Harry clenched his fists, his eyes burning with suppressed anger.
Just as he was about to explode, a figure suddenly lunged forward from behind him, barreling straight into the two students who'd been speaking. With a furious cry, he punched both of them—especially targeting the one who'd just insulted Harry. The three of them tumbled to the ground in a scuffle. It wasn't until then that Harry realized who they were: the one who had been speaking was Justin Finch-Fletchley, who had previously misunderstood him, and the one who'd launched the surprise attack—was Colin Creevey!
Colin, just a first-year, was quickly overwhelmed.
Harry rushed forward, grabbed Colin by the collar, and dragged him out of the melee, dodging a clumsy punch from Justin. Then, with precise anger, Harry lashed out with a kick that landed squarely on Justin's face, sending him reeling.
Eyes cold, Harry growled, "If you've got something to say about me, say it to my face—not behind my back."
Justin and his friend stared at him, visibly shaken, stepping back in fear.
"H-Harry Potter… this is Hogwarts. Y-You can't hurt us here!"
Harry sneered. "Since you're so sure I'm the Heir of Slytherin, I'll let you in on something... my next targets just might be you two. Better not wander the halls alone—or leave your common room. Because if I find you alone…"
He let the words hang in the air.
Justin and the other student froze, their faces drained of color.
Harry shot them one last icy glare, then turned and pulled the still-stunned Colin out of the Great Hall, leaving silence and fear in their wake.
Standing outside the Great Hall, Colin looked at Harry in a daze and asked, "Ha–Harry, was it really you?"
Harry let out a sigh and replied helplessly, "Of course it wasn't me. I was just trying to scare them…"
Then he glanced at Colin's bruised face and softened his tone. "Thanks, Colin. I really appreciate what you did back there. Go to the hospital wing and get that looked at, alright? I've got something to take care of, so I'll catch up with you later."
"Oh—okay…"
Colin nodded and watched as Harry turned and walked away. For a long moment, he stood in silence. Somehow, Harry felt different now—steadier, more forceful. More like a leader than just the boy who lived. And Colin couldn't help but admire him even more.
Harry, unaware of Colin's thoughts, returned to the Gryffindor common room. He pulled out the vial of Polyjuice Potion and carefully added a hair he had taken from the slightly smarter of the two Slytherin brutes: Crabbe.
Then, he slipped out of the common room and, once he reached a quiet corridor, drank the potion.
The taste was… disgusting.
The Polyjuice Potion's flavor depended on the donor. When Sean had used a drunkard's hair, the potion had tasted like cheap beer. Crabbe's? It reeked of sweat and staleness—so strong Harry nearly gagged.
Moments later, his body transformed—bloated and clumsy. Testing his heavy limbs, Harry lumbered toward the Slytherin common room, only to suddenly realize… he didn't know the password.
Just as he was cursing himself for the oversight and glancing around in search of someone he could follow in, Malfoy appeared beside him.
"Crabbe, where's Goyle?"
"Er… Goyle ate too much. He's, uh… got diarrhea."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow but didn't question it. "Tch. Useless. Let's go."
He turned to the stone wall. "Pureblood."
The entrance slid open, and Harry followed Malfoy into the Slytherin common room.
Inside, Sean, Blaise, and Andy were sitting at a table, chatting. Business was good for Andy lately—Dorian had stopped playing his petty tricks, or at least, they weren't working anymore.
Sean lifted his cup to take a sip when his gaze landed on "Crabbe." Something about him felt... off. Too stiff. Too awkward. The way he moved didn't match the real Crabbe's usual lumbering gait.
Then it clicked.
Sean didn't react. He simply narrowed his eyes for the briefest moment, then gave a small, knowing smile. He lowered his head and sipped his tea without saying a word.
Harry was his friend—but that didn't mean Sean had to play babysitter.
There was no need to interfere in everything.
"Sean, Valentine's Day is coming up. Ready to be buried in letters?" Blaise smirked as he leaned back in his seat.
Sean blinked, then sighed—he had completely forgotten about that.
Last year, he'd been a loner in Slytherin, and naturally, no one had written him a thing. This year, however, things had clearly changed. He could already imagine the pile of sappy, perfumed envelopes waiting to ambush him. Unfortunately for the senders, Sean had no interest.
Romance would only slow down his wandwork. He had no plans to fall in love—especially not now.
Besides, he hadn't met anyone who piqued his interest yet.
Andy chuckled and added, "Just don't get poisoned by a love potion. Every year, someone drinks one by accident—or on purpose—and we get some kind of drama. You better watch out."
Sean nodded calmly. "Don't worry. I brew love potions every week—at least two bottles. I know what to look for. But yeah, I'll be careful."
As February wore on, the mood at Hogwarts gradually softened. The looming fear of the basilisk seemed to fade under the weight of glitter, flowers, and paper hearts. The heir hadn't made a move recently, and that alone was enough for students to feel safe enough to swoon again.
February 14th.
Valentine's Day.
Sean sat at the Slytherin table eating breakfast when a flurry of colorful confetti drifted from the ceiling and landed squarely on his plate.
He paused, frowned at the mess, and looked up.
The Great Hall had been utterly transformed—courtesy of Lockhart.
Pink flowers bloomed unnaturally on the walls, heart-shaped streamers twisted overhead, and enchanted confetti floated endlessly from above, settling in drinks, porridge, and hair alike.
Sean let out a slow breath and shook his head. The whole place looked like a love potion exploded.
At the staff table, Lockhart sat in a dazzling rose-colored robe, grinning like a boy who had just unwrapped Christmas early. His colleagues looked considerably less cheerful—especially Snape, whose expression was so dark it might have soured the pumpkin juice around him.
Sean smiled a little to himself and returned to his meal. Today wasn't just about cards and confetti. It was the day he'd planned to get his hands on the Obliviate spell—and maybe deliver a small bit of poetic revenge on his least favorite professor.
All he had to do was wait for the letter to arrive.
Then the real fun would begin.