Another day, Sean emerged from the dungeons.
He carefully cleaned up the traces left from his brewing, and even Justin, who examined the area closely, noticed nothing.
Before long, lightning streaked across the sky, making it clear that today at Hogwarts would be another day of roaring thunder.
Outside, rain fell while Sean read in the library.
The magical crystal orb emitted a soft, warm glow. Madam Pince always glanced at Sean before passing by.
If Hermione spending six hours in the library daily could be considered diligent, then Sean, who opened the library doors with Madam Pince in the morning and closed the oak doors at night, could be called a half-librarian.
At least the books on this row of shelves, Sean would help organize.
Not because he enjoyed helping others, but after skimming through the books, tidying them was an easy task.
Occasionally, Madam Pince would tell Sean—
Which books contained real knowledge, and which were full of empty talk?
Sean was deeply grateful for this.
Madam Pince was not, as rumors among young wizards suggested, ever kind.
At least when she saw Sean's annotations in his History of Magic notes, she was willing to discuss them with him, and she was happy to share sweets with Sean—though not in the library itself, but during the morning opening and evening closing.
The sweets from Justin had recently gained wide popularity.
No one knew how he convinced the house-elves to let him into the Hogwarts kitchens, but his skills were superb.
Perhaps it was a Hufflepuff trait to be naturally gifted in culinary magic, as Justin's improved desserts in Conjuring a Feast! had been highly praised.
Even Hermione would eat two daifuku at once, cheeks puffed out, and Sean was usually the first to try them.
…
Outside, the rain drizzled over the fertile ground, the Scottish Highlands shrouded in mist.
The nights here were always warm and golden. When the damp breeze carrying the scent of earth brushed Sean's face, his emerald eyes would always glimmer with magical light.
"I need to be firmer… my left hand's arc should be larger… the most important thing is to believe, believe that I can do this… defy gravity…"
Sean whispered, once again correcting Justin's floating spell.
Because of his diligence, in just over a week, Sean's progress in charms had far surpassed other young wizards.
Even Hermione would pause to carefully consider his teaching.
Sean never minded sharing his experience.
He was happy to share small insights in charms after practice, even when tired.
The only thing that troubled him was that Professor Snape had been brewing potions too frequently lately.
These past few days, Snape and Sean existed in a strange balance: if the dungeons lacked Snape, Sean would be there. if Sean wasn't there, Snape would be.
Through this hide-and-seek, Sean had unlocked over two-thirds of the potion skill titles.
Yet he still felt urgency. He had been at Hogwarts for a week and a half, and this pace was too slow. So, he made a decision.
Even without precise news from Snape, he would brew potions.
At least by the end of this week, he aimed to unlock all potion skill titles, ensuring he could progress further in potion-making.
In the magical world, differences among wizards of varying talents were always significant, and Sean understood this well.
…
Ravenclaw Common Room.
Since the flying lesson announcement, nearly every young wizard had been talking at length about Quidditch.
"Many believe the glory days of the Chudley Cannons are over, but more believe they can relive past triumphs!
Remember, the Chudley Cannons have won the League Cup twenty-one times!"
Michael held a poster in one hand, gripping a chair with the other, boasting enthusiastically.
On the poster, the Chudley Cannons wore bright orange robes, decorated with a speeding cannonball and two black "C" letters.
"Oh, fine, Michael, can you explain their motto?
Before 1972, it was 'We Will Conquer All,' but later it became 'Let's Cross Our Fingers and Stay Optimistic'?"
A tall, thin young wizard suddenly laughed.
"Th-That doesn't count!"
Michael looked as if a nerve had been struck.
What followed were phrases like "a slogan made by the managers," "has nothing to do with the team," "you don't even know the Cannons' glory," causing everyone to blush with laughter.
"Truly decadent…"
In the end, even Michael sighed, helplessly spreading his hands.
The warm fireplace glowed as Sean, pale-faced, passed by.
Behind him, pretending to read, was Anthony, whose eyes never left Sean.
—He always lagged a step behind Sean.
"Oh! Sean! Anthony!" Sharp-eyed Michael spotted them and quickly approached,
accidentally linking arms with Sean as they all sat in the Ravenclaw Common Room chairs.
The velvet chair backs had worn slightly over the years, giving off a gentle Sean.
Scattered around were star-patterned cushions and low stools, with deep purple, navy blue, or bronze silk pads,
placed casually on Persian or velvet rugs, like scattered constellations.
The chatter mixed with the heavy rain outside as Sean rested briefly in the common room.
Ravenclaws discussed Quidditch teams across England and Ireland, forgetting their earlier boasting of skills.
Sean slowly took out the Magical Quidditch Ball, which was indeed very interesting.
For example, The Falmouth Falcons are known for their daring style, featuring world-renowned hitters Kevin and Carl Broad.
The team motto is: "Strive for victory, but if we cannot win, let's break a few heads."
Truly intimidating.
Suddenly, Sean noticed the surrounding chatter had stopped.
He looked up to find six or seven heads leaning in.
"Sean, you got The Magical Quidditch Ball?!"
Michael's exclamation broke the silence first.
"Sean, can I see it?"
Sean heard Michael speak, slightly embarrassed.
Anthony, the long black-haired wizard, sighed helplessly.
He glanced casually; Terry was still observing raindrops at the stained-glass window, where he had been for three hours.
Anthony sighed again.
Sean nodded and generously placed the book on the table.
The young wizards erupted in excitement:
"Let me see too, Michael!"
"Me, me, me too!"
Even those who already had the book couldn't resist joining the crowd. Madam Pince's precious book and their own copies—how could they compare…
"Oh—everyone, I think we need to be careful…"
Michael's voice drifted away with the storm outside.
Sean thought of tomorrow's plan.
Yes, as long as Professor Snape wasn't in the dungeons tomorrow, even without locating him, Sean would risk brewing potions safely.
He was only six skill points away.
The final, toughest scholarship fragment was about to be collected.