"Ghosts are such odd things—
There's the kindly Fat Friar, Nearly Headless Nick, and even professors..."
Justin opened his homework, revealing a rough outline scrawled across the page.
"Oh, if only he wouldn't go all muddled like that. Cedric—our prefect—says he's never seen first-year assignments this long. He tried tracking down Professor Binns, but no luck. I reckon even if he did, the professor wouldn't budge.
A whole foot of parchment... Merlin's beard... It's still too much, Sean. Have you finished yours?"
Justin sheepishly closed his notebook, his eyes lighting up with a spark of hope.
"Mm-hmm."
Sean nodded, then pulled a sheet of parchment and a light blue notebook from his bag.
The parchment held the key points Michael and the others had jotted down for their essays, while the notebook was Sean's neatly compiled summary of A History of Magic. He had another just like it for sorting his thoughts and inspirations.
"Merlin's beard! Sean, you actually finished it?!"
Justin clapped a hand over his mouth the moment the words were out.
"I mean, I knew this wouldn't stump you, but it still catches me off guard every time...
Are we really in the same year?"
His voice trailed off on that last bit, barely a whisper.
"I'll just glance at the framework—no copying, I swear. If I did, may I never set foot in the kitchens again."
Justin suddenly grew solemn, his gray-blue eyes conveying earnestness laced with a hint of unease.
"Mm-hmm."
Sean placed the notebook in Justin's hands and headed out of the Great Hall toward the library.
Mornings were when his mind was sharpest—perfect for tackling the tougher jobs. Like piecing together A History of Magic from start to finish, weaving in threads from Modern Magical History, Important Magical Events of the Twentieth Century, and Who's Who in the Modern Wizarding World to build his own framework.
Sean figured that'd set him up for top marks in History of Magic, no question.
The library's oak tables gleamed a warm reddish-brown, flanked by enchanted lanterns, crystal globes, and fresh flower arrangements.
Sean was lost in the wonders of wizarding history—wizards really knew how to live, didn't they? Take this bit:
[In the Middle Ages, Muggles were terrified of magic, yet hopelessly inept at spotting it. They occasionally caught a real witch or wizard, but burning proved utterly ineffective. The witch or wizard would cast a basic Freezing Charm on the flames, enjoying a mild, ticklish warmth while pretending to writhe and scream in agony. The seer Wendelin the Weird particularly enjoyed the experience, letting herself be caught no fewer than forty-seven times in various disguises.]
It was a far cry from the grim witch-burnings Sean had imagined—and the wizards in them even more so.
After wrapping up his notes on the Middle Ages, Sean faced that nagging question again: Where on earth was he going to find potion ingredients?
Maybe Professor Sprout had some spares lying around? Or he could sneak off to Hogsmeade for a buy— if he could just locate one of the castle's secret passages.
Or ask Professor Sprout outright: Could first-years borrow Hogwarts potion supplies after hours to practice brewing? Then slip in for a secret session?
Risky as anything, though—he'd have to tread carefully.
Still, where there's a will... Sean pulled out his notebook, ready to untangle the mess of ideas.
But the moment he flipped it open to the first page, he froze:
[Emeric was a short-lived but brutally vicious dark wizard...]
He leafed ahead:
[Uric, hearing the call of a banshee, became convinced he'd died and turned into a ghost...]
Wait—no!
...
Back in the Great Hall.
Justin pored over the parchment, utterly absorbed. His gaze was fixed, punctuated by occasional murmurs:
"Oh... you can write it like that? Pure genius..."
Struck by inspiration, he cracked open the light blue notebook—and his hand hovered mid-turn, book forgotten.
[Acquire ingredients for brewing potions]
"Sean wants to practice potion-making on his own?"
That was his first thought.
"Sean's stuck without materials?"
The second.
"I've got them."
The final one.
He tucked the parchment and notebook away with care, then bolted back to the Hufflepuff common room while there was still time before Herbology—green vines twisting everywhere, tables groaning under steaming mugs of milk, pumpkin juice, and trays of sweets and pastries.
He followed a candlelit path to his dormitory and flung open his massive trunk.
Amid scattered letters and postcards lay jars and crystal vials galore. A closer look revealed every potion ingredient a first-year might need—doubled up.
He recalled that day in Slug & Jiggers Apothecary:
"Are you sure you need the full set?"
"Yes, please, sir."
"Oh, my generous lady, I hate to deceive one as lovely as you... Truth be told, these aren't on Hogwarts' supply list. Even so, do you still want them?"
"All the more reason—two sets, if you please, sir."
Only now did Justin vaguely grasp his mother's foresight.
"Dearest Fenrir, if everyone's got something, you must have better; if no one does, you absolutely must. Those little indulgences? They're investments, plain and simple. And the best investment of all, you always know, darling—that's sincerity and love."
"I think... I get it now..."
Justin stared into his brimming trunk for ages, the crisp white collar of his shirt still holding a ghost of his mother's iron's warmth.
...
Hogwarts Library.
Sean stepped out through the archway, waiting for the staircase to swing into place.
He wasn't rushing back to retrieve the notebook from Justin—second period Herbology was about to start anyway. Besides, there wasn't much sensitive in it: just some notes on herb prep and his half-baked plans for sourcing potion ingredients.
After class, he could swap it for the real useful stuff and get his notebook back.
Eight o'clock.
Gentle sunlight danced across the suits of armor, and the scent of fresh greenhouse grass lingered even in the outer corridors.
Sean pushed open the heavy oak door to Greenhouse One.
A few early stragglers had already arrived. He spotted Professor Sprout setting down her trowel, beaming and nodding right at him.
"Over here! Sean!"
Michael hooked an arm around Sean's and yanked him toward Anthony and Terry.
"Why do I feel like the professor's eyeing you?"
Michael craned his neck, whispering.