail still looked like a teapot spout. How horrifying is that?"
"Should turtles be puffing steam?"
"The shell on mine still had willow patterns on it. Do you think they'll take points off?"
Sean was the last to enter the exam room. Professor McGonagall was waiting inside, looking at him with unusual gentleness.
"This is easy for you," she said, "but I still don't want you to underestimate an exercise like this."
There were exactly ten students in the room. Sean could see Justin, Neville, and Ron among them.
"The exam begins."
The moment McGonagall finished speaking, Ron was the first to complete it. There was a bit of sweat on his forehead, but otherwise he looked fairly relaxed.
"Not bad," McGonagall said.
Then Justin, Harry, Neville, and the others all finished and left the room—while Sean was still thinking.
He raised his hand.
Unexpectedly, there was no wand in it.
Minerva McGonagall seemed to realize something, but she kept her face carefully neutral as she watched him.
After another two months of memory fusion, Sean had long since gone beyond simple wandless charms.
He reached out and tapped the turtle lightly with one finger.
And then the turtle began to transform in a truly strange and wonderful way.
~~~
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