"Merlin's beard, why's that? Because it's weird enough?"
Justin's pale gray eyes flickered with confusion.
Just then, a fierce gust of wind roared outside, rattling the magical lantern Justin had hung on the wall.
He nudged Sean and Hermione, snapping them out of their daydreams.
Hermione, her brow slightly furrowed and cheeks puffed out, was about to say something when she noticed Justin's jaw drop. His hand shot up, pointing out the window.
Beyond the ancient, three-sided castle walls, a figure streaked toward the castle like a bolt of lightning. They zipped past the open arched window, kicking up a howling gust of wind. The tip of their broom glinted in the sunlight.
"It's because it's cool… now I get it," Justin murmured, his words carried away by the wind, though the excitement in his eyes was impossible to miss.
"Don't even think about it, Justin," Hermione said softly, shattering the blond boy's daydream. "First-years are strictly forbidden from flying broomsticks without permission. Haven't you read the school rules?"
"What?!"
Justin froze, looking like a stunned statue.
"Don't tell me you came to Hogwarts without even glancing at the rules," Hermione said, less captivated by the senior student soaring past on a broom and more concerned about the clueless Hufflepuff. "Honestly, if you haven't memorized the rules, how can you be sure you won't break them?"
"I… I don't know. I figured Hogwarts wouldn't be that strict," Justin stammered, his eyes instinctively darting to Sean. "Sean, have you memorized the rules?"
"Yup," Sean nodded.
That simple response made Justin's hopeful gaze dim completely.
Truth be told, Sean had gone so far as to memorize the Hogwarts rules backward and forward to ensure he could stay out of trouble and stick around. Hermione was right—first-years weren't allowed to fly broomsticks without permission, but with Professor Hooch's approval, things could be different. Not many first-years managed it, but there was always hope.
"Here, take this," Hermione said, placing a brown book with golden lettering into Justin's arms, filled with her precise notes.
Justin's eyes lit up again as he clutched Hogwarts: A History. He caught Hermione muttering "idiot" under her breath.
"And by the way, wizards don't use broomsticks just to show off," Hermione added, flipping a page in Quidditch Through the Ages.
The three young heads huddled together again.
"Centuries of experience taught wizards that if their Muggle neighbors learned the full extent of their abilities, those Muggles would stop at nothing to exploit their skills. So, if wizards wanted a flying tool for their homes, it had to be something discreet, something easy to hide. And what happened next is obvious."
"So they chose broomsticks?" Justin hadn't expected that answer, but he nodded thoughtfully. "If my neighbor was a wizard, I'd probably be dying to know all about them too."
The afternoon sunlight streamed through the arched window, casting a warm, dappled glow across the small classroom. Tiny specks of dust danced lazily in the beams, like miniature golden fairies, until a sudden tremor shook the air.
The three Quidditch enthusiasts jumped as a loud thump-thump-thump echoed from the wall outside.
"Oh! That's Ernie. If he's knocking on the wall, it means he'll be waiting for me in the Great Hall," Justin said, snapping to attention. He called to Sean, "It's about Professor Snape. I asked Ernie and the others for help. After all, like my mum says, there's strength in unity."
Sean nodded thoughtfully, and the two bid Hermione goodbye before heading out of the classroom. Justin added, "Don't worry, Hermione, I won't tell anyone about this classroom. It's our little trio's secret! I swear."
Hermione, engrossed in her book, didn't seem too concerned, but as Sean and Justin left, her eyes glistened faintly.
---
In the Great Hall, a short, chubby blond boy fidgeted nervously, clutching a book but constantly glancing toward the entrance.
"Alright, Justin said to meet here, so he'll show up. No point worrying about that when we've got Flying lessons on Friday," Ernie muttered to himself.
"Ernie!"
Justin scanned the Great Hall and spotted the boy at the Hufflepuff table.
"Justin!" Ernie called back, and Justin hurried over with Sean in tow.
Sean recognized Ernie Macmillan instantly. A ninth-generation pure-blood Hufflepuff, Ernie was as genuine as they came. He'd once wrongly believed Harry Potter was the Heir of Slytherin, but after Hermione was petrified, he realized his mistake and publicly apologized to Harry, who graciously accepted.
What stuck with Sean was Ernie's moment during the Battle of Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall had instructed him, as a prefect, to organize the Hufflepuff students and lead them to safety. Ernie, with rare seriousness, had replied, "What if we want to stay and fight?"
---
Ernie brought good news: Professor Snape was grading assignments in his office and had been there for a while. Sean grabbed his brewing tools and ingredients from the classroom and headed to the dungeons.
First-years weren't allowed to take cauldrons out of the dungeons—probably for the best, or Hogwarts would be crawling with amateur potion-bomb makers. Potions weren't exactly safe, much like chemistry experiments that belonged in a lab.
Wisps of white steam rose from the cauldron as Sean worked with intense focus, his hands moving steadily. Soon, the cauldron bubbled merrily, the dungeon filled only with the soft sound of breathing and the simmer of the potion.
When Professor Snape emerged from his office and entered the dungeon, Sean had already left, satisfied with three points of proficiency gained.
Master Libatius Borage was right: without enough mental fortitude, perfecting a potion ritual was impossible. Since his last brewing session, Sean had been plagued by exhaustion—mental and physical. According to Borage, it would linger for at least five days.
While waiting for his energy to return, Sean wasn't idle. If you had to sum up what he was doing in one sentence, it would be this: he was playing hide-and-seek with Professor Snape.
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