Magic rarely opens its arms to the talentless—
but even witches and wizards with some talent aren't always smart.
Sean quietly put away the lollipop quill; Hermione stood there, at a loss and a little mortified. When Sean set a real quill on the desk, he turned to see Hermione glaring at Justin, who was stifling a laugh—like she'd turn him into a skunk if he so much as snickered.
"Go on, laugh," Sean sighed.
"Hahaha—Sean, Hermione, don't tell me you actually thought that was a real quill? Funniest thing I've heard today—well, second funniest…"
Justin was doubled over.
"Jus—tin!" Hermione puffed her cheeks.
At that, Justin snapped serious. "Right, Hermione—teach me? I've been working on the Summoning Charm, but I can't get it. Is it my wrist motion?"
"…You're too tentative with your swing," Hermione said, swallowing her embarrassment and focusing, then began coaching him in earnest.
Sean turned back to the quill. He pulled a broken one from his bag—quills are meant to be durable, but not in his case. He'd kept it alive with a penknife, shaving the shaft bit by bit, but worn-away nibs never grow back.
"Accio—Quill!"
He spoke cleanly; the quill shivered hard and lifted lightly into his hand.
[You practiced the Summoning Charm once at Apprentice standard. Proficiency +1]
Sean blinked.
Summoning Charm? That's what the panel called it—why not "Accio" or "Summon-Up Charm"? Coincidences are rare in the magical world. He thought carefully.
"Because the caster's will determines the spell's strength: the wizard's summoning will impresses itself on the result—that makes it the Summoning Charm. Accio—Quill!"
As he spoke, every quill in the room quivered—and flew to him.
[You practiced the Summoning Charm once at Novice standard. Proficiency +3]
And it wasn't just quills. Justin, clutching his own, stumbled and pitched face-first onto the desk in front of Sean. Sean calmly considered whether to help him up—when Hermione snorted and, suppressing a grin, asked:
"Not bad—new dance you're working on?"
Justin's face turned scarlet.
…
Sean now had the measure of the Summoning Charm. As Hermione had said: you don't need the exact name of an unknown object, only one of its attributes.
For example, Hermione might not know a book's title, but she knows it's about the Summoning Charm. If she can't name it, she can fix the attribute in mind (a book introducing Accio), lock a range (the school), and whatever matches within that range will fly to her—at a steep cost in energy.
If living things could be summoned, the spell would be terrifying—but clearly it can't. Harry once tried summoning Hagrid; naturally, he failed. Sean thought that was for the best—imagine Hagrid flying in… And no, no matter what Harry muttered, Ginny wasn't coming either.
With the charm's logic clear, his pace jumped:
[You practiced the Summoning Charm once at Novice standard. Proficiency +3]
[You practiced the Summoning Charm once at Adept standard. Proficiency +10]
[Summoning Charm unlocked]
Spent, Sean set his wand down. Hermione looked just as spent. Justin, miraculously resilient, reappeared from Sean's blind spot with three steaming cups of honey–jasmine tea. To this day, Sean had no idea where he got the food—only that the tea was excellent.
…
By dusk the whole castle was steeped in gold. Sean headed for the dungeon. The colonnades were chopped into bright and dark by the lowering sun; portraits launched into their busiest, most pleasant time of day. The Fat Lady drifted to her bosom friend Violet's frame, already tipsy, humming off-key:
"Look—Sean Green. Sir Cadogan, your 'Ace of Mischief.'"
She said it with a teasing lilt.
Hogwarts' portraits are never just paintings—they make their own fun: hopping frames, inventing passwords, offering life advice, even goading students into duels… and hatching plots. At the heart of those schemes is the so-called "Ace of Mischief"—which sounds unkind but is, in fact, a portrait's way of saying it likes a student.
"In the name of chivalry, my dear Fat Lady—ten centuries of experience seldom errs. Young Green will make a name in our world, I swear it," said Sir Cadogan. The Fat Lady took notice; after all, a knight does not lie.
Time doesn't pass in the dungeon. Severus Snape had stood there a long while—until the rain eased. The chill lingered; the smell of potions never left; parchment still lay in drifts. Snape stood like a statue fused to the shadows.
A slip of parchment lay open in his hand. If Sean were there he'd have recognized it—hidden lore from Libatius Borage's book. Unlike Sean's, this slip held a small, pale "I"—One.
Clack—
Sean pushed the door open and broke the hush. When he saw Snape, joy flashed unmistakably in his green eyes. He paced straight to his cauldron, set out his notes, then moved to the specimen cabinet for ingredients.
He was a little keyed up—today he had two tasks any wizard would find exciting. First, to test how much the revised rite improved potion quality—each grade up means stronger effects and a higher price. Second, to test his flying-class hunch: could a wizard's will finely steer reactions in a brew?
He did not notice the more complicated look in Snape's eyes.
~~~
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