"Ghosts are such a strange bunch, aren't they? There's the friendly Fat Friar, Nearly Headless Nick, and even a professor…"
Justin opened his homework, revealing a rough outline scrawled across the parchment.
"Oh, if only he didn't get so muddled all of a sudden," he muttered. "Cedric, that senior, said he's never seen a first-year assignment this long. He tried tracking down Professor Binns, but no luck. I bet even if he found him, Binns wouldn't change his mind. A whole foot of parchment, Merlin's beard… this is way too tough. Sean, have you finished yours?"
Justin sheepishly closed his homework, a hopeful glint in his eyes.
"Yeah," Sean replied with a nod, pulling out a sheet of parchment and a light blue notebook from his bag. The parchment had notes from Michael and others about essay essentials, while the notebook was Sean's carefully organized summary of A History of Magic. He had another identical notebook for jotting down thoughts and ideas.
"Merlin's socks, Sean, you actually finished it?!" Justin clapped a hand over his mouth. "I mean, I knew this wouldn't stump you, but it's still hard to believe every time… Are we really in the same year?"
His voice trailed off, barely audible by the end.
"I'll just take a quick peek at your outline, I swear I won't copy," Justin said earnestly, his gray-blue eyes radiating sincerity with a hint of nervousness. "If I did something like that, I'd never get into the kitchens again."
Sean handed him the notebook and left the Great Hall for the library. Mornings were when he felt sharpest, perfect for tackling tougher tasks—like sorting through A History of Magic and cross-referencing it with books like Modern Magical History, Important Magical Events of the Twentieth Century, and Directory of Notable Contemporary Wizards. He was determined to create his own framework, one that would help him ace History of Magic.
At the library's reddish-brown oak table, surrounded by magical lanterns, crystal balls, and vases of flowers, Sean dove into the wonders of magical history. Wizards, he thought, were something else. Take this bit, for example:
In the Middle Ages, Muggles were terrified of magic but terrible at spotting it. They occasionally caught a real witch or wizard, but burning them at the stake didn't work out as planned. The witch or wizard would cast a basic Flame-Freezing Charm, enjoying the gentle tingling warmth of the flames while pretending to scream in agony. The seer Wendelin the Weird loved being burned so much she let herself be caught forty-seven times in various disguises.
This was nothing like the grim witch-burning tales Sean had imagined, and it made him see wizards in a whole new light.
After organizing his notes on the Middle Ages, Sean hit a familiar snag: where was he going to find potion ingredients? Maybe Professor Sprout had some spare materials? Or perhaps he could sneak to Hogsmeade through a secret passage to buy some? He even considered asking Sprout if first-years could use Hogwarts' potion supplies after class to practice brewing—though that was risky and would need careful planning.
Still, there were always more solutions than problems. Sean opened his notebook to sort out his tangled thoughts, but the first page stopped him cold:
Emeric the Evil was a short-lived but vicious dark wizard…
He flipped to the next page:
Uric the Oddball, convinced he'd died and become a ghost after hearing a Bowtruckle's cry…
Wait, what?
---
Back in the Great Hall, Justin was engrossed in Sean's parchment, muttering, "Wow, you can write it like that? Pure genius…"
He flipped open the light blue notebook, and its contents made his hand freeze mid-page.
Finding ingredients for potion brewing.
"Sean wants to practice brewing potions on his own?" That was Justin's first thought.
"He's struggling to find ingredients?" That was his second.
"I've got some!" That was his last.
Carefully tucking away the parchment and notebook, Justin bolted to the Hufflepuff common room before Herbology class started. The cozy room was wrapped in green vines, with tables always laden with steaming milk, pumpkin juice, and an assortment of candies and pies. He darted down a candlelit path to the dorms and flung open his lavish trunk.
Next to scattered letters and postcards were jars and crystal vials. A closer look revealed every potion ingredient a first-year could need—two sets of each.
His mind flashed back to a conversation at Slugs & Jiggers Apothecary:
"Are you sure you want to pack all of this?" the shopkeeper had asked.
"Yes, please, sir," Justin's mother had replied.
"Oh, my generous lady, I hate to mislead someone as lovely as you… These ingredients aren't even on Hogwarts' supply list. Do you still want them?"
"Exactly why I want two sets, sir."
Now, Justin vaguely understood his mother's foresight.
"Dear Finnery," she'd said, "if everyone has something, you need to have it better. If no one has it, you must have it. Those small expenses? They're investments. But the best investment, my dear, is always sincerity and love."
"I think I get it now…" Justin murmured, staring at the overflowing trunk, his crisp white shirt collar still warm from his mother's iron.
---
In the Hogwarts library, Sean stepped through an archway, waiting for the staircase to swivel into place. He wasn't worried about getting his notebook back from Justin—Herbology was second period, and the notebook didn't have anything too private, just some herb-handling tips and his thoughts on sourcing potion ingredients. After class, he'd swap it for some actually useful notes and take it back.
At eight o'clock, soft sunlight danced on the suits of armor, and the grassy scent of the greenhouses lingered in the outer corridors. Sean pushed open the heavy oak door to the greenhouse, where a few young witches and wizards were already milling about. He caught Professor Sprout setting down her trowel, giving him a warm nod and a smile.
"Over here, Sean!" Michael called, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward Anthony and Terry. "Why do I feel like Sprout's got her eye on you?" he added, craning his neck.
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