"Sean! Sean!"
A familiar voice halted him mid-stride.
In the corridor outside the greenhouse,
the sunset's glow spilled through, gilding the Gothic stained-glass wizard nearby into something dashing.
"Bruce."
Sean nodded in greeting, about to press on toward the greenhouse.
"You're off to see Professor Sprout, aren't you?
I'd turn back if I were you—
she's headed to Greenhouse Three. First-years aren't allowed."
Bruce, books in arm, waited for Sean's reply after the heads-up.
"...Thanks for the tip."
Sean stopped dead, a flicker of lost in his eyes.
If Professor Sprout wasn't about...
With his Herbology knowledge where it stood, forget processing—just spotting the basics would be a slog.
And he hadn't a clue which herbs to tackle.
"You really are mad for magical plants..."
Seeing Sean's eager gaze dim, Bruce felt like he'd kicked a Hippogriff—wretched, utterly.
He sighed, snapping his book shut.
"As a rule, Sprout only lingers in Three for a spell.
Tomorrow after lessons, you should catch her in One."
At that,
Sean's eyes lit up; he nodded solemnly.
"Thanks."
"No sweat. Oh—and here."
Sean glanced over, puzzled, as a shadow flashed—a wedge of cheese now in his hand.
"Dragon's milk cheese.
Though Enchantments of Cheese revised the recipe for it,
I still reckon the original's tastier. Loads do."
Bruce crossed his arms with a grin.
"Snack swap—Hufflepuff tradition. Even if you're Ravenclaw, who cares?"
While Sean inspected the cheese, Bruce legged it briskly away.
Sean caught the murmurs echoing from the corridor's end.
"I think the new one's better."
"Agreed."
"Pist, Leon! You heretics!
Don't make me this cross right after I've played it cool!"
"He thinks he's so suave..."
"Leon, this time it kinda..."
"Fine, Pist—you're right.
I mean, well played—that's proper Hufflepuff.
Bruce, you sly fox."
...
New versus original?
Sean figured it was like the old salty-vs-sweet doufu nao debate from his past life.
Good thing he favored spicy.
He checked the sky—better knock out what he'd been itching to do:
pay a visit to the Hogwarts library.
Imagine: thousands upon thousands of tomes, all free!
That alone had Sean—fresh off bleeding Galleons on books—drooling.
Never mind finishing homework there.
Solid assignments? Bound to factor into Headmaster Dumbledore's scholarship weigh-in.
The Hogwarts library sprawled across the castle's second floor, lined with over a thousand shelves groaning under tens of thousands of volumes.
It split into three zones:
One: the general stacks.
Here, Sean spied endless racks like a dense wood,
stretching out as if by right, vanishing into shadowy depths.
Not all uniform—some stepped high and low,
tops reachable only by rickety rolling ladders that creaked in protest.
Around the hefty oak tables in the midst sat scattered students, heads down,
faces lit by hovering crystal orbs, quills rasping across parchment.
Sean strained but couldn't spot the Restricted Section at the back—
that legendary lair where Voldemort unearthed Advanced Potion-Making and lost his marbles.
Where the trio nabbed Moste Potente Potions and whipped up Polyjuice.
...
A proper treasure trove.
The third zone: the Invisibility Section, crammed with tomes on cloaking charms.
No earthly how to find it.
Musing, Sean shouldered his satchel for a seat—then clocked Justin mouthing furiously.
"Sean! Here!" (lip-read)
So Sean quick-marched over to Justin and Hermione.
"Where do you disappear to? Every meal's done, poof—gone."
Hermione tilted her chin, concern twisting into an interrogation.
"Greenhouse."
Sean didn't mind a bit.
"Oh—I mean, right. So, d'you know how to tell ripe dittany?"
Hermione caught her sharp tone too late, fumbling for a save, blurting her puzzle instead.
"Dittany's got a faint muttony scent; when ripe, it thickens up."
Sean echoed Bruce's wisdom verbatim—felt odd, like passing on some sacred lore.
"You know!"
Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth; it'd been a throwaway ask, not expecting Sean to have it cold.
"That's what you picked up in the greenhouse?"
Sean nodded—close enough.
"I knew it!"
Justin beamed prouder than Sean himself,
leaving Hermione a touch flushed.
"But I memorized the whole first-year book—nothing on it."
Hermione's ears pinked; she asked in a small voice.
"Mm—did the same. Nothing there."
Sean agreed utterly.
"Merlin—you too?!"
Hermione muffled again, peeking warily from behind a hefty brown tome,
scanning till Madam Pince was busy scolding a first-year—then exhaled.
"So you're...?!"
Her eyes sparkled, kindred spirit spotted.
"A Hufflepuff senior told me while I helped Professor Sprout with the herbs."
Sean wrapped up, pulling A History of Magic and parchment—he'd tackle that essay first.
Hermione and Justin swapped baffled looks—Eh?
If Professor Binns hadn't muddled inches for feet, the homework would've been light,
but the old ghost was clearly doolally, landing them with a full foot's worth.
Near a third of a meter.
The post-lesson rush had blinded the first-years to the trap,
but soon Sean glimpsed Michael and crew at the second oak table, faces twisted in agony.
"Three feet! Even maxing spacing and script, I can't!"
A yelp rang out; the library turned pitying eyes on Michael.
Too late—he clapped his mouth, but Madam Pince stormed over, heels clacking like thunder.
Sean propped his book as a shield, mouthing a silent RIP, then off to gather books for the essay.
The assignment loomed large, but for Sean? Child's play.
Modern Magical History, three Galleons;
Notable Twentieth-Century Magical Events, four;
Contemporary Wizards of Note, five...
Sean aimed high on price tags.
Fancy tomes weren't always gems, but they cost.
Once, he'd never touched them.
Now? Free for the taking.