Hogwarts: Proficiency Panel

Chapter 492 493: Only a Wall Apart

Meeting Room No. 1.

Sean stood quietly by the fireplace. Fudge watched him with an oily, practiced

smile, his eyes scanning Sean as if he were a priceless artifact on display at

the Ministry.

"How long until you graduate, Mr. Green? I hear you're just starting your third

year. My, my... who would believe it? The famous Mr. Green is a student who

hasn't even sat his O.W.L.s yet."

Fudge's flattery was smooth—not quite offensive, but heavy with intent. Sean

simply gave a slight, polite nod.

"I mean, a wizard as exceptional as yourself... what is it they're calling you

these days? The 'Future's Greatest Wizard'? The youngest wizard to ever grace a

Chocolate Frog card? Or perhaps... the first wizard in history destined to

surpass Albus Dumbledore?"

Fudge leaned in, his smile widening. "People are saying your talent exceeds

Dumbledore's own. I wonder if such a claim is accurate."

"Headmaster Dumbledore is far more accomplished than I am," Sean replied without

hesitation.

"Ah, well... for now, perhaps. But the future? The future belongs to you, Mr.

Green." Fudge spoke in circles, his true meaning dancing just beneath the

surface.

Sean watched him, those steady emerald eyes possessing their usual magic of

seeing through a man's facade. He understood Fudge's endgame.

The Minister for Magic was, in theory, the highest-ranking official in the

British Wizarding World. He managed the gears of their society. However, Fudge

had never attained the status that should have come with the office, because

there was always one wizard who stood above the law, above the Ministry, and

above him: Albus Dumbledore.

"I just wanted you to know," Fudge said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial

tone, "that you have my full support. Truly." He focused intently on Sean's

face, searching for a reaction.

Sean's expression remained a mask of calm. "Thank you, Minister."

"Excellent, excellent! Well, the Ministry has some urgent business to attend

to—Black won't catch himself, after all—so I must leave you. But you see, Mr.

Green... you know where my heart lies."

Fudge, patting his round stomach, turned to leave. Before stepping out, he gave

Sean a pointed wink.

Screech!

Right on cue, Snowy, Sean's white owl, flew in through the window. She landed on

a perch, her head tilted as she watched Fudge's retreating back. She ruffled her

feathers and let out a soft hoot of disapproval; she clearly wasn't a fan of the

portly wizard.

Magical creatures often had sharper instincts than wizards.

So, what kind of man was Cornelius Fudge? He was oily, certainly. Perhaps driven

by greed or a thirst for status. But he was, above all, a politician. He

possessed the basic cunning of his trade. He was a wizard of average talent who

had ascended to the highest office not through merit, but through political

maneuvering.

The "support" he promised Sean was likely the same support he had promised

Dumbledore a hundred times. As Hagrid once put it: "Old Cornelius Fudge... he's

not got a grain of sense. Always makes a pig's ear of things. That's why he's

always sending owls to Dumbledore every morning, begging for advice."

Sean allowed himself a small smile, imagining Dumbledore waking up to a room

swarming with Ministry owls.

Did Fudge truly want to support Sean? Perhaps. But what he really wanted to

support was a counterweight—a wizard powerful enough to stand against

Dumbledore's influence.

What Fudge didn't know was that Sean was, for the most part, a Dumbledore man.

And what Sean didn't yet realize was that, for quite some time now, Dumbledore

had quietly become a "Sean Green man."

Outside the windows of the Leaky Cauldron, the sky was shifting rapidly, turning

from a velvety deep blue to a cold, misty grey, before blushing into a golden

pink.

Fires crackled in the grates of Room 1, Room 10, and Room 11.

Outside Room 11, Harry followed Tom up a handsome set of wooden stairs. Tom

stopped before a door with a polished brass "11" on it. He turned the key and

held the door open.

Inside was a cozy-looking bed, polished oak furniture, and a fire roaring

happily in the hearth. And there, perched on top of the wardrobe—

"Hedwig!" Harry cried.

The snowy owl clicked her beak and flapped down onto Harry's arm.

"Smart bird, that one," Tom chuckled. "Arrived barely five minutes after you

did. If there's anything you need, Mr. Potter, don't hesitate to ask." He bowed

low and left the room.

If Hedwig's arrival had helped Harry relax, what happened next nearly made his

heart stop.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Sean stood in the hallway. He looked at the brass plate for Room 11, then

glanced at the door to Room 10. Will, his Pukwudgie butler, had informed him

that Sirius Black was currently inside that very room.

By some strange twist of fate, Harry and Sirius were separated by nothing but a

single wall.

Sean pulled out his Magic Hand Mirror. The surface rippled, showing Will

standing guard inside Room 10. Sirius was there, too—gaunt, exhausted, and

intensely focused on a pile of old newspapers.

Through the mirror, Sean could see Sirius pressing his ear against the wall. His

eyes were wide, scanning the articles about Sean: "The Wizard Who Thwarted

You-Know-Who's Servants," "The Discoverer of the Chamber of Secrets," "The One

Who Drew the Sword of Gryffindor."

"He's a legend already," Sirius whispered hoarsely.

"An ignorant wizard, you are," Will huffed quietly in the mirror.

"You're right, Pukwudgie," Sirius murmured. He had figured out what Will was,

and his heart was racing. If his Azkaban-sharpened hearing hadn't failed him, he

had just heard Tom, the landlord, say a name that meant more to him than his own

life: Harry.

"Harry," Sean said as the door to Room 11 opened.

"Sean!" Harry looked incredibly relieved to see him.

The two sat down. Harry had no idea that on the other side of the wall, a man

was holding his breath, trembling as he listened.

"You said I wasn't in any danger, Sean. Why? That criminal... Sirius Black...

he..." Harry trailed off, looking for answers.

"He won't hurt you, Harry," Sean said firmly.

"But... why?" Harry was baffled.

His mind was a mess. One moment he wondered if Black was too busy planning

revenge against Sean—since Sean had foiled Voldemort's plans so many times. The

next, he remembered that he was the one who made Voldemort vanish in the first

place. Why wouldn't Black come for him?

In the room next door, Sirius could barely contain himself. He lunged toward the

door, desperate to burst through.

"Stay back, you fool!" Will barked, nocking an arrow and pointing it straight at

Sirius's chest. "You'll get yourself caught! Do you want to ruin the Master's

plan?!"

"Let me..." Sirius looked at the Pukwudgie with eyes full of agony. He knew he

couldn't get past Will; even in his weakened state, he knew the creature was far

more powerful. He dropped to his knees, his voice a broken plea. "Please... ask

your Master... just let me see him. Just once."

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