Another day, Shawn emerged from the dungeons. He carefully erased all traces of his brewing work, so thoroughly that even Justin's careful scrutiny found nothing suspicious.
Not long after, lightning flashed across the sky. It was clear that today's Hogwarts would bring another day of thunderous storms. Outside the castle, rain fell steadily. Shawn read in the library.
The magical crystal lamps cast soft, warm light. Madam Pince habitually glanced at Shawn as she passed by this section. If Hermione's six hours daily in the library could be called diligent, then Shawn, who opened the library doors with Madam Pince each morning and closed the oak doors each evening, could almost be called her assistant.
At least for the books on this row of shelves, Shawn would help organize them. Not because Shawn loved helping others, but because after roughly skimming all the books once, tidying them became easy work.
Occasionally, Madam Pince would tell Shawn which books had real substance and which were merely padding. Shawn was deeply grateful for this. Madam Pince wasn't as unfriendly as young wizards claimed. At least when she saw Shawn's History of Magic notes, she'd willingly discuss them with him for a while. She was also willing to share pastries with Shawn, although not in the library itself, but rather when the library opened in the early morning and closed at night.
Those pastries from Justin had been circulating widely recently. Who knew how he convinced the house-elves to let him enter Hogwarts' kitchens, but his culinary skills were indeed first-rate. Perhaps Hufflepuffs were born with an innate talent for food magic. Justin's improved pastries had recently been receiving praise. Even Hermione would eat two large pastries at once, puffing her cheeks out. As for Shawn, he was generally the first to try them.
Outside the window, rain pattered softly on the fertile soil. The Scottish highlands were shrouded in layers of mist. The nights here were always golden and cozy. When the damp breeze carrying the scent of the earth brushed Shawn's cheeks, his emerald eyes would always flash with a magical radiance.
"You need to be more determined. Your left hand's arc should be larger. Most importantly, believe you can do it—believe you can break free from gravity," Shawn said softly, correcting Justin's Levitation Charm once again.
Due to constant practice, Shawn's progress in Charms had far exceeded that of other first-year students in just over a week. Even Hermione would pause to carefully consider his teaching. Shawn never minded sharing knowledge. He was happy to share Charms experience after practice when exhausted.
The only thing troubling Shawn lately was that Professor Snape had been brewing potions far too frequently. These days, Shawn and Professor Snape existed in a peculiar state: entering the dungeons, if Professor Snape wasn't there, then Shawn was; if Shawn wasn't there, then Professor Snape was. Through this careful dance of avoidance, Shawn's Potions proficiency had surpassed two-thirds completion. Yet Shawn still felt urgency. He'd been at school for a week and a half. This progress was too slow. So he made a decision. Even without confirmation of Professor Snape's whereabouts, he would go brew potions.
At least before this week ended, he had to complete his Potions training. This was the guarantee Shawn needed to progress further. In the talent-based magical world, differences between wizards of different talents were always significant. Shawn understood this deeply.
Ravenclaw Common Room
Since the flying lesson announcement, nearly every first-year student had been talking enthusiastically about Quidditch.
"Many believe the Chudley Cannons' glory days are over, but even more believe they'll recapture yesterday's brilliance! After all, the Chudley Cannons have won the League Cup twenty-one times!" Michael held a poster in one hand while steadying a chair with the other, spouting grand claims.
On the poster, Chudley Cannons players wore bright orange robes decorated with a speeding cannonball and two black letters "C."
"Oh, all right Michael, but can you explain their motto? Before 1972, it was 'We will conquer all,' but how did it become 'Let us all cross our fingers and be optimistic'?" A tall, thin young wizard suddenly laughed and spoke.
"That doesn't count!" Michael seemed poked at a sore spot. Then came remarks like "slogans made by management," "nothing to do with the team," "you don't understand the Chudley Cannons' glory"—leaving everyone red-faced with laughter.
"Really depressing..." Finally, even Michael himself couldn't help sighing before helplessly spreading his hands.
The warm fireplace burned brightly. Shawn happened to pass by, looking pale. Behind him was Anthony, pretending to read but whose gaze never left Shawn—he was always half a step behind.
"Oh! Shawn, Anthony!" Sharp-eyed Michael spotted them, hurrying over enthusiastically. He casually hooked onto Shawn's arm, and several people sat together on chairs in the Ravenclaw Common Room.
Above, the velvet seat cushions had worn slightly with age, glowing with soft luster. Scattered about were star-patterned cushions and low stools with deep purple, ink blue, or bronze silk padding, randomly placed on Persian flying carpets or velvet carpets, like scattered constellations.
The enthusiastic discussion voices mixed with the pattering rain outside. Shawn also took a breather in the common room. The Ravenclaws discussed various Quidditch teams from Britain and Ireland. They'd already forgotten their previous boasting about Quidditch techniques.
Shawn slowly took out Quidditch Through the Ages. One had to admit, this book was indeed very interesting. For example:
[The Falmouth Falcons are known for their rough, tough playing style. They boast famous Beaters Kevin and Karl Brockurst. The team's motto is: "Let us win, but if we cannot, let us at least break a few heads."]
Quite intimidating, one could say.
Suddenly, Shawn noticed the surrounding discussion had stopped. He inexplicably looked up to find six or seven heads crowding around.
"Shawn, you borrowed Quidditch Through the Ages?" Michael's exclamation broke the silence first.
"Shawn, can I look?" Shawn heard Michael ask somewhat embarrassedly.
Long-black-haired Anthony couldn't help sighing at his own lack of resolve. He glanced casually. Terry was still observing raindrops by the stained glass window—he'd been there for three hours. Anthony sighed again.
Shawn nodded and generously placed the book on the table.
Young wizards immediately erupted in clamor. "Let me see too, Michael." "Me, me, and me." Even young wizards who owned this book couldn't resist joining in. Could Madam Pince's precious book compare with their own copy?
"Oh—everyone, I think we should be careful..." Michael's voice carried away with the wind and rain outside.
Shawn thought of tomorrow's plan again. That's right—tomorrow, as long as Professor Snape wasn't in the dungeons, even without confirming the professor's location and ensuring safety, Shawn would risk brewing potions. He was just six proficiency points away. The most difficult scholarship fragment was finally about to be completed.