In the dungeons,
Professor Snape's cold gaze drifted to a corner Sean hadn't noticed.
The truth was so simple, yet so... bitterly ironic.
No schemes, no greed—just a scrawny young wizard clumsily trying to learn.
Verifying it was almost too easy, so easy that Snape stayed silent for a long time.
Sean, deep in thought, glanced at his open notebook and instantly pieced it together.
Okay, Quidditch was clearly a sore spot for Snape, and Sean hadn't even realized it.
He quickly reflected on his recent behavior, which had veered off track a bit. It all started that warm afternoon—
When Professor McGonagall had smiled and listened to him ramble on.
Next time, he'd need to bring a new notebook.
Sean made a mental note.
At that moment, the Swelling Solution reached its final stage.
Without hesitation, Sean used his improved ritual, fully immersing himself in the thick, bubbling potion.
He could sense the faint magical currents in the cauldron becoming clearer. Carefully, he guided them to meld together.
And then—
[You've successfully brewed a pot of Boil-Cure Potion at a skilled level. Proficiency +10]
Sean's face paled for a moment, but he didn't rest. Instead, he transferred the potion into a crystal vial and extinguished the flames.
Before leaving the dungeon, he found ten Galleons in his hand.
He paused, then carefully counted out seven and placed them in Professor Snape's hand.
"You gave me too much, Professor. A standard-quality Swelling Draught wouldn't fetch more than five Galleons on the market."
Sean said, then started packing up his small bag.
The black bag was slightly faded, like old clothes bleached by the sun. Its edges were grayish-white, as if dusted with a thin layer of ash.
The surface, once smooth, was now rough and fraying, with faint cracks revealing pale fibers underneath.
It was the bag Grandma Milan had given him, and Sean had used it ever since.
…
In the corridor,
Sean quietly went over his plan. His Aguamenti and Accio charms were already at Beginner level. Next up was grinding out the Levitation Charm.
Per his schedule, he had to nail it within the week.
After all, there was only a little over a week left in the month.
Time was tight, but manageable. He could cast over a dozen [Skilled]-level Levitation Charms in one go, and with Snape's restorative potions, he could rack up at least 600 proficiency points in a day.
The Skilled level required 900 proficiency. Sean guessed Expert level wouldn't go beyond 3,000.
If he spent a whole day immersed in charms and potions, he figured he could hit at least 900 in a single day.
His Quick-Quotes Quill danced across the page, jotting down his thoughts.
What he didn't notice was the shadowy figure trailing him not far behind.
Just verifying the truth of that kid's words...
Snape slipped back into the shadows.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the corridor,
Hermione hurried past some quiet portraits, clutching a letter, heading toward the large suit of knight's armor.
As if to make up for scaring her that night, Harry had earnestly shared his theories about the three-headed dog and said they could talk if she was up for it.
"If that package is tied to Headmaster Dumbledore, those two should know it's dangerous!
They might even mess up Dumbledore's plan!"
She muttered to herself, picking up her pace.
A strange noise suddenly echoed in the corridor. Hermione whipped her head around—it was Theodore Nott and his crew.
Seeing him, her mind flashed back to that morning's Charms class.
As usual, Professor Flitwick had posed a tough question.
She and Theodore both raised their hands, and of course, Flitwick called on her, awarding Gryffindor a point.
But Theodore shot her a resentful glare, then kept competing to raise his hand. Hermione didn't care much, but on one tricky question, she lowered her hand.
When Flitwick called on Theodore for that tough question, he couldn't answer and just stood there, embarrassed.
"Oh, look who it is—high-and-mighty Miss Granger, fresh from the library, ready to answer another question nobody asked for?"
Theodore Nott's voice dragged out with a fake smile, followed by coarse laughter from the two Slytherins behind him.
"If you spent half as much time reviewing Standard Book of Spells: Grade 1 instead of skulking around bothering people, Nott, maybe you wouldn't have looked like a popped slug standing there this afternoon."
Hermione crossed her arms, trying to keep her voice steady, but her quick words betrayed her irritation.
Theodore's face darkened instantly, and he took a step closer.
"What did you say? Think you're hot stuff, huh?
Just because Flitwick favors bookworms like you, especially ones like..."
He eyed her up and down, searching for an insulting word.
"If you finish that sentence, I swear my fist will find your face."
At that moment, Justin appeared from around the corner, stepping in front of Hermione, his gaze icy as he faced the three Slytherins.
"Let's see, huh, another..."
Theodore flinched for a second under Justin's intensity, but seeing he was alone, his mocking smirk returned.
"Mud—blood…"
The word froze the air. Hermione's cheeks flushed with anger, and Justin…
Before Theodore could finish, Justin's fist slammed into his face, twisting it with the impact.
Theodore stumbled back and crashed to the ground, nosebleed streaming.
"You dare—!"
His shout echoed through the corridor.
"My mom told me that for garbage like you, with no courage or decency, a punch is the only way to level the playing field.
And my dad said I could take on three of you worms."
Before the other two could react, Justin's fist landed on Theodore's face again, leaving him dazed.
The two Slytherins finally raised their wands, but—
"*Wingardium Leviosa!*"
Their wands shot into the air. Justin spun around, thrilled, and shouted:
"Sean!"
"Oh, Sean," he added, suddenly nervous as he hurried over.
"We might've just broken a school rule."
Sean glanced at the three Slytherins.
"No big deal."
He said, then grabbed the still-furious Hermione, wand raised warily at the other two, and pulled her away.
"Let's go, quick."
He urged.
Because a man in a black robe and cloak had just emerged from the shadows.
His gaze could've killed.