The Great Hall
A firecracker suddenly shot into the air, spinning wildly around the room, spitting sparks and letting off loud bangs.
Percy was hoarsely scolding Fred and George. Orange stars burst from the firecracker's mouth, a dazzling and spectacular sight.
With a series of explosions, it dove into the fireplace. The whole scene only added to Sean's already cheerful and relaxed mood, making him feel even more at ease.
He decided to give himself a day off. Professor McGonagall had insisted he take a break and wander around Hogwarts.
She'd sternly warned him that pushing his magical abilities too hard could backfire.
She told him to get a good night's sleep and relax his tense mind—balance was key, no matter where you were.
At the entrance to the Great Hall, two pairs of eyes were fixed on Sean:
"Justin, are you sure this'll work?"
Hermione tilted her head, barely able to see Justin over the stack of books piled in front of her.
"Of course it'll work! Didn't you hear what that knight said? He's wearing a medal from the time of King Arthur. You know knights never lie."
Justin strode over confidently.
Under the enchanted ceiling (gray and overcast this afternoon), the four House tables were laden with bowls of porridge, plates of pickled herring, stacks of chops, and trays of pudding.
Hermione and Justin sat down next to Sean. Hermione's Intermediate Transfiguration book was propped open on a milk jug.
"So, Sean, I was thinking, it's the weekend, and I might need a little help—" Justin began, a bit sheepishly.
Sean, lost in thought about what it meant to maintain an exceptional magical standard, nodded quietly.
"I need your History of Magic notes."
"Just finished the section on King Arthur's time. The latest History of Magic assignment starts on page sixty-five."
"And Herbology, Astronomy, and Potions—"
"Sure, but you'll need to practice the details yourself. It's all written out clearly."
"Oh, and I forgot—Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms, too—"
Sean paused for a second, giving Justin a helpless look. "Charms notes are with Hermione. Defense notes are with you."
"You're terrible! You got caught—"
Hermione's face flushed slightly.
"It's not a big deal, Hermione."
Justin's smile grew warmer. "You and I both know if Sean doesn't have his notes, he'll have to take a break."
While they whispered, Michael, sitting nearby, was wide-eyed. He started shaking Anthony:
"Look at that! That's what real friends do—saving someone from a killer weekend! Come on, you two, step it up!"
The young witches and wizards were always noisy. At the corner of the bustling table, Neville nibbled on his toast, occasionally glancing at the chattering crowd before looking back down.
Suddenly, Michael threw an arm around him:
"Hey, Neville, I gave up a whole week's worth of pudding! Did you even make it to that place?"
Neville shrank back, remembering that Sean's tutoring sessions always ended in the second corridor.
He'd never actually seen that place. His breathing quickened, lips trembling with nerves:
"N-no—"
"Merlin's pants!"
Michael's eyes widened even more.
Evening
As dusk blurred in from the Forbidden Forest, Sean strolled along, holding a magical lantern that lit the stone path beneath his feet.
Before the Lumos spell was invented, wizards used these lanterns for light.
Sean could sense the intricate charm structure inside—a different kind of illumination spell than Lumos, more powerful but also more draining.
If Lumos had a brightness of one, with a max of seven, the lantern's minimum was three, and its max soared past twenty.
This came from an older, more complex charm structure, possibly etched with runes.
There was a subtle belief in the wizarding world that older magic was often stronger—not because magic itself hadn't progressed, but because ancient spells, unlike the user-friendly Standard Spells, were raw and brutal.
Even simple spells like Alohomora packed a punch. Young wizards often used them in duels, sometimes with deadly results.
Ancient spells took forever to cast. Records from the International Wizarding Dueling Championship showed this clearly:
Wizards chasing raw power often lost because their spells took too long. One wizard once tried a spell so complex it could've conjured a mountain to crush his opponent—but his rival disarmed him with a quick Expelliarmus and knocked him out of the match.
Modern magic, refined over centuries, was faster but less potent. Spells like the Cutting Charm, once used for executions, now had more practical uses.
For Sean, though, once his skill reached a certain point, standard spells wouldn't cut it anymore.
This realization hit him hard—no wonder so many powerful wizards, after mastering the basics, turned to studying runes and ancient magic. There was a ceiling to what modern spells could do.
Thinking deeply about magic had become part of Sean's life. In this relaxed state, it felt like a kind of rest.
As he pulled out a letter from Professor Dumbledore, wondering how he could stay at Hogwarts forever, he noticed a figure pacing back and forth on the staircase, trying to hide in the shadows.
"Sean!"
Neville had mustered all his courage to call out.
Sean stopped. When he turned, Neville turned too, as if he hadn't said a word.
This made Justin, peeking from the classroom doorway, burst out laughing.
Inside the classroom, Hermione was practicing her Levitation Charm.
Her desk was buried under piles of notes and library books—some still unreturned, now covered by even more borrowed ones.
Sean's desk was different. He memorized unimportant books and carried the crucial ones with him, like Magical Theory. His desk was neat, with only the occasional self-refreshing dessert tray breaking the order.
"Exceptional magical ability clearly involves both practice and theory, with practice being the only true test of theory."
A Quick-Quotes Quill hovered over a pale blue notebook, scribbling: "A wizard's skill is usually shown through charms and transfiguration, though potions count too—"
Dumbledore's expectations aligned perfectly with Sean's goals. He was already preparing for potential dangers at Hogwarts—like trolls or those "pure-blood" wizards who sneered at Muggle-borns.
So, while planning for the week ahead, he approached Neville.