"I can't help but wonder if all this… is truly safe enough…"
Professor Flitwick's high-pitched voice rang out, though he was hidden from view, standing on the floor overshadowed by two taller wizards.
It wasn't until Flitwick conjured a stack of books to stand on that everyone could see the worry in his eyes.
In the Headmaster's office, silver instruments cluttered the oak desk, and a battered kettle puffed out white steam. Fawkes, the phoenix, dozed on his gilded perch, his feathers glowing with a soft, dark red hue.
Albus Dumbledore didn't respond right away. Seated behind the desk, his blue eyes twinkled above his spectacles. A magic book in front of him turned a page on its own before his voice finally broke the silence.
"No need to worry, I think. The children are braver than we give them credit for."
He smiled kindly, his words carrying a deeper meaning.
"Brave enough to rush headlong into death," Professor Snape sneered.
"Letting first-year wizards face a troll—is that your plan, Dumbledore?"
Professor McGonagall stood silently to the side, neither agreeing nor objecting.
"Hogwarts is the safest place in all of Britain," Dumbledore said, his tone cryptic.
"Hmph," Snape muttered coldly, then swept out of the room with a swish of his robes.
"You should be more cautious, Albus," McGonagall said before leaving as well.
Once they were gone, Dumbledore murmured to himself, lost in thought. "Severus… change… it's been a long time…"
He turned to Flitwick. "Professor Flitwick, tell me about the boy."
"Of course, Headmaster!" Flitwick's squeaky voice brimmed with excitement. "In Charms… and even in Defense Against the Dark Arts, that boy's talent far exceeds what we could've imagined."
In fact, if Severus and Minerva had seen the boy's dueling skills, they'd realize the real question wasn't whether a first-year could handle a troll—but whether the troll could handle him.
That was why Flitwick remained the calmest in the room.
---
In the corridor, Snape's billowing black robes radiated an icy aura, making the young witches and wizards scurry out of his way. The last student who crossed him was still serving a month-long detention in the dungeons.
Sean stood outside Professor McGonagall's office, arms full of Transfiguration books.
The biting cold couldn't pierce Mr. Filch's scarf. Sean wore gloves gifted by Mrs. Figg and a sweater from Snape himself, with McGonagall's private collection tucked in his bag.
All in all, he rarely felt cold anymore.
He was there to study Transfiguration early that afternoon, arriving ahead of time as was his habit. If the professor was there, he could learn a bit more. If not, he could review his books.
Just then, a large shadow blocked the light from the window. Sean looked up to see Snape's grim face staring down at him.
Snape's eyes lingered on the collar of Sean's sweater for a moment before flicking toward the dungeons. In a low, menacing tone, he said, "Come, you fool."
Sean ignored the jab and followed quietly.
The dungeons were colder still, and even from a distance, Sean could hear rain battering the windows. Glancing over, he saw a thin layer of ice coating the glass.
"Who do you think you are?" Snape's mockery came as swiftly as ever. Before Sean could respond, Snape launched into a biting tirade.
"Oh, Mr. Green, thinking he's some kind of hero, facing a troll all by himself. I bet those fools out there idolize you, don't they? But let me tell you something, Green—surviving is what matters."
Snape's lips curled into a cold, mocking smirk, his eyes glinting with frustration. "You think defeating a troll makes you special? No one will mourn a fool who gets himself killed."
Sean stayed silent.
Snape let out a heavy scoff. He'd always known this boy was a hopeless idiot. No matter how many chances he got, he'd never learn to play it safe.
"Take your wand!" Snape's voice was sharper than the dungeon's chill.
"I don't think it's time for you to die just yet, you fool."
He tossed Sean a tattered notebook, its pages yellowed with age, as if it were decades old.
As Sean flipped through it, Snape's gaze fixed on his wand.
It wasn't the usual dry wood texture. The wand was nearly black, like the deepest night, but under the light, it revealed subtle hints of deep purple and dark red grain.
Elder wood.
The rarest of all wand woods, yet infamous. Elder wands were harder to master than any other. They held immense magical power but refused to work with wizards who weren't exceptional.
No matter how long a wizard wielded an elder wand, they were destined to stand out.
Only a truly extraordinary person could bond perfectly with an elder wand, and when they did, their life was fated to be anything but ordinary.
And yet, here was this fool holding such a wand.
Its core—phoenix feather—made it even more untamable, a wand perfectly suited for dark magic.
Snape's cold expression grew complex as he studied the boy clutching the notebook with quiet excitement.
An elder wand guaranteed a life far from peaceful. Snape's tone grew colder, more severe. "If you can't learn this, don't expect to leave the dungeon."
---
"Sectumsempra!" Sean's wand tip showed no trace of magic, but the toad in front of him split open with a gaping wound.
Snape quickly cast the counter-spell, his eyes wide with something like shock as they fixed on Sean.
[You practiced Sectumsempra with proficiency, +10 skill points]
[Sectumsempra: Beginner Level (100/900)]
In just an hour, this boy had not only learned Sectumsempra in front of him but had already mastered its basics. His talent surpassed even Snape's own, who'd rivaled sixth-year students in Dark Arts as a first-year.
"Come to the dungeon an hour early," Snape said, his voice low and grim as he prepared to leave. "And don't tell anyone what you're learning. Not a soul."
Before Sean could nod, Snape slammed the dungeon door shut.