Chapter 57: The Notes Take Flight
"I understand, Professor," Sean said, cleaning the cauldron meticulously. He paused at the dungeon door, turning back, his green eyes filled with sincerity. "Thank you for the ingredients, and for the guidance."
As Sean disappeared up the stairs, Snape remained motionless, his face flickering in the uncertain candlelight. He couldn't forget the boy's technique. He didn't know where Green had learned it, but it undeniably evoked memories of brighter, long-lost days.
He had never encountered a student so purely devoted to Potions. Indifferent to mockery, untroubled by personal animosity, focused solely on the art itself. It was the same raw, unadulterated passion he himself had once possessed, coupled with techniques he knew intimately – methods he had once studied, debated, refined with… another. His only light in a dark world.
It was this combination of dedication and familiar technique that twisted the knife in his gut. He loathed seeing his own reflection, especially when it was intertwined with everything he had lost.
His expression darkened. Was it bitterness? Anger? Or that faint, unsuppressible flicker of admiration?
Outside, the rain fell relentlessly, mirroring the storm raging within him.
Sean walked back through the castle corridors, his steps light despite the lingering fatigue. Ignoring Snape's venomous tongue, he had to admit the man was a competent, perhaps even brilliant, teacher, possessed of both profound knowledge and a genuine (if deeply buried) passion for his subject.
The exhaustion from Borage's modified ritual was fading. By tomorrow, at the latest, he would be recovered enough to test its true potential. And crucially, Snape himself seemed familiar with Borage's hidden notes. Could he, perhaps, even offer guidance on the modified ritual?
But Sean didn't know that Snape wasn't the only one who had seen Borage's secret annotations…
It was nearing curfew. Sean heard two cheerful Gryffindors humming "A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love" as they passed.
"Oh, come and stir my cauldron,
And if you do it right,
I'll boil you up some hot, strong love,
To keep you warm tonight…"
It was a popular wizarding tune, sung by Celestina Warbeck. Further down the hall, he heard a yelp – "You rotter!" – followed by the splattering sound of Gobstones. Two boys were engrossed in a game, the loser receiving a face full of stinking liquid from the magical marbles. Sean still couldn't comprehend the inspiration behind that particular game.
As the first owls began their nightly postal runs, a pair of sharp eyes watched Sean from a distance. Minerva McGonagall's usually stern face held a complex expression as she observed him navigate through groups of students enjoying the last moments of their Saturday freedom. Only now was she beginning to grasp the sheer, unrelenting effort the boy was expending, hidden from view.
The cold Highland wind swept across the Black Lake, battering the ancient castle walls with a low, mournful howl. Within its stone embrace, Hogwarts stirred.
"Little wizard! Pesky little wizard! Answering too quickly again!"
The owl portrait grumbled as Sean arrived, but he ignored it and slipped through the hidden door. Inside, Hermione was, unusually, the last to arrive. Sean slept well; Justin simply needed less sleep than most. The two boys were usually in the practice room by six AM, a fact that drove Hermione to distraction. How could anyone function, let alone be cheerful, on only seven hours of sleep?!
"Morning, Sean," Justin greeted him, holding a small bowl of milky coconut pudding. He was murmuring an incantation over it, a pink-covered book with a turkey on the front lying open beside him – Conjuring a Feast!, a staple in wizarding kitchens.
"New variation," Justin explained, handing Sean a spoonful. "Please try it." He didn't mention that the previous, less successful (and frankly, rather disgusting) versions had already been eagerly consumed by hungry Hufflepuffs the day before.
[You have practiced the Water-Making Spell once to the Apprentice standard. Proficiency +1]
[You have practiced the Water-Making Spell once to the Novice standard. Proficiency +3]
[You have practiced the Water-Making Spell once to the Novice standard. Proficiency +3]
Sean practiced relentlessly, pushing himself until he could barely lift his wand. After carefully noting the details of his successful casts, he checked his Panel.
[Water-Making Spell: Apprentice (110/300)]
[Summoning Charm: Locked (1/30)]
[Levitation Charm: Novice (200/900)]
At this rate, he'd reach Novice level tomorrow. Excellent progress.
Just as he was packing up to head to the Quidditch pitch for flying practice, Justin approached him, a thoughtful look on his face. "Oh, Sean, you know, my mother told me that while there are many ways to navigate the world, creativity is the one thing that never fades." He paused, looking almost surprised by his own words. "Are you ready to embrace that change with me?"
Before Sean could react, Justin had pulled him out of the room and towards a crowded courtyard. Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors were all gathered together, an unusual sight, chatting excitedly. The buzz intensified when they saw Justin arrive.
"Sean! I knew it was you!" Michael crowed, turning triumphantly to Seamus Finnigan and Ernie Macmillan. "Pay up. Ten Knuts."
"Alright, alright…"
"A bet's a bet…"
As Seamus and Ernie grudgingly handed over their coins, Michael winked at Sean and mouthed, "Half for you later."
Sean finally understood. "Are the History of Magic notes really that popular?" he asked Justin quietly.
"My dear Sean," Justin replied, his usual warmth overlaid with a newfound sharpness, "do you have any idea what you've created? No one has ever done this before! It's a completely untapped market!" His pale grey eyes seemed to gleam. "When even the third-years started asking me about them, I knew this was huge. Think about it! Binns's lectures, the endless homework, the struggle of self-study… Who wouldn't want a clear, concise set of notes? I haven't given out the full set, of course. Just showed a few people the relevant sections for the last essay."
He leaned closer. "When Binns assigned another ridiculously long essay yesterday, everyone came looking for me, desperate for the notes… and willing to pay."
The success of the History of Magic notes astonished Sean. Nearly every student who saw them bought a copy. Justin's strategy was equally impressive.
"It's like a serialised novel," he explained excitedly later. "We release it in installments. Given the sheer volume of magical history, each installment is still half a book's worth… And remember that essay method? Michael spread the word far and wide. We have plenty of time to build momentum. The key is maintaining the quality, the core value. Oh, and Sean," he added, his eyes sparkling, "don't forget, Hogwarts isn't the only school that needs help with history… and history isn't the only subject…"
Seeing Justin so energized, Sean simply let him run with it. He headed for the Quidditch pitch. At his current rate of progress, he'd soon be able to fly directly back to Ravenclaw Tower. Or at least halfway.