"—and he didn't even apologize!"
Peeves yanked the little witch's cheek hard enough to make her burst into tears as she ran off.
Sean quietly flicked his wand without a word; at least her hat floated politely back to her.
"Th-thank you," the girl sniffled, looking like a drowned kneazle.
"Sorry about that," Sean said.
He stared after Peeves for a long second, seriously questioning whether recruiting that poltergeist had been one of his brighter ideas.
Early morning.
Sunlight poured over the castle turrets, and Hogwarts was waking up fast. The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was already buzzing again as the students filed in, chattering like a flock of excited pixies.
Ever since the "house-elf disaster," Lockhart had sworn off bringing live creatures to class. Now he just read huge chunks from his own books out loud, occasionally acting out the dramatic bits with way too much enthusiasm.
He'd tried to rope Sean into helping once. Sean had shut that down instantly.
These days Harry was the usual victim. So far Harry had been forced to play:
- A simple Transylvanian villager "cured" of a Bubbling Curse (Harry spent the whole scene pretending to blow soap bubbles), and
A vampire who, after meeting the great Gilderoy Lockhart, now refused to eat anything except lettuce.
Today Harry got dragged to the front again, this time as a werewolf.
While Harry half-heartedly growled and clawed at the air, Ron's face turned the color of a ripe tomato from trying not to laugh. Hermione sighed.
"Ron, Harry's already suffering enough."
"Yeah, but watch, he's about to do the howl."
Hermione's lips twitched. She lost the battle and cracked up. Ron wheezed beside her.
Even Neville glanced up from his copy of Standard Spells (right next to Sean's neatly organized notes) to watch the show.
Harry looked ready to hex someone by the time the bell finally rang.
"Homework!" Lockhart beamed, wiping fake sweat from his brow. "Write a poem about my triumph over the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! The best one wins a signed copy of Magical Me!"
That was Sean's cue.
He started toward the front, but someone beat him to it.
"Professor Lockhart," Justin Finch-Fletchley said smoothly, "I'd love to check out one of the books you mentioned. There's just so much to learn from them."
"My dear Mr. Finch-Fletchley! A true fan!" Lockhart practically glowed, snatching the slip Justin held out. "You, Mr. Glenn, and Miss Granger, all perfect scores on the quiz! Here, have an extra autograph—"
He scrawled a gigantic, loopy signature across the permission slip and then signed Justin's copy of Gadding with Ghouls for good measure.
When Justin closed the book, Sean caught a glimpse of a second slip stuck to the inside cover under a Disillusionment Charm that was only just wearing off.
Sean and Justin shared the briefest look. Message received.
"I still can't believe it," Harry muttered as they left the classroom. "You guys went through all that just for a restricted-section slip?"
Justin gave a tiny nod and handed the note to Sean.
"He didn't even read it…" Harry shook his head.
"Because he's a brainless git," Ron said cheerfully. He finally understood why Sean had bothered acing that ridiculous quiz.
They split up in the corridor: Harry to Quidditch practice, Neville muttering new charms under his breath, Hermione tagging along with Sean and Justin.
Nobody was particularly shocked that Sean needed another restricted-book pass. If the library ever hired a student assistant for the Restricted Section, he'd get the job without applying; half the school had seen him unlocking the gates with Madam Pince at the crack of dawn.
"I, er… accidentally saw the permission form," Justin said, hugging his newly signed book. "Glad I could help."
"You have no idea," Sean answered.
Justin actually blinked in surprise at the genuine gratitude.
Hermione was practically vibrating, staring at the slip like it was made of gold.
Then Justin casually flipped open Gadding with Ghouls. Tucked inside was a whole stack of blank permission forms, each one already bearing Lockhart's flamboyant signature, ready to be filled in.
"Just peel one off and stick it on whatever book you want," Justin said with a shy grin, handing one to Hermione. "Now we can explore the library's secrets whenever we like."
Hermione's eyes went comically wide.
…
The sun was blazing gold again, the kind of perfect post-rainy-day weather that makes everyone forgive the storm. The Quidditch team was thrilled to finally train without getting pelted by freezing rain and mud.
Harry, for one, was tired of the magic mirror in the locker room shrieking, "You look like a filthy dishrag!" every time he walked in.
Sean cut across the edge of the pitch on his way to Hagrid's hut, the map tucked safely in his pocket. He wasn't heading to the library just yet; Advanced Transfiguration was breathing down his neck, and thanks to his system panel, his power-ups stacked fast. Once he cracked certain tricks, [Skilled]-level material transfiguration had shot forward twice as quickly as he'd expected.
A warm breeze blew in from the Forbidden Forest. Byte had already trotted off with a stolen biscuit to go play with Fang. Tira, far more subdued, just poked her little head out of Sean's pocket to watch the world go by.
Sean was running silent calculations on his progress, thinking about what the Sorting Hat had said about "timing," when he spotted a gaggle of first-year girls near the Black Lake. They were giggling and skipping away, leaving one person behind.
"The ground is alive," a dreamy voice sang. "It rises and falls every day because it's sneezing."
Luna Lovegood sat alone on the lake's edge, legs dangling, no shoes, no socks either, bare feet swinging over the water. The grass was still damp and muddy in places from last night's rain.
She heard the soft crunch of someone stepping on the grass and turned her head, pale eyes catching the purple-blue reflection of the post-storm sky.