"Mudblood… what does that mean?"
In the corridor, three small silhouettes flashed across torchlight.
Outside the windows, a pale pink–indigo sky lay under a veil of mist. At sunset, the birds always sang loud.
"I don't know," Justin answered honestly.
Hermione gave him a helpless look. "I wasn't asking you. Sean—do you know?"
"In the wizarding world, it's a strongly derogatory term for Muggle-borns," Sean said.
"How strong?" Justin asked.
"As strong as it gets," Sean added.
"I see," Justin said—and stopped. He whirled around. Sean heard him mutter, "Eton next year wouldn't be so bad. Mother would be proud." Sean and Hermione tugged him back.
"No need," Sean said quietly. His words always worked—Justin froze, then asked, thoughtful, "Because of Professor Snape?" Even saying the name softened his voice.
"Mm."
For Slytherins who'd broken every one of Snape's untouchable rules, Sean could only imagine the man's near-mad rage. He hurried Hermione and Justin away. Compared with scuffles among six first-years, Snape's personal handling was far more frightening.
Hogwarts has rules—but if nothing is recorded, rules are hollow. If they stayed, they'd hinder Snape—and get blamed in the end. If they left, the matter would become, by a Potions Master's fiat, a "Slytherin house affair."
…
Outside, rain hammered down. Night was black as ink, but inside it was bright and easy—lanternlight filled the classroom; three cups of hot milk sat on the little table. Hermione was low; her quill "scritch-scratched" a letter. Justin, out of courtesy, gave her space and slid beside Sean.
Sean was still laying out his plan:
"If I'm getting the scholarship, it's down to this last week. First push Levitation to Expert. Then learn Smokescreen, Knockback—finish the three DADA spells first-years should cover… That should be enough for an Outstanding in DADA. The big Galleons will carry me for years."
Below that he wrote:
"I should keep in mind Hogwarts isn't always safe. Pure-blood prejudice persists; without it, two Dark Lords wouldn't have had so many followers. I need to master stronger magic."
The first thing that came to mind: Transfiguration.
Why not dark magic? Think about it: orphan, likes dark magic, a knack for rallying people… Yeah—Sean didn't dare think more.
TRANSFIGURATION.
He wrote it at the top. Magic has many "strongest" branches; the most destructive is widely agreed to be dark magic. Next, elegant and profound Transfiguration. In the Ministry battle, Dumbledore essentially beat Tom head-on with Transfiguration: he animated the golden wizard statue to shield Harry and flatten Bellatrix, then sent other statues to swarm Voldemort and even block a Killing Curse.
Sean believed true Transfiguration can, mid-fight, turn objects into living allies—give them life—and that fits his talent perfectly.
The shorthand quill flew, "scritch-scritch," laying out his timetable. He allotted almost everything to grinding Transfiguration and Charms—Potions and Greenhouse time trimmed.
"Oh—" Justin couldn't hold in a chuckle. Sean turned; Justin was grinning at a note. Hermione blushed, wishing she could crawl into her letter.
"Careful we don't get caught… This is for you," Justin said, glancing at Hermione as he slipped a paper to Sean:
I wanted to say, thank you for helping me, Sean.
"Don't get caught," Justin added—just as Hermione, cheeks hot, left and banged the door shut.
"Caught," Sean said, deadpan.
"So how are you going to apologize now?" he asked.
"I knew I couldn't fool you," Justin said, confident. "Don't worry—my father taught me a hundred ways. They work."
He cracked the door to check Hermione was gone. "Remember? Hogwarts has many doors—if you aren't polite or don't prod the right spot, they won't open. And some doors aren't doors at all—just solid walls pretending."
He stopped at a spot and said, "Lard."
A moment later, a door-shaped flare of fire appeared, then vanished—revealing a hearth blazing bright. Firelight washed over seven soft armchairs. Justin stood, proud.
A room within a room? Sean stared at the suddenly revealed space, something tugging at memory—but time had smudged the ink on that letter, leaving only mottled stains of the familiar script.
"Mr. Owl told me… A hearth alone isn't much use—but what if it's tied into the Floo network?" Justin said, pride showing—and some of the dark under his eyes easing.
Floo powder: staple wizard travel. You can even stick just your head in to speak without going through. "What's better than seeing your family on a far-away birthday? Seeing them—and your friends—together!"
"You've worked hard for this," Sean said after a beat, voice wavering. "Not really. Mother's friends—and owl post. I only contacted Hermione's parents and…" He stopped, then rushed. "You did great, Justin. Hermione will be happy."
Firelight danced in Sean's green eyes. "You rest. Leave the rest to me."
"…Mm." Justin fell quiet, then answered honestly. He knew what Sean meant: keeping a line to someone far away isn't easy—someone had to mind the fire on Thursday or the surprise would turn awkward. Looking at how tired Justin was, Sean thought—bed, now.