After three in the afternoon, Hogwarts slipped into a lazy weekend vibe. For young witches and wizards, Fridays were even more joyful and relaxing than Saturdays or Sundays. On Fridays, they could toss their homework aside and soak up the rare leisure time to their heart's content.
Walking from the greenhouse, Sean's robe hem was still damp with dew from the freshly cleared rain. He'd learned from Professor Sprout that Professor Snape would be brewing potions for the next two days, so his own potion-making plans had to be put on hold. Having inherited the knowledge of Libatius Borage, Sean felt like he was sitting on a gold mine he couldn't yet touch. Fortunately, he wasn't fully familiar with Borage's refined rituals, so he decided to head to the hidden room to practice until he got the hang of it. Plus, he could grind some spell proficiency while he was at it.
"Off with your head!"
"Nooo!"
The childish voices from the lawn clashed hilariously with their grim words. Sean glanced over to see a few young wizards playing Hangman, a game where one person thinks of a word, and the others guess it based on letter clues. Fail to guess, and you "lose your head." From another part of the lawn came the sharp pop and crackle of Exploding Snap, the cards' mild blasts singeing the eyebrows of two young players.
The wizarding world had no shortage of entertainment—beyond Quidditch, Wizard's Chess, and Gobstones, there were plenty of quirky games. Michael had tried over a dozen odd ones in just five days. Not easy to keep up with, Sean thought, recalling the note: "Don't forget to check on patreon ilham20!"
That was why Michael was still holed up in the library, probably groaning, "Sean, save me!" instead of quietly studying Sean's notes like he should.
Sean clutched a packet of beautifully wrapped Fizzing Whizbees, the image of Bruce being tugged along like a balloon by Leon still vivid in his mind. Every time Bruce started to "land," Pister would pop another sweet into his mouth. The rest of the candies had been handed to Sean by a grinning Pister, who declared, "Hufflepuff's motto is share!"
Bruce had practically wailed the words.
The afternoon sun, like molten honey, lazily bathed Hogwarts' ancient stone walls, warming the cold blocks into something soft and inviting. The tower spires traced golden outlines against the deep blue sky, and owls hooted as they swooped overhead. A breeze ruffled Sean's hair, a distant eagle's cry echoed, and stumbling across the lawn came Justin.
"Sean!" he called out enthusiastically.
Hermione, nearby, puffed out her cheeks in exasperation, her ink-green book with a dragon pattern flapping open in the wind.
"My mother says nature heals all children," Justin said quietly, sidling up to Sean. "Sunlight, the lake, the breeze, the grass… though Hermione thinks none of it compares to her copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. She's right—it's a brilliant book."
Magical creatures, huh? Sean thought. Definitely interesting.
His gaze followed Justin's to a page in the book:
"I must refute all the other ridiculous claims in Miss Rita Skeeter's book. I'll simply say this: I am not 'the heartbreaker who abandoned Seraphina Picquery.' The president made it clear that if I didn't leave New York voluntarily and quickly, she'd take drastic measures to expel me."
Sean was momentarily speechless. Apparently, gossip was universal, wizard or Muggle.
"And this—" Justin pointed to another passage:
"The Billywig is an insect native to Australia. Those stung by a Billywig feel dizzy, then float upward. Generations of young Australian wizards have tried catching Billywigs to get stung, chasing the side effect of levitation."
"Wizards can be pretty wild, huh?" Justin said with a shrug.
"What do you think, Hermione?"
"Absolutely," she replied, her voice brimming with confidence as she snapped the book shut. "I read that some wizards even turned Billywig juice into Fizzing Whizbees."
Before she could go on, Sean quietly placed a Fizzing Whizbee in each of their hands.
"Tasty," he said seriously.
Hermione and Justin stared at each other, wide-eyed, before bursting into laughter.
---
"It feels great to float…" Justin mused as they walked down a corridor. "Oh, remember? Hermione and I asked Professor Flitwick about using that classroom. He agreed right away, but he said… what was it?"
Sean caught the glint of amusement in Justin's eyes.
"Idiot," Hermione cut in, "he said, 'Of course, but you'll need to get the owl portrait's permission.'"
As they waited for the moving staircase, Hermione explained, "Professor Flitwick said that in the tenth century, Hogwarts was the only magical school in Europe, drawing students from all over the continent. Later, as other schools popped up, many wizarding families chose closer ones. Hogwarts, built to house thousands, ended up with empty classrooms. Most were sealed with magic, but not ours because…"
"There's a particular owl portrait," Justin added with a grin, sounding prouder than Sean, "and even the professors can't always answer its questions."
Hermione shot him an eye-roll.
With the rumble of the staircase and Justin's knock on the wall, the yellowed, cracked canvas reappeared. The white owl, dressed in a velvet vest and tiny pince-nez glasses, tilted its head, struggling to balance its glasses and a tattered parchment.
"What're you staring at? Owls are eagles too!" it squawked. "No laughing! I've got a riddle for you—one even clever little wizards can't solve!"
Justin's face fell. He tried to appease the owl by waving a lollipop-shaped quill.
"If I'm not mistaken, that's an owl feather! Even if it's just carved!" the owl snapped.
"Oh!" Justin gasped.
Hermione snorted with laughter as Justin, in mock panic, shoved the quill into Sean's arms.
"Do rats eat owls, sir?" Justin tried, holding up a squeaking candy rat.
"Foolish little wizard! I'm a portrait!" The owl flapped its wings, the parchment wobbling under its claws, its indignation palpable.
Hermione was shaking with laughter.
"What?!" Justin groaned, exasperated. "Where am I supposed to find a rat portrait?"
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