"Ghosts really are strange—there's the friendly Fat Friar, Nearly Headless Sir Nick, and there's even a professor…"
Justin opened his homework, on which he'd sketched a rough outline.
"Oh, if only he didn't suddenly get muddle-headed. Cedric said he's never seen a first-year assignment this long. He tried to track down Professor Binns and never found him. And even if he had, I doubt it would've changed anything. A one-foot essay—Merlin… it's just too much. Sean, did you finish?"
Embarrassed, Justin shut his assignment. Hope flickered in his eyes.
"Mm." Sean nodded, then took a sheet of parchment and a light-blue notebook from his bag. The parchment held the essay pointers Michael and the others had written down; the light-blue notebook was Sean's condensed, organized History of Magic. He had another identical notebook for mapping his thoughts and ideas.
"Merlin! Sean, you really finished it?!" Justin blurted, then clapped a hand over his mouth. "I mean, I didn't think this would stump you, but every time it happens I still can't quite believe it… Are we really in the same year…?" The end of his sentence trailed off to a whisper.
"I'll just look at your outline a little—I won't copy your work. If I do that, may I never be allowed in the kitchens again." Justin suddenly vowed, earnest grey-blue eyes showing sincerity—and a shy hint of nerves.
"Mm."
Sean set the notebook in Justin's hands and left the Great Hall for the library.
Morning is when his energy is highest; that's when Sean tackles the tougher jobs. For example: fully re-threading History of Magic—synthesizing Modern Magical History, Important Magical Events of the Twentieth Century, Directory of Contemporary Magicians, and more—into a framework all his own. He was sure it would help him earn an Outstanding in the subject.
The library's oak tables were a warm reddish brown, flanked by magical lanterns, crystal spheres, and little flower arrangements. Sean was immersed in the oddities of magical history—wizards truly had a knack for spectacle. For instance:
[Non-magic people (more commonly known as Muggles) were particularly afraid of magic in medieval times, but not very good at recognising it. On the rare occasion that they did catch a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect whatsoever. The witch or wizard would perform a basic Flame-Freezing Charm and then pretend to shriek with pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation. Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed being burnt so much that she allowed herself to be caught no fewer than forty-seven times in various disguises.]
It was nothing like the witch-burning tragedies Sean had imagined—nor like the wizards he'd pictured.
After finishing his notes on the Middle Ages, he had to face the old question again: where was he going to find potion ingredients?
Maybe Professor Sprout had leftovers she didn't need? Maybe he could buy some in Hogsmeade—if he found a secret passage out of the castle? Maybe he could ask Professor Sprout whether first-years were allowed to use Hogwarts' stores after class to brew—and then practice in secret?
High risk—he'd have to be careful. Still, there are more solutions than problems. Sean opened his notebook to sort out the tangle of ideas—then froze at the first page:
[Emmerich was a short-lived but exceptionally vicious dark wizard…]
He flipped on:
[Uric, upon hearing the cry of Augureys, became convinced he had died and turned into a ghost…]
That's not right!
Back in the Great Hall, Justin was absorbed in the parchment, eyes intent as he let out little murmurs: "Oh… you can write it like that… genius…" He opened the light-blue notebook with a flash of insight—and his hand hung in midair.
[Find ingredients for brewing]
"Sean wants to practice brewing on his own?" was his first thought. "Sean's worried he has no ingredients?" was his second.
"I have some," was his last.
He carefully tucked away the parchment and notebook and sprinted back to the Hufflepuff common room before Herbology began. Vines draped everywhere; the tables always held steaming milk, pumpkin juice, and all sorts of sweets and pies. He followed a candlelit path to the dorm and opened a luxurious trunk. Among the scattered letters and postcards were jars and crystal vials of every kind. Look closely and you'd find two full sets of all the potion ingredients a first-year might need.
He remembered the talk at Slug & Jiggers Apothecary:
"Are you sure you want one of everything?"
"Yes, please."
"Oh, my generous lady, I hate to mislead someone as lovely as yourself… but these potion ingredients aren't on Hogwarts' required list. Even so, do you still want them?"
"Precisely because of that—pack two of everything, sir."
Only now did Justin dimly grasp his mother's foresight.
"Dear Finch-Fletchley, if something is common, you should have a better one. If no one has it, you should. Little expenses are the investments you're meant to make. And the best investment, darling—you know this—is always sincerity and love."
"I think I get it…"
Justin gazed a long time at the overstuffed trunk. The collar of his ever-crisp white shirt seemed to hold a trace of his mother's iron's warmth.
Hogwarts Library.
Sean stepped through the arch, waiting for the staircase to swing around. He had no intention of hunting Justin down to reclaim the notebook; Herbology was second period this morning. Besides, there was nothing secret in it—just a few herb-processing notes and the idea of finding potion ingredients. After class, he could swap Justin for the truly useful notes and get the notebook back.
Eight o'clock. Soft sunlight danced on the armor; the greenhouse's grassy scent drifted even into the outer corridor. Sean pushed open the oak door. A few first-years had already trickled in. He saw Professor Sprout put down her hoe and give him a squinty smile and nod.
"Over here, Sean!"
Michael hooked him by the arm and hauled him over to Anthony and Terry. "Why do I feel like the professor's looking at you?" he said, craning his neck.
~~~
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