A letter from home?
Could it be...
Sean was holding the letter from home when he suddenly realized something. His originally calm thoughts suddenly became excited and confused. It was at this moment that Sean's eyes seemed to be suddenly covered with a layer of white mist, and several pictures appeared like flashing slides.
Sean's father, Adrian, took Margaret into the delivery room with a worried look on his face.
Margaret looked tired but very happy holding a wrinkled baby.
Grandfather Gideon stood outside the ward, looking at the baby in Margaret's arms from a distance with a smile on his face, but he did not go forward immediately.
And at this moment, when the white mist in Sean's eyes faded away, Gideon in the picture suddenly turned his head and looked at the empty void, his mouth opening and closing slightly. Sean did not hear any sound, but he understood what Gideon meant.
"We need to talk after the holiday, Sean."
The scene in front of him disappeared, and Sean took a breath as if he had just woken up from a dream.
He didn't understand what had happened to him just now.
Clairvoyance?
Precognition?
Or something else?
And Gideon in the previous scene clearly discovered him, so what was going on?
"Sean, what's wrong with you?"
He turned to look at Blaise and found that Blaise was looking at him strangely.
Sean hesitated for a moment and asked, "Blaise, was there anything strange about me just now?"
"You were dazed for a while holding the letter, but you recovered quickly. Is there anything wrong with you?"
Shaking his head, Sean said, "It's okay, I'm just a little surprised by the letter."
Opening the envelope, Sean looked at the contents.
Sure enough, the letter was from Adrian. Sean's mother Margaret had given birth to their second child—a week earlier than expected. It was also Sean's first sibling in this world.
"Caesar. Caesar Bulstrode, my brother."
"Your brother?" Blaise came up immediately, glanced at the letter in Sean's hand, and offered his congratulations without hesitation. "Sean, you have a brother. We have a brother. Is our brother's name Caesar? That's a very nice name."
Glancing at Blaise, Sean complained, "What do you mean our brother? He's my brother. What's that got to do with you?"
"Isn't your brother my brother too? It's just a pity that by the time our brother comes to Hogwarts, we'll already have graduated. Otherwise, if we were still here, we could have looked after him properly."
"Perhaps Caesar has no magical talent? Perhaps he's a Squib?"
Sean's words immediately quieted Blaise. He looked at Sean and said slowly, "That's impossible. You have such a strong talent, and Caesar is from the Bulstrode family. How could he not have a gift for magic?"
"Everything is possible, isn't it?"
Looking at Sean, Blaise suddenly laughed and said, "Even if he doesn't have magical talent, he's still my brother. Anyway, whether he has magic or not, we won't be at Hogwarts anymore. If he's a Squib, he just goes to a Muggle school. There's no difference, right?"
Soon, the news that Sean had a younger brother spread quietly in a small circle.
Everyone who knew Sean came to congratulate him. Even when Sean went to find Snape and placed the latest sample issue of The Golden Crucible in front of him, Snape asked—
"Sean, you have a brother?"
"Yes, Professor."
"…Mm. Leave the sample copy of The Golden Crucible."
Didn't even hear a congratulations…
Forget it. For the Head of Slytherin to even acknowledge it—that's already considerate enough.
I should be content.
Sean placed the magazine on Snape's desk.
Snape picked it up, his eyes quickly spotting Sean's name on the front page. He raised an eyebrow.
"It actually appeared on the front page. Seems the quality of this issue of The Golden Crucible isn't particularly high."
Hearing this, the corner of Sean's mouth twitched—but he didn't say anything.
If someone else had said that, Sean would have scoffed on the spot. But this person was…
Sean wasn't being a coward. He simply respected his Head of House. Whatever the Head said—was right.
Of course, standing next to Snape, Sean didn't notice the faint, almost imperceptible trace of pride between the Potions Master's brows.
"All right. If there's nothing else, you can go. I'll keep the sample copy."
Sean blinked. What else could he say?
What else could he do, except agree?
Just as he was about to turn around and leave, Sean heard his Head of House speak again:
"Sean, when you go back, find your grandfather and tell him about this paper.
The new formula for the spirit recovery potion represents enormous profit potential. Although the patent is in your hands, and anyone wanting to use it must go through you, when something promises that much gold, it's only a matter of time before someone tries to bypass the rules. Some won't hesitate to use underhanded means. You'll need strong backing if you want to protect your interests. Do you understand?"
Only one person in all of Hogwarts could make Snape speak with such seriousness and concern.
And that was Sean.
Sean, of course, understood. He nodded without hesitation and said, "Thank you, Professor. I'll contact my grandfather when I return."
"Good. Now go—don't disturb my reading."
Sean's heart was full of gratitude, but Snape had already returned to the magazine, so he could only leave quietly and a little helplessly.
Saturday. End-of-term dinner.
Sean sat with Blaise, Andy, and Jason.
Looking at Andy, he said directly, "Andy, you know the revised Wit-Recovery potion paper I submitted got published in The Golden Crucible, right? The patent's in my name. I'll be working with my grandfather and the Bulstrode family to handle the larger business side—but I don't want to be too involved in the day-to-day. So, I want you to handle it for me. Are you willing?"
"Willing?" Andy almost choked on a mouthful of food, quickly putting a hand over his mouth before swallowing. "I'd be crazy to say no. Leave it to me. I'll make sure you get every Knut you deserve."
"I don't know yet how the profits will be split with the Bulstrodes, but whatever portion ends up being mine, I'll give you 30% as your handling fee. Is that acceptable?"
"Thirty percent?!" Andy looked shocked. "Sean, think again. That's a lot. You do realize this formula is going to make a mountain of Galleons, right? Thirty percent is way too generous."
"Thirty percent is yours. But the operations—the logistics, hiring staff, maybe even setting up a storefront—all of that's on you. Once you factor that in, 30% isn't much. Honestly, if I didn't need a huge amount of gold to prepare a proper lab for the future, I'd offer you more. So let's just settle it at 30%."