The great thing about a fireplace that's always burning is that the three young wizards who just came back could dry off their damp clothes in no time.
The air at the back of the classroom was damp and chilly, but the closer you got to the fireplace, the more you could smell the cozy warmth of drying wool mixed with the crisp scent of burning pine.
Three small figures sat huddled around, clutching mugs of hot tea in the glow and warmth of the fire.
Justin pulled out a camera—a soft click sounded, followed immediately by Hermione's annoyed voice.
"Sean—again with that—give it here!"
Hermione, who seemed to always be near the fireplace, puffed out her cheeks as she handed over a towel, starting to say something but swallowing her words with a sigh.
"And you! You're filthy!"
Spotting the muddy footprints Justin left on the floor, Hermione flicked her wand, cleaning the mess in an instant, then tossed a fresh towel into his hands.
Neville, who'd been watching Sean practice Transfiguration, was now shivering quietly off to the side, not daring to say a word.
Then two towels were plopped into his arms—he was soaked through more than the others.
Gathered around the fireplace, the light and warmth danced across the four faces. Justin handed Hermione some seeds, while Neville cradled a pot of plump, newly sprouted Puffapod pods, grinning dreamily.
Thanks to their hard work in the greenhouse, Professor Sprout had not only given them house points but also a bunch of seeds. Now, the classroom was sprouting green plants everywhere, starting to feel like a cozy secret hideout.
But Sean's gains went beyond that. After Professor Snape grudgingly taught him about potion ingredients, Sean approached his greenhouse work with purpose—learning the process with focus.
For example, with Sunlight Orchid roots, Sean knew they needed to be ground into powder, so he paid extra attention to the grinding process. Or with Abyssinian Shrivelfigs, he knew the shells had to be removed, so he studied how and when to peel them.
The connection between Herbology and Potions was as strong as the link between Ancient Runes and Alchemy.
Over the past few weeks, Sean had spent a ton of time memorizing A Simple Introduction to Ancient Runes and The Magical Syllabary.
That task was as tough as mastering two of Professor McGonagall's treasured books.
How did Sean know? Because he'd tackled both challenges at the same time.
Still, what he was most excited about was tonight's potion brewing. He was just ten proficiency points away from unlocking a new title in the Potions field.
After drying his thick robes, Sean hung them in the classroom wardrobe. Near a fireplace or cauldron, wearing them was just too warm.
After all, these robes were enchanted to withstand storms—Professor Sprout had layered them with extra spells to keep the young wizards healthy.
The rain hadn't let up, and by evening, the weather had turned bitterly cold.
The mountains around the school were gray and misty, blanketed in snow, and the lake was as cold and hard as tempered steel.
At times like this, the Great Hall's fireplaces seemed to sprout Ravenclaws and Gryffindors.
Probably because their common rooms were so high up—unlike certain Hufflepuffs tucked near the kitchens—so during breaks, the hall was packed with students from those two houses.
At a long table, Ron was sitting tall, commanding a game of Wizard's Chess. With one order, his "knight" smashed the opponent's "king" right in the head.
"That's not fair! Rematch! My pieces wouldn't listen!" Seamus' face was red as he gaped in disbelief at what his pieces had done—his king had shouted something about "royal honor" and marched straight into a spot where the knight could take it out with a single "split-head" move.
"You've got a lot to learn!" Ron said, swiftly packing up the chess set, already thinking about who to play next.
Wizard's Chess was a huge hit in the magical world. Some thought knowing the rules was enough to play well, but that wasn't even close.
The pieces were alive—playing was like leading an army. Each piece had its own personality, so you had to know their quirks inside and out to avoid any trouble when giving orders.
Ron was a natural at this, which is why he always won.
"Ron, that's weird—usually you'd be scratching your head over homework by now. What's up?" Dean asked, puzzled, watching Ron dominate the board.
"Oh—that?" Ron had clearly been waiting for someone to ask. He rummaged in his bag and pulled out a few carefully kept notebooks.
"Green's Notes! Merlin's beard, where'd you get those?" a group of nearby students gasped, craning their necks.
"From Sean, of course… er, I mean, it's a secret…" Ron clapped a hand over his mouth mid-sentence.
"Sean Green? Even the Slytherins say he's bad news…" Dean's curiosity cooled instantly.
"No—" Ron's face turned serious. "No description does Sean justice. If you've got the guts, go find out for yourself."
His face flushed, eyes blazing with determination. "I won't stand for any rumors about Sean!"
Sean, passing by, quickened his pace.
Why did Ron sound like some kind of cult leader?
---
In the corridor leading to the dungeons, a group of older students in robes poured out, quickly filling the hallway.
Sean pressed himself against the wall, catching snippets of their hushed talk—some were grumbling about Professor Snape, though most just nodded quietly in agreement.
At the dungeon entrance, Sean spotted a figure cloaked in shadow, holding a booklet and staring coldly down the corridor.
The whispered complaints didn't seem to reach him. His gaze locked onto Sean, lingering briefly on his shivering frame and crumpled scarf.
Inside the dungeon, steam rose from a cauldron, chasing away some of Sean's chill.
He worked on a Swelling Solution with practiced precision, his technique mirroring Professor Sprout's. Even by Snape's standards, his handling of the few ingredients he knew was impressive—good enough to pass muster.
From the shadows, Professor Snape watched silently, clutching a parchment with potion instructions and two old notes stacked together.
His mind drifted to the corridor, where he'd overheard the hushed mockery. He'd never cared about such things before, but now they stirred something in him.
As Sean focused on stirring his cauldron, Snape's voice cut through the air.
"Hmph—I see you're using that outdated stirring method from The Book of Potions. Even a troll wouldn't use that anymore. You should know, Sean Green, not everything you read is correct! If your eyes aren't just for show, you'd notice the corrections in your notes!"