"Amazing, Sean!"
Two figures darted through the crowd of Gryffindors, reaching Sean before Madam Hooch could even react. Sean was still gripping a Quaffle, and Madam Hooch hadn't yet handed him the flight permit.
"Oh, Sean, want something to drink? Honey lemon tea? Pumpkin juice? Or hot cocoa?"
Justin, somehow juggling three steaming drinks with just two hands, offered them eagerly.
Sean still couldn't figure out where these things came from, but he was pretty sure a house-elf had popped up nearby.
"Wipe your face," Hermione said, handing him a towel with a hint of urgency, probably because Sean's forehead was slick with sweat.
"Thanks," Sean said, taking the towel just as Madam Hooch approached with a smile.
"Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw?"
Madam Hooch placed a permit stamped with a red seal into Sean's hand. "Enjoy your flying time, but—be careful."
Sean nodded.
Justin and Hermione craned their necks to get a look.
"Merlin's beard! Is that the flight permit no one's gotten in seven years?" Justin exclaimed, practically burying his face in the parchment.
He'd completely forgotten the "interrogation" he and Hermione had planned.
Sean watched Justin carefully cradle the permit, not minding too much. He took a sip of the hot cocoa, its warmth chasing away the chill and its sweetness making him squint with delight.
Delicious.
"Cool—" Justin said, reading every word of the permit.
Hermione shot him an exasperated look. "Sean hasn't even looked at it yet."
"Huh?!" Justin froze.
While Madam Hooch watched the trio with amusement, the Gryffindor Quidditch team nearby wasn't as thrilled.
"A flight permit, Fred. Remember? Even our captain didn't get one as a first-year," George said, blinking.
"Oh, I remember. Heard he was sulky about it for a whole month!" Fred replied with mock regret.
"Shut it, you two!" Wood's anger practically set the grass on fire.
Harry stared at Sean for a long moment.
Before coming to Hogwarts, everyone had told Harry he was a hero. He tried not to let it go to his head, but it still left him a bit dizzy.
Yet soon, the talk shifted to Sean—a wizard destined for great things in magic, a fact nearly every professor agreed on.
He was always mysteriously studying at Hogwarts, skipping parties, avoiding games, and rarely seen by others. You'd only catch snippets of Professors Flitwick and McGonagall chatting in the Great Hall:
"Mr. Green? Yes, Professor McGonagall, he's mastered silent spells."
Silent spells—Harry vaguely recalled those were sixth-year material.
But somehow, Sean didn't spark jealousy. Everyone could see him practicing charms in class until his face went pale, icing his forehead, or reading in the Great Hall with bubbles popping from his ears, never stopping.
If anyone did try to mess with him, the young witches and wizards who relied on Sean's "budget" History of Magic notes wouldn't stand for it:
"Pick on Mr. Green, and he won't finish the Green Notes? Merlin help you—you're done for!"
In short, he was a hardworking genius, the kind that made chasing after him feel pointless.
Rumor had it even the Slytherins didn't dare badmouth him lightly. The last one who tried was still serving detention.
"Harry, you've got an important mission," Wood said, snapping Harry out of his thoughts.
Another mission—Wood had already given him several, so Harry assumed this would be more of the same.
But then:
"Find out if this—Green—has joined the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. If he has, we'll need to rethink our strategy," Wood said, his brow furrowed, voice heavy. "Of course, you're still the core of our Gryffindor plan. Together, we'll win the Quidditch Cup!"
The task came out of nowhere. Harry nodded before he could process it, only for his eyes to widen once it sank in.
---
Meanwhile, Sean carefully unfolded the flight permit. It seemed to carry some magical property.
Following Madam Hooch's instructions, he placed it on his broom, which seemed to form a special connection with it.
Sean could sense it was likely a Linking Charm, but far more complex than that.
He couldn't help but marvel—Hogwarts really was the "safest" place, in a way.
In the changing room, Sean quickly swapped into his gear, but as he tried to leave, he was cornered.
"You can feel the charms on it?" a redheaded figure blurted, popping up in front of him.
Sean nodded, and another voice chimed in:
"Then you're gonna be blown away by the secrets of alchemy!"
Another redheaded figure appeared, boxing Sean in.
"It's the best subject at Hogwarts," one said.
"—Too bad you can't study it until sixth year," the other added.
"Unless you're at Beauxbatons—"
"Where they teach amazing alchemy to younger students!"
"Master Nicolas Flamel came from Beauxbatons—"
"You've definitely heard of him."
"But you probably don't know the half of it."
In unison, they declared, "After all, he's been alive for over six hundred years!"
Sean had already recognized Fred and George Weasley. Their back-and-forth sparked a deep curiosity about alchemy.
"So, Weasley brothers, how do I get started?" Sean asked.
"Tell us how much you sensed on that broom," Fred said, setting his own broom down. It floated in midair on its own.
"We've never met someone like us before," George said, raising an eyebrow. "Alchemy doesn't tolerate mediocrity."
Sean thought for a moment, then rummaged through his bag for a notebook.
The first time he'd touched a broom, he'd consciously recorded his observations. The night before his flight test, he'd nearly taken a Nimbus 2000 apart, piece by piece.
Though he didn't understand the principles, he knew how the broom worked. He'd sketched a rough diagram of its parts, paired with descriptions of its effects and guesses about possible charm combinations.
Sean handed over his notes. Fred's expression shifted from curiosity to awe as he glanced between the pages and Sean.
"George, you've gotta see this—" Fred said. "You're an alchemy genius!"
"Just like us!" George added loudly.
Fred puffed out his chest. "Exactly!"
---