Professor Snape was the complete opposite of Professor McGonagall. When Sean made a mistake, McGonagall would gently guide him toward the correct step and have him produce a proper transfiguration.
Snape, on the other hand, would sneer and force him to say the wrong answer aloud—then bury the correct one under a landslide of ridicule.
Expecting this, Sean quickly noted the answer hidden inside the derision, and Snape stopped talking.
The cauldron's fire died down. His scarf—like a seasoned soldier—held off the cold so Sean could focus on the parchment.
Snape stared coldly at him—and at the sheet covered with the Fusion–Enlightenment Method.
A piece of supremely precious knowledge—something any potioneer would covet…
Snape had never imagined someone would be foolish enough to share such knowledge. But now he'd seen such a fool.
An indescribable, unsettling disgust rippled beneath his blank face.
"You should tell no one… Sean Green…" he murmured, voice chill. "Still—acceptable. A decent method."
Sean almost thought he misheard. In his exhaustion he whispered, "What did you say… Professor?"
"I said—GET OUT. Now. Immediately! Sean Green, take your foolish tools and GET OUT!"
Snape erupted; Sean was practically thrown out—and then ten Galleons clinked into his hand from the dungeon doorway.
Landing on his feet in the corridor, Sean walked on, silent. Next time, he wouldn't speak when he was tired.
"I knew you were a warrior—!" Sir Cadogan's laughter boomed from down the hall; he clutched his belly, eyes streaming. "Oh! Little Green, I must—"
He laughed till he cried, never noticing Sean had already reached the far end of the corridor.
"Sir Cadogan, he…" Sean asked the Fat Lady, who had drifted over as well. The knight was sometimes far too bold…
Just look at his "deeds": charging the Headmaster Black while riding a pony; pummeling Headmaster Black with fists and feet; mocking Professor Snape to his face at the dungeon door…
Hearing the screams now rising from that very door, Sean stared a long time.
"Oh—my foolish knight… May he at least remember to run farther, in heaven…" The Fat Lady dabbed at her eyes; her brows were lowered, hand to her face—though when Sean wasn't looking, she kept peeking at him.
Sean was a little stunned. He hadn't thought the knight would be in such danger.
"Fat Lady—you've frightened little Green…" Lady Violet stepped through from another portrait with a platter of fruit, soothing softly.
Sean then noticed the "tears" hadn't fallen at all—just water smeared on.
Without a word, Sean left.
"Well? Happy now?" Lady Violet snapped, stuffing an apple into the Fat Lady's mouth. "You great lump—may the apple cork your noise."
…
In the Great Hall, Hermione was arguing her way in with Harry and Ron.
"I noticed some things about Professor Snape before," Harry told Hermione. "On Halloween Eve he tried to get past that three-headed dog. It bit him. We think he's after what it's guarding—the dog—no, that's Fluffy. It's Hagrid's—he bought it off a Greek chap he met in a pub last year. Hagrid lent it to Dumbledore to guard something very valuable."
"Yes, Hermione—don't you see? At the match he was at it again—jinxing the broom to throw me off!"
Ron jumped in, incensed.
"That wasn't Professor Snape! It wasn't him casting!" Hermione shot back.
"Honestly, Hermione, you act like all the teachers are saints!" Ron blurted.
"If you don't believe me, ask Sean!" Hermione stamped her foot.
The three split up on the spot.
"Of course we can ask Sean—he'll just agree with her," Ron fumed after a moment, tight with frustration. "He knows her better than us…"
Harry didn't know if that was true; he only felt more worried about what came next.
Not far from Gryffindor's table—the one with the most puddings—Sean ate while Justin and Hermione watched Harry and Ron whispering.
"What do you think—will Sean say yes? Justin… aside from them being a bit thick," Hermione asked, worried. She often found them unreasonable, but once Justin told her why they'd been acting strangely, she'd decided to accept them.
Think about it: Harry has a famous name but no skill to match, someone at Hogwarts is trying to kill him, and he's picked the wrong suspect. The culprit's like a viper—yes, a snake in the dark—about to swallow this "poor orphan" whole. And he hasn't even learned basic spells—spends all day at the Quidditch pitch—off task.
"Sean?" Justin smiled gently. The two of them glanced over: Sean was leafing through a notebook that shot confetti every time you turned a page—the Weasleys had left plenty of "surprises."
"What do you think, Hermione? I mean—how long before they get up the nerve to ask?"
"Two idiots…" Hermione sighed despite herself.
"Give them time, Hermione. Not everyone is born standing in the sun…" he said with a smile. But his brows dipped, and his gaze didn't fall on Harry and Ron.
Thanks to his mother's lessons, Justin knew people well. Harry was an orphan, but his foster family had done their duty—at least he didn't fear cold or sickness. Ron had many brothers; his insecurity came from gifted siblings and friends, but he was surely happy. His mother had told him money and happiness aren't always linked.
Harry was slight but had never flagged in Charms; Ron was poor, yes, but the Weasleys' parcels came as often as any child's.
As the fire roared in the hearth, a faint light played in Justin's eyes. Outside, snow slashed down, burying the harsh earth, and his voice blurred into the wind:
"Hermione, you know… unlike them, there are people who are too brave—and quiet. We forget what they've endured."
~~~
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