Professor Binns emerged straight through the wall, his head popping out first, followed by the rest of him.
The moment he appeared, the classroom temperature dipped a notch.
Sean noticed that up front, the flames on a few nearby candles had flickered blue.
"Emeric was a short-lived but savagely cruel dark wizard,
who met his end in a particularly bloody duel at the hands of Egbert..."
Professor Binns launched into the lesson the instant he materialized—no preamble, no roll call.
As a ghost, he couldn't be fussed with such things.
"Urric the Odd was an ancient eccentric wizard.
He became infamous for feats such as wearing a jellyfish like a hat...
He once slept in a room infested with no fewer than fifty doxies.
One especially damp winter,
Urric, hearing the doxies' cries, became convinced he'd died and turned into a ghost.
Urric then tried to pass through his own sitting room wall—a move that, as chronicler Radolphus Pittiman described, resulted in 'a ten-day concussion'..."
Professor Binns' voice carried those odd pauses and dragging inflections, making it all sound peculiar.
"I hear—say,"
Beside him, Michael suddenly mimicked the professor's drone,
drawing Anthony to pause his scribbling in the back row, and Terry to set aside his odd-shaped rune stone.
Even Sean tilted his head slightly.
Michael, with his knack for chatter, always had the latest gossip—and all three knew it.
"Professor Binns has been teaching at Hogwarts for yonks.
One day, this doddering old History of Magic prof nodded off by the staff room fire,
and when he woke—well, he just floated off to his next class.
Leaving his body behind!"
Michael painted the scene with flair,
Terry let out a hushed "Whoa!"
and Anthony arched a brow.
"The self-stirring cauldron,
is a charmed vessel that stirs potions on its own,
invented late in the twentieth century by Gaspard Shingleton..."
Professor Binns' voice echoed through the room, while nearly every first-year tuned out.
Some whispered, others flat-out slumped asleep.
Sean, who'd memorized the whole textbook, jotted notes diligently.
He'd noticed Western wizarding history felt patchy—Binns mostly spun yarns about figures and verified legends.
Key events, like the self-stirring cauldron, just tagged along with the personalities.
Binns' lessons lacked any clear thread—whether that was History of Magic being a muddle, or ghosts losing their logical edge post-mortem, Sean couldn't say.
But even in that scattershot mess, Sean pieced together a clear line,
a trick that always worked for history subjects.
He scribbled away, and the moment Binns wrapped up, Sean slid his parchment sideways.
Curious, Michael leaned over—and spotted a timeline threading neatly through every fact.
"Merlin's beard, Sean—you're a proper genius."
Michael muttered; those knotty bits suddenly stuck.
Sean shrugged it off, nodding faintly. That should hit 'Outstanding.'
Bell rang, and the first-years stirred like Sleeping Beauties waking.
Once Binns drifted out, they spilled into the corridor, chattering like mad.
"Sean, fancy a game of Fifteen-Square Chess?"
Michael invited with gusto.
"Nah."
Sean was intrigued by the unfamiliar game, but the greenhouses called.
"Fair enough."
Michael pouted, watching Sean vanish down the hall.
Heeding Bruce's tip, Sean halted before the first building.
The towering dome glittered in the sunlight, mirroring sky and drifting clouds.
The sturdy wooden frame looked ancient and solid, its dark-green paint flaking to reveal the wood beneath.
Pushing open the heavy door,
a wave of warm, humid air thick with life's tang rushed out to greet him.
Professor Sprout was mid-wand-wave, her motions practiced—muddy paths scoured clean in a blink.
"Mr. Greene, spot on time—mind clearing the clutter?"
As she spoke, she hefted a trowel, settling a dark-red plant deep in the greenhouse.
Sean peered close:
The long planting benches were a mess—little dirt divots, splashes of water, bits of plant debris, like the sticky, deep-green gillyweed scraps from the book.
"Scourgify!"
Sean nailed the incantation, flicking his wand from muscle memory.
[You have practiced Scourgify to apprentice standard. Proficiency +1]
Next instant, a stretch of bench gleamed fresh.
Sean focused, waving relentlessly:
"Scourgify!"
[You have practiced Scourgify to apprentice standard. Proficiency +1]
[You have practiced Scourgify to apprentice standard. Proficiency +1]
[You have practiced Scourgify to novice standard. Proficiency +3]
...
What a hardworking little sprout...
Professor Sprout watched the boy toil, her face alight with a fond smile.
Before collapse claimed him, Sean finished scrubbing the greenhouse spotless.
Professor Sprout flicked her wand,
and a glass of honey lemon floated to his hand.
"Sip some honey water and rest, Mr. Greene."
Sean eyed the pristine benches, a swell of pride rising—
though mostly from the Scourgify's sixty-six proficiency bump.
[Name: Sean Greene]
[Identity: Wizard]
[Titles: Charms Novice, Transfiguration Apprentice]
[Proficiency]
[Wingardium Leviosa: Apprentice (4/300)]
[Lumos: Apprentice (1/300)]
[Scourgify: Apprentice (70/300)]
[Transfiguration: Apprentice (3/900)]
[Herbology Knowledge: Locked (27/90)]
[Advancement: Three novice-level charms—unlock Charms domain novice title]
[Advancement: Novice-level transfiguration—unlock Transfiguration domain novice title]
[Wizard Talents]
[Charms: Green]
[Transfiguration: Pale Purple]
A world away from days ago.
Sean sipped the honey lemon, the sweetness blooming on his tongue—he squinted in bliss.
Delicious.
A hundred times better than the orphanage's bitter tea.
He pocketed his wand, perching on the stool Sprout had conjured, an idea surfacing:
Odd jobs are fine, but focus now—learn herb processing.
"Professor, could I help you with the herbs proper?"
Sean blurted; Professor Sprout paused en route to the oak workbench at the far end,
"Welcome aboard—I mean, why ever not?"
She blinked; Sean abandoned his drink, trotting after the plump professor.