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"I can't believe I forgot…" Ron muttered.
"What?" Hermione frowned.
Ron's eyes lit up with that familiar mischievous spark. "Think about it—could Sirius Black actually beat Sean?"
Hermione thought for half a second, then shook her head.
She hated admitting it, but Sean wasn't in the same league as the rest of them anymore. Hagrid had said Sean's magic was already professor-level, and Hermione didn't doubt it for a second.
"So… Sean's going to Hogsmeade to keep us safe?" she guessed.
"Exactly," Ron said, then immediately flushed bright red.
He'd just remembered they were supposed to be fighting.
Hermione saw the guilty, stormy look on his face and remembered too. The two of them went right back to glaring at each other.
…
Out in the corridor, Sean could still hear the excited chatter rolling through the castle.
From the way the third-years talked, you'd think visiting every single shop in Hogsmeade was a sacred duty.
"Dervish and Banges, the magical equipment shop, Zonko's—then three butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks, and loads of other places… Merlin, is there any day better than tomorrow?"
"I'm hitting the post office first, Ernie! They've got nearly two hundred owls up on perches, all color-coded so you know exactly how fast your letter will get there!"
"Honeydukes just released a new milk-chew toffee—they're doing free samples!"
"Anything can happen at the Three Broomsticks—last time someone swore they saw a hag in there, I'm serious—"
"I just want a butterbeer. That stuff warms you right down to your toes—"
Sean walked through the noisy crowd, quietly mapping out tomorrow's real plans.
A stop at the Hog's Head was non-negotiable. If he was lucky, he might learn what Lupin had meant by "changes" in the wizarding world. After that, he'd head to Gringotts with Professor Quirrell.
Nowhere else in Britain had more goblins in one place.
As for whether the goblins would share their ancient contract magic, Quirrell had assured him they were open to it.
"Goblins are shrewd creatures," Quirrell had said. "Give them enough profit and there's almost nothing they won't trade."
That had eased Sean's mind a little.
By now the mountain of Galleons sitting in his Gringotts vault put him in the top tier of wealthy wizards. He honestly didn't know exactly how rich he was anymore.
The sky slowly darkened. The honey-colored castle lost its sweet glow as the sunset burned red along the horizon.
Halloween Eve slipped away fast.
Sean spent the whole day grinding his Dark Arts and Transfiguration proficiencies. Late that evening, Snape gave him an odd errand: deliver two bottles of potion to the Defense Against the Dark Arts office.
Wolfsbane Potion.
It eased a werewolf's transformation and kept them from losing their mind once they changed. The drinker stayed rational and turned into an ordinary, listless wolf, but it didn't cure the bite itself.
Damocles had invented the complex brew in the late twentieth century. Not many potion masters could even make it.
Luckily, Sean had learned the recipe not long ago.
Snape had only given a curt nod of approval—like Sean had finally scraped past the professor's repeatedly lowered passing line.
The real winners were the Gryffindors. Their nightmare—Professor Hook-Nose—hadn't taken a single point from them for minor mistakes all week.
Defense Against the Dark Arts office.
Sean floated the books and two potion bottles beside him and knocked.
"Mr. Green," Lupin said, opening the door at once.
His eyes landed on the floating potions and widened. He gave Sean a quick, unreadable look, then a faint grimace crossed his face.
"Time already… What can I do for you…"
"I'm delivering your Wolfsbane Potion," Sean cut in, stepping inside.
A large tank stood in the corner. An ugly green creature with pointed horns pressed its face to the glass, making grotesque faces and flexing its long, spindly fingers.
"That's a Grindylow I just received—lesson plan for next class," Lupin explained, watching the creature. "Shouldn't give you any trouble, especially after you've handled a Kappa. The trick is to break its grip. Notice those freakishly long fingers? Strong, but brittle."
The Grindylow bared its green teeth, then retreated into a tangle of waterweed at the bottom of the tank.
"Tea?" Lupin asked, hunting for his kettle. "I was just about to make some."
Sean nodded quietly.
Lupin tapped the kettle with his wand; steam poured from the spout.
"Snape was kind enough to brew this for me," he said, eyeing the bottles. "I'm not much of a potioneer, and this one's particularly tricky."
He lifted a cup, sniffed, then took a sip and shuddered.
Sean stayed silent.
Wolfsbane didn't work with sugar.
"Ah, two bottles. No wonder—he's not in the castle tomorrow," Lupin added.
"Not in the castle?" Sean asked, curious.
Snape had been patrolling nonstop lately.
"Of course…" Lupin gave Sean a long, complicated look.
His gaze drifted to the Dark Arts books floating beside Sean. He had studied those same volumes during his own time at Hogwarts, back before Dumbledore had them locked away.
Very similar…
Lupin lowered his eyes.