Professor Flitwick really did look busy.
After a quick check of their Charms progress, leaving a few notes, and awarding a handful of points, he hurried out of the room.
Sean's shorthand quill captured all his words:
"The classroom that chooses bright young minds never chooses wrong. Children, you've done very well! But let me say: if you can make a feather turn, why not try it on that little table? I don't encourage first-years to jump ahead to difficult spells, but for those with talent, I suggest you seize it and finish the fun charms in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1—the Summoning Charm and Aguamenti are extremely practical. I hope these notes help."
As he spoke kindly, Flitwick gave Sean an almost careless wink.
"When you've barely learned what first-years must know, you'll find the mystery of silent spellwork waiting for you—there's never too much knowledge!"
And with that, he bustled out of the practice room.
"Just like Miss Clearwater—she finished all this year's spells, so I encouraged her to try silent casting… Oh, I'd better hurry, or this time who knows what Miss Clearwater will set on fire… Last time—if I recall—Professor Quirrell's turban…"
Sean blinked. Ravenclaw's prefect… that bold?
"Right, I need to tell you a secret." Hermione spoke up while Sean was still spaced out. As he'd guessed, he and Justin settled on either side of her.
The three of them huddled into the sofa, letting dusk fall while the lanternlight cast a serious, dreamlike glow.
"Do you remember what Headmaster Dumbledore said?" Hermione asked, steady.
"'Let the feast begin'?" Justin offered.
"'Those who do not wish to die a most painful death should not enter the corridor on the right-hand side of the fourth floor'?" Sean added.
Justin and Sean traded a look—surprise in each other's eyes.
"Sean, that wasn't what you were most concerned about?" Justin sounded genuinely puzzled.
Sean thought for a moment. "I misspoke."
"You two!" Hermione puffed her cheeks and thumped the table. Justin instantly ducked like a quail; Sean's presence seemed to shrink as well.
"Headmaster Dumbledore was right—if you don't want a horrible death, don't go there…" Hermione said, voice dropping.
Sean noticed Justin tense. "So… you went in, Hermione? And? Are you okay?"
"I didn't mean to break the rules, it was Harry…" They both started at once—Hermione broke off halfway.
"…Hermione, I don't care about rules, and I don't care about Harry. I care about one thing: are you okay?" Justin said, pausing; the word "horrible" put a tremor in his voice.
Sean saw Hermione's eyes redden. "I… I'm fine," she said blankly. "Actually… almost died."
Justin shot to his feet; Sean heard his breath hitch. "Harry Potter? That Harry Potter? What did he do?! Damn it, I'm going to find him and get answers!"
Sean gently caught Justin's sleeve. His reason seemed to leave with Hermione's daze—and return at Sean's light tug. "Maybe we hear Hermione out first. Harry isn't going to vanish, right?" he said softly.
Lightning ripped the sky outside, thunder rolling soon after—Scottish weather, ever fickle. But a snug little den was enough to shut out the rain.
"Gryffindor cowards—good for nothing but dragging others down," Justin muttered, livid.
Hermione's account made it plain. To Justin, Harry was a fool duped into a duel, Ron a fool who smacked Peeves and sent everyone into panic—useless and dangerous both. While Hermione, full of house pride—stopping them from sneaking around and opening doors with spells—was the one dragged into it! If he'd been there, he'd have knocked their heads together with a muddy boot.
Something felt off to Sean, but he couldn't put a finger on it.
"It was a three-headed dog—teeth that could crush a skull, corrosive drool," Hermione said. As she spoke, the panic ebbed and last night's sleeplessness found her. "It must be guarding something… a trapdoor…"
Thinking aloud, she drifted into a steady sleep. Justin's anger peaked; he tucked a blanket around her and, expressionless, headed for the door.
Sean sighed. He didn't need to guess what Justin meant to do.
"Headmaster Dumbledore knows what's in Hogwarts," Sean said gently. "Hermione says the dog is guarding something—that sounds like the Headmaster's design. If he allows it, it isn't truly dangerous. Remember, the dog never even attacked Hermione."
Justin stood still a moment. "Sean, you're always sensible. But Mother says if doing what must be done makes you look a fool—then let me be the fool!"
He went out after all. "I don't know about headmasters' plans. I only know Hermione almost died behind that door… If no one protests for her, will her pain just be ignored?"
Lightning far off lit Sean's profile. All right, he thought—having a Hufflepuff friend is a gift.
Dumbledore wouldn't care about Justin's protest—but Hermione would. That was the point.
Sean didn't think the plot would change. All of this was in Dumbledore's hands—at least for Book One. It was a fairy tale. Nothing to worry about. Compared to that, his scholarship crisis loomed larger.
A three-headed dog won't chew anyone to death. The Stone won't be stolen. Voldemort is basically there to feed you XP.
But if he missed the scholarship, he truly wouldn't have money for quills—or textbooks.
"Professor Flitwick practically said it outright… Levitation needs to be at Adept, and touching silent casting would be best. And I need to learn the Summoning Charm and Aguamenti…"
Sean looked at sleeping Hermione and quietly turned down the lantern. His immediate goal was sharp: grind proficiency, push Charms high, then ask Flitwick about DADA-type spells outside the first-year syllabus.
Collect the last scholarship fragment—
—and redeem the 600-Galleon super bundle.