Sean thought Harry and Ron were a bit too earnest sometimes.
"Yeah," Ron said, his face flushed as if he were throwing all caution to the wind, probably thinking about the homework he still needed to copy.
Harry ducked his head, looking nervous.
"Hm," Sean replied with a nod.
Professor Snape was waiting for him in the dungeon. Though Harry and Ron's sincerity caught him off guard, Sean didn't plan to linger here too long.
"He's nothing like we thought," Ron said, his face lighting up with joy after a moment. "Green's… well, he's no Percy or Hermione. And I've still got his notes to study—Merlin, what a relief!"
As Sean walked away, Harry remembered Wood's words: find out if Green's joining the Ravenclaw Quidditch team.
But Harry couldn't bring himself to ask. For the sake of Gryffindor's Quidditch Cup, he knew he had to say something, though.
So—
"Sean, you—" Harry blurted out, causing Sean to turn his head.
Harry's mind went blank. He was sure he couldn't ask now. He'd just been forgiven, and now he was supposed to snoop on Ravenclaw's Quidditch tactics? It felt wrong.
But he had to say something. Spotting Neville and Justin in the distance, he stammered, "Can you teach us some charms? Like you do with Neville?"
It was a spur-of-the-moment comment, but not entirely nonsense—he'd been stressing over homework for ages. With Wood demanding every second of their time for Quidditch practice, Harry had no idea how he'd finish all those assignments.
What he didn't expect was that, after a brief pause, Sean actually nodded.
On the way back to the Great Hall, Harry and Ron were quiet for a while.
They stared at the stack of notes Sean had given them, like they were holding some rare treasure.
"Harry… I was so wrong about him," Ron said, full of regret. "Sean's practically Professor Sprout's twin! Merlin, why didn't we find him sooner?"
Seeing Ron completely won over, Harry nodded in agreement.
…
At the end of the corridor, Sean walked, lost in thought.
Harry had surprised him more than once. Though unexpected, Sean was happy to help.
As he watched the skinny boy with broken glasses and a lightning scar on his forehead, Sean suddenly realized something.
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, never chose to be a "savior." Yet, as a baby, he lost his parents to Voldemort's curse.
He grew up in a corner of the Dursley household, where even a proper birthday gift was a pipe dream.
His scar—a badge of honor to the wizarding world—was, to Sean, the mark of an attempted murder.
Harry's fate had never truly been his own.
Trelawney's prophecy might have bound him to Voldemort, but what made Harry a "hero" was his choices: facing Voldemort in his first year to protect the Sorcerer's Stone, risking his life to save Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets, insisting on bringing Cedric's body back during the Triwizard Tournament…
A person's worth isn't measured by their glory, but by whether they deserve to be treated fairly.
Harry Potter wasn't just a martyr's orphan. More than that, he deserved a bit of kindness.
Knowing this, Sean couldn't take Harry's sacrifices for granted. Where he could help, he was happy to lend a hand.
It was a small gesture, barely worth mentioning compared to Harry's long, struggle-filled years at Hogwarts.
But Sean didn't mind.
In the dungeon, Professor Snape had been waiting for a while.
He always lurked in the shadows, his face unreadable to Sean.
If Sean made a single misstep, Snape's sharp sarcasm would cut like a knife. Worse, like yesterday, it could turn into a full-blown storm.
Handling ingredients, lighting the cauldron, controlling the heat…
Thanks to his beginner-level mastery of the Swelling Solution, Sean's movements were smooth and precise. After finishing this batch, he'd move on to brewing the Inflating Potion.
Of the three potions he'd learned, only the Inflating Potion remained at a novice level.
Once he mastered it, a new potion title would unlock.
Sean couldn't help but feel a spark of anticipation.
Apprentice-level titles slightly boosted perception and talent in a specific magical branch. At the beginner level, perception got a major upgrade.
Perception was like an ability to observe and measure. For potions, it let Sean track a potion's state and quality more precisely, fine-tuning his techniques.
White mist rose again in the dungeon, and something complex flickered in Snape's cold eyes.
He could tell the potion's quality had changed, but Sean's methods felt utterly foreign to him.
Snape didn't care to understand. That didn't mean he'd tolerate this young wizard recklessly experimenting in the realm of potions.
Did he think potions were like that idiotic Quidditch game, with tactics unchanged for decades?
So, he kept a close eye on Sean.
Don't mess up my dungeon.
[You've brewed a Swelling Solution at a beginner level. Proficiency +3.]
Brewing the Swelling Solution was second nature now. Though he hadn't used any advanced rituals or guidance methods, Sean still produced a [Beginner] level potion, teetering on the edge of [Skilled].
Progress was slow but steady.
After dousing the cauldron and storing the potion in a glass cabinet—in a slot Snape said was only fit for his "rubbish"—Sean pulled out his notebook.
"Too much stirring. The second ingredient should've been added over high heat… Sean Green," Snape sneered, "with talent like that, you dare tamper with potion rituals?"
Sean ignored the jab, jotting down the first part of Snape's critique.
His green eyes glinted—he'd found the final piece to reach [Skilled].
The key difference between beginner and skilled was that skilled-level potions met the standard for sale.
Another steady income stream, Sean thought.
He set his notes on the dungeon's wooden table and turned to gather ingredients from the glass cabinet.
Dried nettles, puffer-fish eyes, bat spleens—all on the second shelf, left side…
Time slipped away in the dungeon's chilly air.
When Sean finished tidying the table, he quietly stepped into the shadows.