Sean's afternoon routine was dedicated to Transfiguration practice. The atmosphere in Professor McGonagall's office, ward by a roaring fire, was markedly different from anywhere else in the castle. She often engaged him in casual, thoughtful conversation.
"Mr. Green," she said, her voice retaining its characteristic precision but softened by a warmth rarely heard in the classroom, "I imagine the November chill at Hogwarts can be quite biting."
Sean looked up from his work.
Her gaze, magnified by her square spectacles, rested on his slightly skewed tie and the thin robe he wore. He had changed in the small changing room at the greenhouses, where it was perpetually sumr, and had forgotten to put his jumper back on before braving the castle's drafty corridors.
"Hogwarts," she continued slowly, giving weight to every word, "is more than just a school for many who co here. I trust you understand that."
Sean nodded silently.
For the past two months, he had often gazed up at the night sky. The stars over the wizarding world were bright and clear, not so different from the ones he'd seen six months ago from the orphanage window. The only difference was… hope.
"You need not face the first snows of the Scottish winter alone…" McGonagall's eyes crinkled at the corners, but her tone remained firm. "At Hogwarts, that is simply not permitted. Now—" Her voice regained its brisk efficiency as she flicked her wand. Sean's tie instantly straightened itself into a perfect knot. "You have twenty minutes before dinner. Sufficient ti to return to your dormitory and put on a thick jumper. I expect to see you in the Great Hall, punctually, and with a healthy appetite."
As Sean left the office, she watched him go, her head slightly bowed, her robes rustling softly as she turned back to her desk. Her footsteps echoed in the stone corridor, leaving behind the impression of a steadfast, protective presence.
As the snow fell heavier, Sean's understanding of the Fusion Enlightennt thod deepened. One evening, as the wind rattled the dungeon windows, he successfully brewed a 'Novice' level Elixir to Induce Euphoria.
Snape's expression shifted through a rapid series of unreadable emotions before settling into his usual mask of indifference.
Sean continued to refine the Fusion Enlightennt thod, close to establishing a complete system. Yet, today, he found himself unceremoniously ejected from the dungeon once again.
"Clumsy technique! Forced quality achieved only through your idiotic thods—Sean Green, if you aren't blind, you would see the atrocious ratio of your ingredients! Imbecile!"
Even though Sean corrected his mistakes and improved with every attempt, in Snape's eyes, he remained barely a step above a troll. Occasionally, however, those dark, abyssal eyes betrayed a flicker of complexity—
In certain areas, areas worthy of academic record, the boy showed the potential of a top-tier Potion Master. Yet in other, trivial matters, he was an utter dunderhead. This bizarre contrast infuriated Snape beyond asure.
"Fool! Foolish heat control! Foolish timing! Foolish stirring! Get out!"
Sean rarely heard a kind word before leaving, but he filtered out the insults like sedint from a potion. Every exit from the dungeon was a victory, his mind heavy with new knowledge.
Under Snape's intense "tutelage," Sean had reached 'Adept' level in all three basic potions. Three tis a week, he left the dungeon with ten Galleons or more. Combined with the sales of his notes, his purse was growing pleasantly heavy. If he could just track down the Weasley twins, his alchemy progress would accelerate too.
In contrast to Sean's peaceful, deep-seated satisfaction, Harry was miserable.
Wood, having heard that the Ravenclaw Quidditch team was trying to recruit Sean, had gone into a frenzy of extra training sessions. Consequently, Harry had fallen behind on studying the Green Collection notes, leaving a significant gap in his knowledge.
Hermione, ever since Harry had lost Quidditch Through the Ages and indirectly caused Sean's trip to Filch's office, had barely spoken to him for three days. Although she had relented enough to help them with their work, she steadfastly refused to let them copy her howork.
"What would you learn from that?" she would say primly.
Still, after she reviewed their work, Harry and Ron always managed to get the right answers. The terrifying part was that Harry was running out of ti even for that. Thinking about Sean's indifference to Quidditch made Harry feel like a baboon waving a stick. What was the difference between them? They would both be flattened by one of Sean's spells.
Harry and Ron wanted to wait for Sean in the corridor as they used to, but his schedule had changed. They thought about approaching Justin, but Gryffindor had just beaten Hufflepuff in a match, and Harry felt too awkward.
Justin watched them with a bemused expression. Those two… are acting very strange.
Sunday. A clear, cold day.
In the courtyard, a fire salamander darted frantically around. Just as it was about to scorch Hermione's shoe, it froze.
Sean waved his wand. The salamander suddenly swelled to three tis its size, becoming as large as a Quaffle. It backed up slowly, its heat lting a path through the thin layer of snow.
[You have practiced an Advanced Transfiguration to the Expert standard. Proficiency 1000]
How much?! Sean had never seen such a huge jump in proficiency. He soon understood why.
"Sean!"
Justin lunged forward, catching Sean as he sagged, completely drained. His magical energy had been instantly depleted.
"Sean!" Hermione's concern was masked by her scolding tone. "I warned you—pushing too deep into Advanced Transfiguration drains you too quickly!"
After a few sips of steaming honey tea, Sean felt the colour return to his cheeks. Just monts ago, he had solved a problem that had plagued him for a long ti.
When casting Advanced Transfiguration, he had been focusing too much on mimicking the magical creature itself, forgetting that Transfiguration was guided by the wizard's will. When he prioritized power over control, the salamander beca unruly. But when he fully imposed his will upon it, the energy cost skyrocketed. With his first-year magical reserves, he had burned out instantly.
Across the courtyard, a heated argunt was underway.
Harry and Ron, both in foul moods, were commiserating.
"It's the weekend, Harry. How's your howork?" Ron asked glumly.
"Haven't started," Harry admitted.
"The next installnt of Green's Notes isn't due for another week, but I'm going to fail this week!" Ron wailed. A week's worth of howork was no small mountain to climb.
"Heh—two Gryffindor idiots—thinking you can actually—"
Malfoy strolled by. The falling snow obscured his vision, so he hadn't seen Sean or the others nearby. He only saw a miserable-looking Harry.
And so, he happily shouted his insult.
(End of Chapter)
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