Night was falling. Sean, led by Hagrid, even got to meet some Bowtruckles.
The little guys were super shy, but they didn't totally reject Sean—he managed to grind one's affinity up to Apprentice level.
Hagrid boomed that Sean had a real gift with magical creatures, just like some old Hufflepuff geezer from way back.
By then it was dinnertime at Hogwarts.
Right at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a broom shot into the sky. Harry zipped silently over the castle, tailing a hooded figure into the trees.
Sean was saying goodbye to Hagrid when he spotted sneaky Harry.
He flicked his wrist—a broom rocketed out of the castle like lightning.
No one around, totally safe: Sean unleashed the broom's full power. Even the fastest Seeker would eat dust trying to keep up.
High above the forest, Harry was getting antsy. The canopy was too thick—he'd lost sight of where Snape went after leaving the castle.
He circled lower, skimming treetops, until he finally heard voices. He glided in quiet, landing soft on a tall beech.
Down in a shadowy clearing stood Professor Snape—but he wasn't alone. Professor Quirrell was there too.
Harry couldn't see Quirrell's face, but the guy was stuttering worse than ever. Harry leaned in, ears wide open.
"…d-d-don't know why you p-p-picked here, S-Severus—"
"I'd rather keep this quiet," Snape said, voice like ice. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Sorcerer's Stone."
Harry's heart skipped. He zeroed in on every word.
"…soon enough, once you've had time to think and decide who you're loyal to, we'll talk again."
Snape threw his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. It was almost pitch-black, but Harry could still see Quirrell frozen in place, like a statue.
Harry's face had gone white.
If Snape wasn't the bad guy—after all, he'd stopped the jinx at the Quidditch match…
Then the guy he was grilling, Professor Quirrell, was probably neck-deep in it.
But why would Quirrell want to hurt him?
And—who was he loyal to?
Harry's mind jumped to the obvious.
"Harry?"
A voice.
"Voldemort!"
Harry blurted it out.
Then he saw Sean staring at him, confused.
"Not you—I mean, Sean—"
The second he saw Sean, Harry's panic, fear, and worry just… floated away.
He calmed down—a lot.
"You heard it too, Sean?"
Harry asked carefully.
"Yeah."
Sean got it. Because he'd always vouched for Snape, the kids in the Hope Cabin never pointed fingers at him.
This time Harry hadn't totally misread Snape either. He still thought the professor hated him, but at least he didn't think Snape wanted him dead.
"Professor Quirrell—he's after the Stone?"
Harry sounded like he was asking Sean and himself at the same time.
"What do we do, Sean?"
Back in the Hope Cabin, Harry spilled the intel. The round table was packed with wizards.
Everyone held their breath, waiting for Sean's answer.
The fireplace roared, lighting the room in flickering orange. Emergency meeting—no candles lit, so the kid in the head seat looked mysterious in the shadows.
Justin had gone quiet after his question. He was always a step ahead of the others.
He'd already pieced together some possibilities—stuff about a certain greatest white wizard's plan.
Neville was shaking. Hermione's brows were knotted tight. She suddenly remembered the stands—if she'd stopped Snape that day, would Quirrell have succeeded?
She pressed her lips together, panic rising, until she looked at Sean. That helped.
Sean had stopped her. Which meant… he might've known all along.
Sean sat at the head, not really thinking.
First year? Voldemort had a hundred ways to die—none of them got him the Stone.
As long as no kid got dragged to the fourth-floor corridor and used as a hostage, he'd never pass the Mirror of Erised. Only someone who didn't want the Stone could pull it out.
Dumbledore had clocked Quirrell's weirdness ages ago. The reason he hadn't dealt with it? Mostly to give Harry some real-world experience.
"Keep your distance from Quirrell, watch him. If something big happens, use this—"
Sean spoke softly and pulled out a stack of plain white paper.
"What's that?"
Everyone leaned in, curious. Ron whispered, puzzled.
Sean calmly wrote a name with a quill, picked up the sheet. It folded itself into a paper airplane and zipped through the table—seven seconds flat—right into Ron's hand.
"Seven-Second Paper Plane. Anywhere in Hogwarts, it gets there in seven seconds. Write the name ahead, then touch it and think the recipient's name when you send."
It was Professor Tella's contact method—reusable, and Sean had extras. Perfect timing.
Firelight danced on every face.
Leaving the cabin, everyone felt the weight of a mission.
Voldemort's lackey had infiltrated Hogwarts—
Harry and Ron weren't even sure if Dumbledore knew. Hermione and Justin were thinking deeper.
They didn't buy that Dumbledore was clueless. The headmaster clearly had a plan.
So the two of them carried a quiet anger:
"Dumbledore knows. But he's not fixing it—he's letting Hogwarts stay in danger. I don't think that's a good plan."
Hermione said it, mad.
She remembered the three-headed dog. She'd thought she was done for.
"You know what I just realized, Hermione?"
Justin nodded, agreeing. "Relying on other people doesn't work. Relying on ourselves—that's how we win."
Justin finally got why Sean never stopped studying magic.
In the corridor, he and Hermione walked in silence for a while.
Something in them had quietly shifted.