Inside Hogwarts Castle, even though the fireplaces in the common rooms and the Great Hall burned bright and warm, the drafty corridors were still bone-chillingly cold. The windows of the classrooms rattled against the bitter wind that howled outside.
But the worst of all wasn't the corridor—it was the Potions classroom. Every time Sean exhaled, a small cloud of white mist appeared in front of his face. When the bubbling cauldrons finally stopped steaming, the temperature dropped so sharply that he couldn't help but shiver—his sweater wasn't nearly warm enough.
Sean thought that the only difference between him and Professor Dumbledore at this moment was that the Headmaster needed wool socks, while he needed a thicker sweater.
His mind began to wander—thinking first about how Mrs. Weasley always knitted sweaters for her children (and for Harry) every Christmas, and then about what Dumbledore once said he saw in the Mirror of Erised—wool socks, though Sean suspected they might've been Wool—Gellert Grindelwald—Socks.
Professor Snape stared coldly at Sean's notes. His gaze shifted from disdain to surprise, then to something flat and unreadable.
"You do realize this… is extremely valuable," he said in his usual low, ominous tone.
Sean nodded slightly.
"Fool! Ignorant fool!" Snape suddenly roared, his voice echoing through the dungeon. "You have no idea what this means! You're like a Muggle holding a wand, completely unaware of the power it contains!"
Sean had no idea what had triggered his anger this time.
Snape snatched up Advanced Potion-Making, and the handwriting inside was clear and unmistakable:
> Libatius Borage's greatest achievement was not the discovery of potion rituals and will-guided brewing… but that he continued the path of truth and passed it on to his successor in full.
Snape's breath caught in his throat as his eyes flicked to the next line:
> Endless distances, boundless truth… you must know, they are being born in your hands.
Snape's fury began to fade, replaced by a heavy, repressed tone.
"If you only knew, Sean Green… you'd never have revealed this."
His cold, black eyes bore into Sean's, as though trying to see right through him.
Sean didn't flinch. He simply replied quietly, "Professor, the truth is—you're the only one who knows."
Snape's sneer froze on his face. For a moment, he just stared at this student who, like him, seemed to exist in the shadows. He looked almost… lost.
"Heh—are you saying…"
After a long silence, Snape's voice came out low and tense.
Sean nodded.
"You think… everyone is worth trusting?" Snape hissed, as if the words were painful to speak.
He wasn't just scolding Sean. He was scolding himself—the man who had once trusted Voldemort.
"Listen to me, Sean Green," Snape said sharply, gripping the notebook tightly. "You will not share these notes with anyone! If you dare—"
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
In his eyes, this student was both foolish and stubborn… and painfully pure.
When Sean left the dungeon, his steps were light, but Snape's gaze followed him until he disappeared.
Snape couldn't describe what he felt—those emotions he despised, rejected, and feared were all stirring within him again.
That fool… trusted him.
His eyes dimmed, and old, corroded bitterness rose from where it had been buried for years.
Maybe it wasn't resentment—just the past trying to scare away what little hope he had left.
---
Out in the corridor, the portraits that were usually chattering away were now fast asleep. Some snored softly, while others had slumped over with drool nearly dripping off their frames.
Sir Cadogan was snoozing in full armor, a trickle of drool glistening on his mustache. Sean glanced at him, then at the two sleeping ladies nearby. He sometimes thought their friendship must've been built entirely on shared eccentricities.
The torches flickered in their iron sconces, casting long, shifting shadows along the stone walls. The patterns on the ancient tapestries seemed to come alive in the dancing light.
Sean was used to walking the halls at night—though it was still freezing.
Sometimes Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, would accompany him for a bit, especially when Justin's stash of dried fish came in handy. Those fish treats had earned him more than a few friendly headbutts and purrs.
But tonight, Mrs. Norris was nowhere to be seen.
At the corner, Sean suddenly heard faint rustling.
Three small figures in wizard robes slipped out from behind a suit of armor.
The first boy, a blond with a head of wild hair and freckles all over his excited face, clutched his wand tightly and peeked nervously down both ends of the corridor.
"C-clear?" whispered a smaller boy, his voice trembling.
The blond didn't answer, just nodded hard and motioned for the others to follow.
"Filch'll be down in the trophy room napping—he always does at this hour," the blond murmured, trying to contain his excitement. "And I saw Mrs. Norris heading that way too."
Many students at Hogwarts wanted to prank Filch, but only Gryffindors were reckless enough to actually try it.
Sean had planned to walk away, but then he heard them mention "Dungbombs."
That made him stop.
Dungbombs were one of the many joke products sold by Zonko's Joke Shop—foul-smelling magical bombs invented by the notorious wizard inventor, Auberon Grunning, in the 1880s.
Just touching one was enough to make your hands stink for hours.
Sean imagined Filch trying to scrub one off the floor—and started walking faster.
But he was too late.
By the time Mrs. Norris screeched, the three mischievous students were already pointing their wands at her.
Even though the spell they used was just Aguamenti, being splashed with cold water in the middle of winter was hardly pleasant.
"Agu—uamen—ti!" the blond boy shouted, mangling the pronunciation.
Mrs. Norris yowled and darted for the door—only to be scooped up safely by Sean.
"Finite Incantatem!" he said, ending the spell with a flick of his wand. The cat hissed softly, then pressed her head against his shoulder.
"Uh-oh—run!" the blond hissed, realizing they were caught.
"Picking on someone who can't use magic isn't funny, gentlemen," Sean said, stepping in front of the door.
The three young wizards froze, their bravado suddenly evaporating.