The final week of the sumr holidays had arrived.
A light drizzle had been falling over Hogwarts, but by the ti Sean stepped out
of the dungeons, the rain had stopped. The sky was a clean, refreshing shade of
pale grey, and the grass beneath his feet felt damp and springy.
Sean moved through the corridors like a gentle breeze, a violet-covered book
with gold trim floating steadily beside him. On the cover, six erald-patterned
words stood out: The Wizarding Magical Annals.
Even more eye-catching was the small subtitle at the bottom of the spine: A
Volu of the Green Series.
There wasn't a wizard in Great Britain who didn't recognize that series. Its
fa rivaled that of the Chudley Cannons in Quidditch or the Weird Sisters in
the music industry. No witch or wizard was willing to be without a copy of
Green's Notes; it had beco the most comprehensive and indispensable
reference guide in the magical world.
If you didn't own a "Green's"... well, rlin help you, you were already miles
behind the starting line. Your children and grandchildren would struggle to keep
up with their classmates simply because they lacked the clarity his notes
provided.
Professor Flitwick, the Charms Master at Hogwarts, had publicly declared them
the finest introductory texts he had ever seen. Even international schools like
Ilvermorny in Arica and Uagadou in Africa placed massive seasonal orders with
Green's Bookshop.
According to an informal survey by the Daily Prophet, there was nearly one
"Green's" for every wizard in the country, making it the best-selling series in
recent history—surpassing even The Tales of Beedle the Bard.
Consequently, the new series—The Wizarding Magical Annals—currently in pre-sale,
had beco the most anticipated release of the year. Wizards everywhere were
holding their breath. Rumor had it that the manager of Flourish and Blotts,
under imnse pressure from frantic custors, had once considered sneaking into
Hogwarts to "borrow" the manuscript. He had quickly abandoned the idea, however,
because of one undeniable fact:
Hogwarts was more than just a school. It was Albus Dumbledore's fortress.
Now, the manuscript of that very book hovered before the young wizard's eyes. He
read as he walked, occasionally knitting his brow and tapping his wand to the
parchnt to add or refine a passage.
In the distance, the clouds began to part. Snowy, Sean's white owl, swooped down
through the mist, a slightly damp letter clutched in her beak. She landed on
Sean's shoulder, ruffling her feathers before transforming into a small,
flickering fire-lizard. She scurried across the ground, the heat of her form
instantly drying her wings until they were pristine again.
"Thank you, Snowy."
Sean tucked her into the Wizard's To hanging at his waist. Through the portal,
he caught a glimpse of the cozy interior—a roaring hearth and a table laden with
food.
He turned his attention to the letter. it ca from the nearby village of
Hogsade, and the sender was exactly who Sean expected.
Dear Mr. Green,
I find myself at a loss for words to describe the depth of my gratitude for the
trust and help you have given . My ti at the bookshop has been the brightest
and most peaceful period of my life in decades.
If you are still willing to employ a 'furry' wizard, I can find no reason to
refuse. I am writing to formally express my desire to remain and to ask for your
final thoughts on the matter.
Your faithful servant, Remus Lupin
Sean had expected this. However, the fact that Lupin was willing to stay at the
shop as a manager rather than accept a professorship at Hogwarts still surprised
him slightly. He knew it wasn't because Lupin preferred organizing shelves; it
was because the man felt a profound need to repay Sean's kindness.
Sean summoned Snowy back out and quickly scrawled a reply:
To Mr. Lupin:
Ti flows like water, Remus. I believe Hogwarts' need for a professor is
currently greater than Green's Bookshop's need for a manager. The post of
Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor will allow you to realize your true
value and fill your life with purpose.
I hope you follow your heart's true calling.
—Sean Green
Snowy nipped Sean's wrist affectionately before taking flight, her white wings
disappearing into the clouds over the erald-rimd mountains.
Lupin's letter served as a reminder for Sean. Third year would bring new guards
to the school. If he didn't want to receive a "kiss" from a Dentor, he needed
to master a proper Patronus Charm.
Currently, Sean could only manage an incorporeal mist. His proficiency was stuck
at [Novice]. He needed to reach at least [Proficient] for a solid, corporeal
Patronus to manifest reliably.
There was a saying about the spell: The Patronus Charm has long been associated
with those who fight for noble causes. Those capable of summoning a corporeal
Patronus are often the first chosen for high-ranking positions in the Wizengamot
and the Ministry.
Whether it was because dark wizards found the spell impossible to cast, or
because powerful "white" wizards were naturally drawn to it, the saying held
true.
Sean was currently heading toward the Transfiguration office for a session with
Professor McGonagall. Fortunately, his mastery of the Shrinking Solution had
just reached [Expert], and Snape had granted him a rare morning off.
As Sean walked, the sound of raised voices echoed from a corridor up ahead. He
stopped, flattening himself against a suit of armor near a corner.
Since he was the only student in the castle, an argunt could only an a
disagreent between professors.
"You should let him go," Professor McGonagall's voice rang out, sharp and
authoritative.
"I'm afraid he isn't going anywhere," ca the low, silky rebuttal. Sean
recognized Snape's voice instantly.
"They will all be there, Severus," McGonagall pressed.
"Hmph. Those fools? A hundred of them could vanish—a thousand—and it wouldn't
matter in the slightest."
"Mind your tongue, Severus. You are a Professor of this school."
"I am also the man whose na is on the adoption papers, Minerva. I have a say
in this." Snape was clearly not backing down.
"There is no danger! We will all be present, and Dumbledore will have everything
under control," McGonagall countered.
"Dumbledore..."
The ntion of the Headmaster's na seed to act like a match to a powder keg.
Snape's voice dropped to a terrifyingly dark register. He rembered how the boy
he watched over—the boy who had moved through countless dangers without a
scratch—had ended up in the hospital wing after following one of Dumbledore's
"plans," suffering under a curse from the world's most dangerous wizard.
"You would do best," Snape hissed, "never to ntion that man's na to
again!"
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