In the corridor.
Sean took a curious glance at Sir Cadogan, who was still trying to climb onto his pony, facing away from him.
Everything seemed fine, no issues there.
"You always look a bit pale, little Green," Lady Violet said with a curious blink. "What's got you today—Charms, Potions, or Transfiguration?"
"Transfiguration," Sean answered honestly.
He stole another glance at Sir Cadogan. The knight didn't seem to be in any trouble. Maybe Professor Snape was a bit more… lenient with portraits?
As Sean walked away, reassured, a female voice stifled a laugh. "Alright, my dear knight, little Green's gone."
Sir Cadogan slowly turned around in his painting—and his front was a stark contrast to his back.
His shiny armor was dented into an unnatural curve from chest to waist, the nose guard bent sharply to the left. The red ostrich feather on his helmet, usually so proud, was now a soggy half-stub, dripping with mud. His face was a disaster: his left eye swollen to a slit, the right one bulging wide, his beard matted with some kind of slime and speckled with suspicious mushroom bits.
"What are you staring at?" he croaked, his voice hoarse but still booming, glaring at the young wizards outside his frame. "Never seen a badge of victory before?"
The group of young wizards snickered as they peeked at the side of the frame. Sir Cadogan's back was a different story entirely—his silver-blue cloak was spotless, the velvet gleaming like new. The armor on his back was so polished it reflected Hermione Granger's furrowed brow as she hurried past. Even the tassel on the sword slung behind him was neatly braided, swaying elegantly with his movements.
"Ha! Sir, you've really outdone yourself this time," Lady Violet said, laughing so hard she could barely speak.
"Filthy trolls! Ganging up on me!" Sir Cadogan growled, startling a first-year so badly they fell to the floor. "And those sneaky…"
He glanced around, saw nothing, and muttered under his breath.
---
With Professor Snape's potions boosting his recovery, Sean's progress in Charms was lightning-fast. Spells that used to take hours of rest to practice again now only needed half an hour to recharge.
"Aguamenti!" Sean chanted, his wand tracing the arc of a stream. A trickle of clear water followed the tip, not lasting long, but guiding the flow meant his skill was improving.
[You practiced the Aguamenti Charm at a proficient level. Proficiency +10]
Sean checked his mental progress panel:
[Summoning Charm: Apprentice Level (3/30)]
[Aguamenti Charm: Beginner Level (2/300)]
[Levitation Charm: Beginner Level (200/900)]
With some effort, he might get the Summoning Charm to Beginner level by tomorrow. The thought made him grin.
"Aguamenti!" A confident female voice rang out. Hermione's wand produced a stream of water too. "Looks like a bigger arc really does help…" she said, sketching the curve in her notebook. Another quill scribbled nearby as Sean added notes on pronunciation.
Hermione tilted her nose up, glancing at Justin, who was still practicing. "My mom says every stream has its own path," Justin said with a gentle smile, unfazed by his slower progress. "But guess what? They all end up in the sea."
His words made Hermione blush. The young witch turned away. "Fine, looks like you've got it under control."
"No, my mom meant all rivers meet eventually. Hermione, would you help a stuck little stream?" Justin raised his wand, looking like he desperately needed assistance.
Hermione puffed out her cheeks but leaned over. "Hmph—your accents are all wrong!"
---
Wednesday.
The ceiling of Hogwarts' Great Hall shimmered with soft purple dawn light. Thousands of candles floated overhead, casting a warm glow. The four long house tables were already buzzing with noise.
A first-year in pajamas rubbed sleepy eyes, nearly pouring pumpkin juice into their oatmeal. Two Hufflepuff girls huddled over Transfiguration notes, their hair tips smeared with jam. At the Ravenclaw table, laughter erupted as someone charmed their History of Magic textbook to tap-dance.
Owls swooped down in a flurry of feathers, delivering packages and copies of The Daily Prophet. Today, the owl post was heavier than usual. Sean's table was swarmed by over ten owls. He figured they must share secrets, or why else would more show up each time begging for scraps?
While fending off the owls, Sean waved his wand, tearing apart toast and tossing nuts and bits of meat to the tired messengers.
Hermione had an unusually large pile of letters today. As she opened them, books, elegant quills, and candies spilled out. Her tone was softer than usual, and she spent most of her time carefully writing replies.
Justin was nowhere to be seen in the Great Hall. He'd been busy in the kitchens for the past two days. After lending his owl to help Hermione with her letters, he'd learned something by chance—tomorrow was the young witch's birthday. So, after some discreet inquiries, he was practically living in the kitchens.
Almost casually, he'd asked, "What about you, Sean?"
Sean paused, then shook his head. He didn't know.
For an orphan raised in a muggle orphanage, the day you were found was your birthday. But the worker who found Sean had left years ago, fed up with the meager pay. The orphanage hadn't celebrated birthdays in ages, so knowing your actual birth date was a luxury.
What Sean didn't notice was Justin freezing in place when he shook his head.
Back in the Great Hall, every table was visited by owls. Hermione opened her letters, pulling out a plush toy with an exasperated look, though she carefully tucked it into her bag.
Sean's spot, however, was unusually empty of letters. He didn't mind, focusing instead on his lamb chops and scheming about convincing the Weasley twins to "borrow" a broom for him. Brewing potions lately might just earn him enough to buy a Nimbus 1500—if he could cover the twins' fee.
As his thoughts wandered, a particularly spirited owl landed in front of him, clutching a letter. Sean offered it a piece of lamb, but it dropped the letter into his hand instead.
He froze. An orphan like him getting mail? This was… spooky. But then, Hogwarts had plenty of ghosts already.
He opened the envelope:
[This is indeed your letter, so come to me, child.
—Minerva McGonagall]
---