As Sean passed by, he saw Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter rolling in the snow, locked in a scuffle. Ron, Crabbe, and Goyle were tangled in their own brawl, throwing punches and yelping in pain.
With a quiet wave of his wand, Sean summoned two snowmen that promptly pulled the fighters apart.
Malfoy shivered, avoiding Sean's gaze. He let out a soft huff before stalking off with Crabbe and Goyle in tow.
As for Harry, he felt more like a baboon than ever—caught fighting without even his wand this time.
Sean glanced at Harry and Ron for a moment. The two kept their heads down, looking guilty for reasons they couldn't quite name.
They seemed fine, no need for the hospital wing, so Sean walked away.
To Harry and Ron, though, it felt like Sean was disappointed.
After all, they were wizards. Before the Green Notes became a thing, Sean had shared his personal notes with them—far more detailed than the compiled version.
And what had they done? One spent all his time on Quidditch, which Sean didn't care for, and the other was obsessed with Wizard's Chess, barely learning any decent spells.
"Harry, are we completely out of luck now?" Ron asked, unable to muster even a fake smile.
He desperately wanted to join the secret group. They'd all faced the troll together, and the other four were thriving. Justin was excelling in Herbology and Charms, and even Neville had earned eleven points for Gryffindor.
People's opinions of Neville were starting to shift.
"I think so…" Harry mumbled, his voice shaky.
"Morning, Harry, Ron!" Justin popped up from the snowy courtyard, brimming with enthusiasm. He winked. "If you want to know where you stand, why not just ask him?"
---
In the corridor, Sean half-expected Fred or George to leap out from somewhere, but no such luck.
Not wanting to wait around, he headed outside the castle. From occasionally watching Harry, he knew Gryffindor had Quidditch practice that afternoon.
At a third-floor stained-glass window, Professor McGonagall watched the young wizard leave footprints in the snow alone.
Behind her, a few Ravenclaws were sneaking about.
"Foolish little wizards!" Mr. Owl's sudden squawk sent them stumbling and scurrying away.
The enchanted portrait shot a glance at Roger and his group, its eyes flashing with human-like disappointment and confusion.
That day, the eagle-shaped knocker on the Ravenclaw common room seemed to malfunction, posing riddle after riddle so tough that several Ravenclaws were left shivering outside for ages.
At the Quidditch pitch, Sean reached the changing room door.
Two red flames suddenly flared up in the snow.
"Seeing you at the Quidditch pitch—" Fred burst out of the snow, holding a badge.
"We knew a genius had emerged in Alchemy!" George added, looking proud.
"Fred, damn it! Where's my prefect badge?!"
A neatly dressed, thoroughly irritated figure stormed out of the changing room—Percy, the Gryffindor prefect. He was a stickler for rules, always yelling at rulebreakers. Ron called him a study-obsessed, prideful stiff.
Clutching a copy of How Prefects Gain Authority, Percy made Fred roll his eyes. Fred shouted, "I'm George, Percy! Didn't that book teach you how to tell us apart? Shame!"
He dragged out the last word, winking at Sean.
"Fine—George! Where's my badge?!" Percy roared.
"Just kidding, I'm Fred!"
"Give it to me!"
And so, Fred was chased around by a furious Percy.
George and Sean watched them go, then George pulled a badge from his pocket. "I don't get it. Does a prefect badge need that much polishing? Head west, Fred!" he shouted, and Fred veered off.
"Oh, speaking of floating quills—"
Before George could finish, Sean revealed his alchemical creation.
"I knew you had the same knack as us—approved! Totally approved!" George said, winking as he tucked the floating quill into his bag alongside the prefect badge.
"Two weeks, and you've already nailed it. You're a natural at Alchemy! Got a notebook or diary? You can jot it down now—though that's not the proper alchemical attitude, especially since you barely know what Alchemy is! Don't worry, we'll arrange a 'chance' meeting with Professor Terra…"
Sean handed over his notes, and George clapped him on the shoulder with a look that said, We're cut from the same cloth.
"Professor Terra?" Sean asked.
"Oh! Good question! Professor Terra's on the board of the International Alchemical Association and the most mysterious professor at Hogwarts. Only sixth- and seventh-years ever see her. Important thing is—Fred! To the right!"
George shouted, alerting Fred, who was still dodging Percy around the changing room.
Then Percy came charging toward them, looking furious.
"Not good—let's go, Green!" George bolted, calling back, "Don't worry, we'll find you, Great Green!"
"Great Green?"
Percy was livid but caught the intriguing nickname and paused to look at Sean.
"Oh, Mr. Green," he said, forcing a friendly smile.
This Green wasn't just anyone. He'd passed the flying test and authored the wildly popular Green Notes. Even Percy had to admit the history section in those notes was impressive.
All in all, whether Sean became a Quidditch star or a future professor, he was worth a smile.
"Hello, Mr. Weasley," Sean replied politely.
"Oh, just call me Percy, or Prefect Percy," he said, trying to sound approachable.
Outside the changing room, the oak door stood ajar, warm light and muffled voices spilling out. At the edge of the snow, Fred slung an arm around George's shoulder.
"I'm gonna hurl—'call me Purse-y'…" Fred mocked, pulling a face.
For once, George didn't respond. Fred tilted his head and saw George staring at a notebook.
"The Great Green Notes?!" Fred gasped dramatically, noticing George was still lost in thought.
He got serious. "Took him two days to whip up a floating quill… Weird, George, is this even English?"