In the cold courtyard.
"You're sure about this?" Ron asked, uneasy.
"If there's another teacher nearby to hear it, I don't think he'll refuse. Everyone knows he made that rule up on the spot," Harry said, eyes set with resolve. What he didn't say was that he and Ron were agonizing over how to ask Sean— they wanted in on that mysterious place too.
And right now, on top of that, he'd managed to lose Hermione's book. Aggravating.
He went down to the staff room and knocked.
No answer. He knocked again—still nothing.
Maybe Snape left the book inside? Worth a try.
Harry pushed the door open a crack and peeked in—and froze at a grisly sight.
Only Snape and Filch were in the room. Snape had his robes hitched above the knee.
One leg was slick with blood, flesh mangled. Filch was handing him something.
"Damned thing," Snape muttered. "How are you supposed to watch three heads at once?"
"Oh—try this." Filch produced potion and bandages, which surprised Snape.
"I don't think—" he began, then heard a name from Filch that made his face darken in a heartbeat:
"Ah—ah, this—came from Green…"
Harry clapped a hand over his mouth and saw Sean slip past the corridor corner, a green-covered book in hand.
Catching sight of sneaking Harry, Sean gave a small nod: the book confiscated from Hermione had been retrieved from the caretaker's office.
"Merlin… Sean…" Harry thought he understood—he'd just worked up the nerve to go fetch the book, and Sean had already done it?
…
What fully united Ron and Harry was Neville's performance in Charms.
"Good, very good! Mr. Longbottom—excellent progress!" Flitwick's delighted voice nearly lifted the roof. He hurried to Neville, watching him float a small board back and forth—then neatly spin it twice.
A ring of first-years gawked and whispered.
Some said Sean knew a mysterious magic; Neville's daily disappearances meant he was going to Sean to be "enchanted," which made you very clever—what else could explain Longbottom's sudden improvement? His Levitation had leapfrogged many classmates.
Ron and Harry's reaction was to fixate even more on Sean. Would he take them in?
And Sean?
He'd been buried in Dark Arts and Transfiguration. Starting Thursday, Snape had been glowering over his Dark Arts progress almost every day—like Oliver Wood with the Gryffindor team: Wood demanded every second go to Quidditch; Snape demanded Sean devote every second to Dark Arts.
His exact words:
"Hah—our arrogant Mr. Green thinks himself talented… I've seen too many so-called 'prodigies'…"
He sounded ready to devour someone.
"And they all died—because they wasted time on things that don't matter!"
So, regardless, Sean's Dark Arts took a sharp step forward:
[You practiced Sectumsempra once at an Expert standard. Proficiency +50]
[You practiced Sectumsempra once at an Expert standard. Proficiency +50]
…
[Knockback Jinx: Expert (10/9000)]
[Sectumsempra: Adept (10/3000)]
[Advance: Three Beginner Dark spells unlock the Dark Arts—Beginner title]
Sean's Dark Arts title was still Apprentice, but two of his Dark spells were already at high proficiency. He'd even started working on nonverbal Sectumsempra.
Unfortunately, Dark Arts seemed to share the Charms principle: more and stronger together. So he was all the more eager for tomorrow's third Dark spell—Snape had said offense is crucial, but if you can't use control spells—Green, do you think you can beat everyone?
Sean wondered which spell it would be: Impedimenta (Hindering), Incarcerous (ropes), or Locomotor Mortis (Leg-Locker)?
Hogwarts didn't have many books on Dark Arts; he knew little that was precise. Not that he had a burning interest—yes, Dark Arts hit hard, but for sheer power Transfiguration was no slouch; for breadth and generality it practically crushed it.
More importantly, he didn't dare go too deep—the Dark Arts corrupt, and Hogwarts had a Headmaster who came down hard on them.
So he poured time into Transfiguration. He'd mastered intermediate work (two-way "dead object" ↔ "living creature") and part of advanced work: object → "magic" and multiple transfiguration.
Before long—on the day before the Quidditch match—
Sean could turn ground snow into a snowman that pelted snowballs on its own. It didn't last long—it kept hollowing itself out and caving in.
Meanwhile, in the courtyard, Sean frowned. The fire salamander was getting bigger—sometimes as big as a football. And it didn't listen.
It would whoosh into the air, spin like mad, crackle sparks, and make loud bangs. Thanks to the Quieting Charm, it crawled onto Hermione's book while she wasn't looking and sizzled it alight.
It felt like Sean's opposite—doing things he himself would never do.
Justin joked it was Sean's "inner demon" let loose. Sean didn't fully agree—even a demon wouldn't be so vile as to burn a book of knowledge.
But whenever Sean tried to make it obey, its size shrank in a rush—down to a tiny salamander.
He knew football-size probably wasn't its limit; if he poured in all his magic without restraint, he had no idea what monster he might create.
No wonder Transfiguration demands caution—Sean had learned that lesson all over again.