Sean was taken back by someone none of them expected.
When that tall figure in billowing black robes appeared, Harry and Ron both felt they could already hear Gryffindor's point total dropping.
"Sean said he'd be staying at school for a month, that a professor would come take him back to Hogwarts—but who'd have thought that person would be Professor Snape…"
Ron hid in the shop's shadow, watching Snape walk toward them.
"Harry, you were absolutely right not to apply to stay at school."
Harry hunched his shoulders.
Just like he didn't know why Snape had helped protect him from Quirrell, he also didn't know why Snape hated him so much.
Snape's behavior always seemed shrouded in fog.
"You think staying at school is some easy thing to get approved? Sean is the first student in a hundred years Hogwarts has allowed to stay!"
Hermione, though just as surprised, still couldn't help glaring at them when she heard Ron's smug tone.
"Of course, he's also the future greatest…"
Ron cut himself off halfway and clapped a hand over his mouth.
"What?"
Hermione pressed.
"N–nothing."
Ron stammered.
Hermione's suspicious gaze lingered on his face, then she huffed and turned away.
On the main street of Diagon Alley,
Two professors stood facing each other, like they were performing some kind of solemn handover ritual.
"He's in the middle of his Animagus transformation, Severus."
Professor McGonagall said calmly.
"I know."
Snape's voice was as low and dark as ever.
"Up to the step before the storm…"
McGonagall handed over a slip of parchment. Before she could finish, she was cut off.
"I'll take it from here."
Snape took the note, his tone almost like a proclamation.
"In two weeks—or on the stormy night—I'll come back."
McGonagall said slowly, word by word. She suddenly regretted promising Markus she'd stay two more weeks.
They hadn't lived together in years, but it seemed there were already places that needed her that were not just Hogwarts and not just the McGonagall estate…
Sometimes the meaning of "home" shifted with the people in your life.
The sunset stained the sky red. Even in an age when the Dark Lord still lurked in the shadows, she'd begun to notice that the world was growing more and more beautiful.
"As for the Felix Felicis, you can decide yourself when to tell that child."
She finished, then left without looking back.
Snape turned away as well, and Sean hurried to follow.
"There are idiots who still can't grasp their chance even when it's shoved into their hands. Wouldn't you agree, Sean Green?"
Snape muttered darkly.
"Does that mean I'm allowed to drink the Felix now?"
A mature voice replied.
Snape jerked his head down, eyes narrowing at Sean's brooch.
"Heh—"
He stared at it for a few seconds, but didn't comment—for the moment.
"What exactly did you see on the fourth floor…"
He suddenly said, out of nowhere.
"Voldemort…"
Sean quickly tapped the brooch.
Snape had frozen where he stood, his eyes flooding with barely suppressed rage, his voice trembling almost imperceptibly.
"Ah—our Mr. Sean Green, who seems to believe his little handful of simple, laughable tricks can accomplish earth-shattering things… even the Dark Lord himself he doesn't bother to take seriously…"
Snape's voice was icy, full of scorn.
"Very well. In honor of your 'courage', your detention will begin on September first and continue until… September first. No holidays. And…"
Sean stopped where he was and said nothing, and Snape had not yet finished.
"Every year."
Sean blinked, stunned.
Every year… staying in Hogwarts?
Was there really… something that good?
…
By the time they returned to Hogwarts, the sky was completely dark.
Snape was in a foul mood, worse than usual. He could hardly bear to imagine what might happen next.
The Dark Lord was plotting his return, and his brutality toward anyone who dared disrupt his plans was infamous.
He had assumed this little student in front of him had only been an organizer, but it turned out he had faced the Dark Lord himself.
"What have you done? Tell me—all of it!"
In the dungeon, Snape cast several anti-eavesdropping spells and spoke in a voice like ice.
Sean, through the brooch, briefly described Quirrell's strange behavior and, finally, how they had stopped him.
He was careful: the brooch couldn't lie—because it would blurt out the thought process behind any attempt to conceal things—but Sean could still choose what to focus on.
He did his best to play down his own presence, describing mainly Quirrell's oddities, his plea for help, and Dumbledore eventually arriving to drive out Voldemort.
"Who do you think you are?! Do you even realize who you've provoked?! Naive to the point of absurdity!"
Snape practically roared.
He felt a cold fear. The Dark Lord had ridden into Hogwarts on the back of Quirrell's skull, and the ones who stopped him were a bunch of children dragged into this by chance.
And the reason? Because one of them wanted to help Quirrell?
Just because of a recommendation letter?!
His trembling body suddenly calmed, all at once. He stared at the boy in front of him—this boy whose head barely rose two lengths above the table—with a heavy gaze.
Those green eyes were one of the rare bright colors in the grey-black dungeon. For a moment, Snape found his voice stuck in his throat.
He… was far too foolish. People this foolish never had good endings.
"Get out—"
he finally said.
The words had barely left his mouth when thunder rolled in the distance, and a flash of lightning split the sky.
"Come back!"
Snape barked.
No one could say exactly what he was angry at.
The storm was coming.
Through the narrow dungeon window, they could see the sky darkening.
Sean suddenly felt a second heartbeat, stronger than his original one.
That meant the moment he'd been waiting for had arrived.
At the exact instant lightning tore across the sky, he would have to go to where the crystal vial was buried. If he had done everything right up until now, he'd find a single mouthful of blood-red potion inside.
"Where did you bury it?"
The storm had come too fast; Snape could only snap the question.
"The note, Professor…"
Snape cursed himself silently. He'd forgotten the parchment where McGonagall had written the place.
Given McGonagall's careful habits, it was bound to be somewhere he knew all too well.
He unfolded the slip—and found himself staring at a name that stung his eyes.
—Spinner's End.
He froze. During the Hogwarts holidays, he almost never went back there. McGonagall usually sent letters by owl instead. That didn't mean he ever wanted anyone setting foot in that place.
"Follow me!"
He snapped, leading Sean rapidly out through the castle doors.
This idiot really was different from the rest.
Night. Wind and rain raged.
The rolling hills were blurred shapes, Hogwarts a mass of shadow.
They slogged through the dark, the only light coming from Sean's wand, glowing quietly in his hand.