In the aftermath of the Barre incident, a strange, profound quiet settled over Sean's life at Beauxbatons. The other students treated him like a ghost, their gazes sliding past him in the corridors and the Great Hall. The duels, the whispers, the animosity—it had all vanished, replaced by an unnerving, isolating silence. Only two people seemed immune to the collective chill: Fleur Delacour and, surprisingly, Schiller Cavill.
His days fell into a simple, productive rhythm: from the dormitory to the Great Hall to the library, a straight and unwavering line.
"Sean," Fleur said one afternoon, interrupting the quiet scrape of his knife against his plate. "Professor Morpangsang asked me to inform you that the matter of compensation for the... incident... has been decided."
Sean paused, his steak half-cut. He looked at her, a brow raised in confusion. "Compensation? It's been over two weeks. Why now?"
"Professor Morpangsang mentioned 'procedures'," she said, a hint of skepticism in her tone. "But what I heard from my father is that the Bulstrode family lodged a formal protest with the academy. You didn't know?"
Putting down his cutlery, Sean frowned. He turned to Aldrich, who stood a respectful distance away. "Aldrich?"
"This is the first I have heard of it, Young Master," Aldrich replied, his expression impassive. "Since I have been in your direct service, some information from the family is no longer relayed to me."
Sean nodded, understanding the unspoken message. Aldrich's loyalty was no longer to the family as an institution, but to him personally. Wherever Sean went, Aldrich would follow.
He turned his attention back to Fleur. "Forget the family politics. What is this compensation? If it's just a bag of Galleons, I may be a little disappointed."
A genuine smile lit up Fleur's face. "Of course not. It's books. Five of them, all related to alchemy, all from the fourth-floor collection in the library. They are magically duplicated copies, of course, but the knowledge within... their value is immense."
"That's a very generous offer," Sean said, surprised. "Even as copies, those must be precious."
"Which is why there are restrictions," Fleur explained. "The books cannot be shared with any family—including the Bulstrodes—and specifically, they cannot be shared with Hogwarts. Who you choose to share them with as an individual... that is your own affair."
Sean's expression turned curious. "That's a very pointed restriction. Is the rivalry between Beauxbatons and Hogwarts that serious?"
"It seems to be heating up," she admitted. "My father says there are whispers at the Ministry about reviving the Triwizard Tournament. A joint competition between Beauxbatons, Hogwarts, and Durmstrang. It was discontinued centuries ago because too many champions died, but the proposal has resurfaced, and it has significant support."
Sean blinked, feigning surprise at the news. "The Triwizard Tournament... I've read about it, but that's ancient history. I wonder when it might be held."
Fleur gave a delicate, cynical shrug. "Knowing the efficiency of our Ministries, it is unlikely to happen for at least two or three years."
They chatted for a while longer before heading to the library together. As was their new routine, they walked back toward their respective dormitories as dusk fell, parting ways in the grand, echoing corridor.
It was there, under the soft glow of a magical lantern, that Fleur stopped. She hesitated, her silver-gold hair shimmering. "Sean," she began, her voice soft, "have you ever considered that perhaps... perhaps Beauxbatons is more suitable for you? Your talent for alchemy is profound. Our school has a legacy in that field, and in Potions and Transfiguration as well. Maybe..."
She seemed to catch herself, a flicker of embarrassment in her eyes. A bright, slightly forced smile appeared on her face. "I'm just joking. Good night."
She turned to leave, but Sean's voice stopped her.
"Fleur," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."
She turned back, her own smile unwavering, though perhaps a little more brittle. "Why are you apologizing?" she asked, her tone light and confused. "It was only a joke."
"Right," Sean said, recognizing the graceful exit she was offering him. "My mistake. I'll see you tomorrow, then."
"See you tomorrow, Sean."
He watched her walk away, her back straight and proud, before turning and heading back to his own room.
After closing the door, Jensen, ever observant, cleared his throat. "Young Master, Mademoiselle Delacour, she seems to..."
He never finished the sentence. A sharp, almost imperceptible glare from Aldrich cut him off mid-word. Jensen, who was not entirely unperceptive, wisely swallowed the rest of his observation.
Sean, who had his back to them, lowered the book he'd just picked up. He knew exactly what had just transpired.
"You don't need to feel sorry for me," he said, turning to face them. "I know exactly what Fleur meant. She is a wonderful person and a good friend, one of the few I've made here. That's all."
He met their gazes, his own clear and steady. "And it's precisely because she is a good friend that some things need to be made clear before they're allowed to develop into something that could hurt her and ruin what we have. Don't worry about me in that regard," he added, a hint of a smile on his face. "I am not the kind of person who is afraid of his own feelings. If I truly meet someone I care for, you'll be the first to know."
The matter between Sean and Fleur was settled. The next morning, she was the same as she always was—bright, witty, and engaging, her pride and self-respect a shield against any awkwardness. She had been rejected, and she would move on. That was her nature.
The final weeks of Sean's month at Beauxbatons passed in a blur of focused study. He felt as though he had only scratched the surface. The world of magic was a vast, bottomless ocean of accumulated knowledge, far too immense for any single wizard to master in a lifetime. Even the most brilliant had to choose a path, a specialisation to dedicate their lives to.
He saw two distinct models of greatness. There were wizards like Voldemort, who focused solely on practice, honing their casting ability and raw power until they became terrifying forces of nature. And then there were wizards like Nicolas Flamel, who pursued theory and creation, expanding the very boundaries of what was possible. One became powerful; the other became legendary.
Sean was not arrogant enough to consider himself a genius, but he was ambitious enough to refuse to choose. He would walk both paths. He would become a master of theory and a master of practice.
This, he decided, was his plan for the future.
(End of Chapter)
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