There was no doubt these were a few letters of challenge. As the foremost figure beneath "Nicolas Flamel," Professor Tayra's achievements in alchemy are significant enough to leave their mark on the entire history of the art.
She holds lifetime professorships at five whole wizarding schools; if not for her age, she ought even to be seated among the elders of the International Congress of Alchemy.
And yet, for all her fame, this renowned alchemist has never managed to find a truly suitable pupil—one reason she keeps traveling between schools.
Without students, there is no lineage; and lineage—this is one of the chief duties of the alchemical world.
This is not about lofty ideals of advancing the field of alchemy; it is simply an alchemist's unwillingness to admit defeat.
Every famous alchemist inevitably develops a striking personal style.
The reason goes back to the opacity of alchemical knowledge—its excessive allusions and symbols. Sometimes a single classic of alchemy can spawn several separate commentaries.
Thus the severing of an individual master–student line almost equals the extinction of an entire sub-tradition of alchemy; in the wizarding world this is especially true.
After all, most advances in magic are driven by single great witches or wizards.
…
In the alchemy office.
Professor Tayra fixed Sean with a burning gaze.
She should have come to Hogwarts long ago…
"Still…" Her features cleared again, and her voice rang out distinctly, "Very well, child—an incredible result!"
In the end she had let herself slip a little.
"From today on, your time belongs to the vastness of alchemy. By the end of the Christmas holiday you are to have finished these books…
…and present a paper on alchemical ritual."
Her even tone carried both sternness and expectation. With a wave, several tomes hidden deep in the classroom flew out.
Alchemy is, in the end, a ritual magic. Unlike the rigor of potions, the styles of alchemical ritual vary, but nearly all alchemists agree on one point—an alchemist cannot practice two rituals at the same time.
This means that once an apprentice has formed habits in a particular ritual, it is very hard to learn another.
It also means he has entered a particular alchemical school.
When Sean left the classroom he was carrying a pile of books, all filled with Professor Tayra's personal annotations.
What Sean did not know was that the alchemical field functions much like a master-apprentice system.
The theories and methods in those personal notes serve as a kind of lineage certificate; once you display the same proprietary techniques, other alchemists can hardly avoid recognizing where your training comes from.
Out in the corridor, the downpour was slowly easing.
Sean walked with a spring in his step; he more or less understood that even in alchemy his talent was considered decent.
From the first time he mounted a broom, he had realized he could sense the flow of magic within an alchemical device, could parse the runic components that made it up…
Just as a potions master can distinguish heat, stirring force, and the moment to simmer by feel.
That is what it means to have talent for a particular branch of magic—and here, this is a world that exalts talent.
"Great Green! Well? Did Professor Tayra say—"
The corridor always seems to refresh the Weasley twins; Sean was used to it.
"No," Sean thought for a couple of seconds. "She only said: 'very good.'"
"Ah—?" Fred groaned in despair.
"Then all those disgusting biscuits we ate—" George added, equally crushed.
Realizing they had let something slip, the two of them blanched and bolted.
Sean sighed. If the twins wanted to open a shop, he would in fact be happy to back them.
After all, it would be a sure-fire investment.
…
There was one week to go before Christmas.
The sky suddenly cleared, turning a bright, dazzling white.
One morning the muddy grounds wore a glittering coat of hoarfrost. A festive bustle filled the castle.
Professor Flitwick, who taught Charms, had already strung multicolored lights around his classroom; they turned into real fairies and fluttered their wings.
Out in the corridor by the Great Hall.
Sean and the others found a huge fir tree blocking the passage. Seeing two huge feet sticking out beneath the branches, and hearing the loud snuffling, they knew Hagrid must be behind it.
"Hey, Hagrid—need a hand?" Ron asked, poking his head through the tangle of boughs.
"No, I got it, thanks, Ron," Hagrid rumbled, and dragged the fir away—it was going in the Hall as a Christmas tree.
Everyone was eager for the holidays. The Hope Nook felt even warmer.
Harry sat on a stool, sipping oat milk and watching the steam curl up; he felt this room could give a person more hope than anywhere.
"Sean, can I run through the spell-proficiency test?"
Sean set down the Howler he'd just finished—he was only a hair's breadth from reaching Apprentice.
It happened to be mealtime; everyone in the Nook took it for granted there was a little downtime before and after eating—they weren't study maniacs… right?
"What Sean means is: make it quick, Harry," Justin quipped.
"Oh—oh!" Harry lifted his wand, a bit nervously.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
A plank rose into the air.
Sean flicked his wand; a chart with Harry's big head pasted on it drifted over.
He wrote—Harry: Levitation Charm Adept; Aguamenti Beginner…
"Very nice!" Justin was first to praise. "A week faster than me. About on par with you, Hermione."
Hermione tipped up her chin. "Passable."
Justin fetched his own chart and grinned. "A week and a half to go from Beginner to Adept—you've definitely got real talent for Charms."
The praise made Harry feel a little light; seeing even Hermione and Neville nod made him lighter still.
Besides flying, he now had something else he was good at. That way, when people mentioned him they could say:
"Oh, Potter—he's really good at magic," instead of "Ah, that Harry Potter."
Ron crowded in too. He saw his spell proficiency lagged far behind the others', but his Transfiguration had reached a solid Beginner!
His hard work hadn't been for nothing.
He had never imagined that one day his progress would be visible—
He really… loved this place…
The Hope Nook was always full of hope, but perhaps only Justin understood why.
If, in a group, everyone's level is about the same, disagreement and prejudice are almost unavoidable.
But the people in the Hope Nook aren't like that. To be precise, the harmony and energy here exist because Sean has brought together a handful of very good young witches and wizards.