Chapter 72: Corridor Confrontation
In the dungeon,
Professor Snape's grim gaze shifted, inch by inch, toward a corner Shawn could not see.
The truth was so simple, and so very... cutting.
No plot. No greed. Only the clumsy efforts of a thin, small wizard, doing everything he could to study.
Proving it would be simple. So simple that Snape stood in silence for a long time.
Shawn, for his part, was thoughtful. He looked down at the open notebook and understood at once.
Right. Quidditch really was a raw nerve for Professor Snape. How had he failed to notice?
He quickly reviewed the way he had drifted off course these last few days and found the beginning of it all in that warm afternoon.
The one where Professor McGonagall had smiled and listened to him talk and talk.
Next time, he would bring a new notebook.
So thought Shawn.
By then, the Swelling Solution had reached its final stage.
Without hesitation, he began the improved ritual. He sank his mind and body into the viscous brew, felt the fine magical currents inside the cauldron clear again, and guided them into fusion with careful hands.
And then—
[You completely brewed one cauldron of Scourgebusting Potion at Proficient standard, Proficiency +10]
Shawn went white in an instant, but he did not rest. He decanted the potion into crystal vials and doused the flame.
When he left the dungeon, there were ten Galleons in his hand.
He blinked, then counted out seven and set them back in Professor Snape's palm.
"You gave too much, Professor. Ordinary Deflating Draught does not sell for more than five Galleons on the market."
He said it and began to pack his bag.
The black bag had faded, like old clothes bleached pale by the sun. The edges had gone gray, as if dust had settled in a thin film. The surface that should have been smooth had gone fuzzy in places. Here and there, it had begun to crack, the light threads showing beneath.
Granny Milan had given him the bag. He had used it ever since.
In the corridor,
Shawn laid out his plan in his head. Aguamenti and Accio were now at Entry-level; next was the grind for the Levitation Charm.
By the end of the week, it had to be done.
Only a bit more than a week remained before a month was up.
The schedule was tight, but within control. He could cast more than a dozen Proficient Levitation Charms in a run. With Professor Snape's restorative potion, he could push proficiency gains past six hundred a day.
Proficient required nine hundred. Shawn guessed Expert would not be more than three thousand.
If he immersed himself in spells and potions for an entire day, he estimated he could clear nine hundred easily.
The Quick-Quotes Quill danced and took down his thoughts.
He did not notice the shadow not far behind him in which a wizard with a darkened face stood.
It was only a simple test of whether the boy's words were true.
Snape slipped back into the darkness.
Meanwhile, at the far end of another corridor,
Hermione moved beneath the quiet portraits, a letter clutched in her hand, hurrying toward the great suit of armor of the knight.
Harry, perhaps to make up for the fright of that night, had earnestly shared his suspicions about the three-headed dog and said that if Hermione wished, they could talk.
"If that package has to do with Headmaster Dumbledore, then those two need to realize how dangerous this is. They might even ruin the Headmaster's plans."
Muttering to herself, she quickened her pace.
A strange sound came from the corridor, and Hermione turned. It was Theodore and his lot.
Seeing him brought back the morning's Charms class in a flash.
As always, Professor Flitwick had set a hard question.
She and Theodore both raised their hands. Of course, the professor called on her, and Gryffindor earned a point.
But Theodore had glared and kept thrusting his hand up to compete. Hermione did not care and lowered her hand for one of the harder questions.
And when Professor Flitwick called on him for that harder question, he could not answer. He stood there with nothing to say.
"Oh, look who it is. Miss Granger, all puffed up, coming from the library to answer the next question no one asked you?"
Theodore Nott's drawl came with a paper-thin smile. The two Slytherins behind him gave rough, hoarse laughs.
"If you spent your time reviewing The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 instead of wandering the corridors looking for someone to bother, Nott, you might not have stood there like a pricked slug this afternoon," Hermione said, folding her arms. She tried to keep her voice even, but she spoke fast, her irritation showing through.
Theodore Nott's face went dark. He stepped closer. "What did you say? Do you think you are something, then? Just because Flitwick favors bookworms like you, especially a little—"
His gaze slid over her as he hunted for a word to wound.
"If you say what you are about to say, I promise my fist will be in your face."
Justin came from the corner at that moment. He planted himself in front of Hermione alone and met the three Slytherins with a cold stare.
"Let me guess. Another one of—"
Theodore flinched for a heartbeat at the force in him, but when he saw Justin was alone, he found his sneer again.
"Mudblood."
The word froze the air. Hermione's cheeks flushed with fury. Justin—
Before Theodore could finish, Justin's fist crashed into his face and twisted his features.
Theodore staggered, then went down, nose bleeding fast.
"How dare you—"
His shout rang down the corridor.
"My mother told me that for trash like you, without courage or decency, force can buy equality. And my father told me that with vermin like you, I can beat three."
Before the other two could react, Justin's fist landed in Theodore's face again. His eyes went blank.
Then the other Slytherins raised their wands, but—
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Their wands flew up and away. Justin breathed out in delight.
"Shawn!"
"Oh, Shawn," he said, darting over with a sudden nervousness. "We may have just broken school rules."
Shawn cast a glance at the three Slytherins.
"It's fine," he said, and pulled Hermione away, who still held her wand aloft and glared at the other two. "Move."
He urged them on.
Because a man in black robes and cloak had stepped from the shadow.
And his eyes looked ready to kill.