At Hogwarts, Alchemy was an advanced elective, only available at the N.E.W.T. level (sixth year and above) for select students who were also taking Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology, and Charms.
Unfortunately, Harry's year didn't even have the course offered due to low enrollment.
And, unluckily for Sean, he was in the same year as Harry.
Following the usual path, he might never even meet an Alchemy professor, let alone know where the Alchemy office was at Hogwarts.
Yet Alchemy was endlessly fascinating.
Muggles might dismiss it as crude, primitive chemistry, but just as wizards knew little about Muggle ways, Muggles couldn't grasp wizarding Alchemy—nor could most wizards, for that matter.
But look at its achievements: the Philosopher's Stone for immortality, the Knight Bus, Vanishing Cabinets. It was a field brimming with endless possibilities.
Ever since deciding to study Alchemy, Sean paid closer attention to upper-year students' discussions about it.
The castle was blanketed in snow, and the Great Hall wafted with the savory aroma of lunch, tables piled high with food.
But at the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables, many students looked preoccupied.
"I can't believe it," a Gryffindor boy said, listlessly poking at his potatoes. "The 'Nigredo' process sounds simple, but when I try it, my brain just goes blank."
"You're just starting Alchemy," said a Ravenclaw girl, a seventh-year named Pamela Payton, one of the few who'd chosen the subject. "Feeling lost is totally normal."
"Payton, you mean if I stick with it, I'll actually get Alchemy?" the Gryffindor boy asked, eyes gleaming. Everyone knew Alchemy masters, like Potions masters, were walking Galleon machines.
Imagining himself as a big shot like Professor Terra, the Gryffindor rubbed his hands together eagerly.
"...Heh, stick with it, and you'll get used to it," Pamela said with a smirk, rolling her eyes. Another dreamer.
Her words triggered a chorus of groans from the surrounding Gryffindors.
They were already regretting choosing Alchemy.
Just then, a flock of owls swooped into the Great Hall, dropping packages. A small group of witches and wizards exchanged nervous glances, hesitantly gathering the extra reading materials—parchment scrolls covered in ancient symbols and charts, sparking a fresh wave of complaints.
"Another fifteen-inch essay!" one student wailed. "And we have to cite at least three sixteenth-century Alchemy texts!"
From the corner of the Ravenclaw table, Justin glanced over curiously, then at Sean.
If he remembered right, Sean had been diving into Alchemy lately. His desk was stacked with books like An Easy Introduction to Ancient Runes, The Rune Dictionary, and The Magical Phonetics Chart. According to Sean's notes, he'd torn through them in less than a month.
The snow grew heavier by three in the afternoon. That day, Sean and his friends got an urgent notice from Professor Sprout.
The snow that started the previous night had turned into a raging blizzard, canceling the afternoon's Herbology class. Instead, Professor Sprout had them bundling up Mandrakes in socks and scarves.
"Neville, your earmuffs are crooked!" Justin called, adjusting Neville's pink earmuffs.
After preparing the odd-looking plants for the cold, Professor Sprout pulled a large flowerpot from under the table, tucked a Mandrake baby inside, and buried it in damp, dark compost until only its leafy top showed.
"My dear little sprouts, do it like this. Our Mandrakes are just seedlings—their cries won't kill you yet," she said, brushing dirt off her hands and smiling warmly at the trio's quick work.
Few students lingered in the greenhouses for such repetitive, tedious tasks.
But these three young wizards had braved rain, mud, wind, and snow together.
"Oh—how wonderful, just perfect, nothing better than this—" Sprout beamed.
Leaving the greenhouse, the three wrapped their scarves tight and pulled on gloves, leaving neat footprints in the snow. Suddenly, a face popped out of a snowman:
"We said we'd come find you!"
It was Fred, his entire body buried in the snowman, only his mischievous face peeking out.
"And it's urgent!"
Another snowman spoke, startling Neville into a series of yelps.
"Where'd you find a marmot? That's fun, but—come with us!"
As Fred and George stepped out, the snowmen collapsed. They hurried off, and Sean, trailing behind, felt a twinge of nerves.
"I'm guessing you don't know Professor Terra," Fred said, puffing out clouds of breath as they walked.
"We spent a whole year tracking her down," George added, tugging his red-and-black scarf tighter against the biting wind.
They crossed the castle entrance, passed through the Great Hall, and slipped into a secret passage.
The passage was hidden behind a fruit portrait, only opening when the fruit shifted.
"Professor Terra's always bouncing between Beauxbatons and Uagadou. I bet there's no magic school she hasn't visited—you know about Uagadou?" Fred raised an eyebrow.
"You'd be hard-pressed to know—"
"Uagadou's a magical school in Uganda's Mountains of the Moon. It's the largest, taking students from all over Africa," Sean answered quietly.
George gaped as Fred's words caught in his throat. "You even know about Babajide Akingbade?" George asked.
"The wizard most likely to succeed Dumbledore as head of the International Confederation of Wizards? I read about him in A History of Modern Magic," Sean replied softly.
"Merlin's beard—you know Babajide Akingbade but not Professor Terra?" George's eyes widened. "She's a VIP at Uagadou, a legend in Alchemy. She's the Ministry's Alchemy advisor and—rumor has it—she's even met Nicolas Flamel. Word is, she worked at Floo-Pow early on, the only company making Floo Powder. No one knows where their entrance is."