"Do you mean you're not interested in Quidditch?"
Prefect Penelope looked puzzled, and turned that puzzlement into frank sincerity.
"May I ask why, Mr. Green? You know, you're tremendously gifted—it would be a shame if you didn't join the team."
Sean thought for a moment. He flicked his wand, and the flame in the jar leapt into a fire salamander. It sprinted along the ground, leaving a trail of fire; after gathering power it swelled several times over, then slowly dissipated—flowing back as a ribbon of flame into Sean's jar.
"Merlin—" came a chorus as everyone stared. Penelope was left stock-still.
This was advanced Transfiguration; she herself had only just begun it. And the first-year in front of her was casting it offhand… with energy to spare, by the look of him.
"I'd heard there was an exceptional Ravenclaw first-year named Green—but not this exceptional!" Troya said blankly.
"Are we even learning the same Transfiguration? Why am I studying at all?" the blond Ravenclaw beside him muttered.
"Little wizard! Foolish little wizard!" Mr. Owl preened; his wings stopped flapping and folded with elegance.
Faced with the owl's scolding, the Ravenclaws lowered their heads, and began to wonder if they really were…
Under their gaze, Sean dipped a polite nod.
"Thank you for the invitation, but I'd rather keep my time for Transfiguration."
He stepped past the prefect, whose brows were knit and lips pressed tight. She sighed, and shot a glare at the shivering Ravenclaws—Roger most of all. If they'd found Green sooner, before he fell for Transfiguration, could they have made him like Quidditch? Even a little? Affection can be cultivated—when you're streaking through the sky on a broom, scoring with skill, basking in cheers and respect…
"Roger! You'd better lead the side to the Cup this year," she snapped, reining in her anger. "I'll think of something else."
"Yes, ma'am!" Roger straightened.
Mr. Owl huffed and slipped back into the wall.
Penelope's mood was foul—until a figure down the corridor made her eyes light. Farther off, by a bracket of burning torches, Minerva McGonagall watched the boy for a long moment. In her hand was a letter dusted with snow; the flakes melted into cold drops, leaving a hot mark in her heart.
"Go… gather some information for me. About Sean and Professor McGonagall…" Penelope whispered to the Ravenclaws behind her, recalling a certain rumor.
…
And heartbreak in that corridor wasn't limited to Ravenclaw.
"H-Harry… do we still have a chance?" Ron tried to smile and only managed something worse than a grimace.
"…We still have a chance… right?" Harry wavered.
No first-year failed to admire Mr. Green—and not just for the Green Notes. More importantly, Green could do everything and was willing to share. Even Slytherins didn't bad-mouth him.
When upper-years showed off spells, first-years used to only watch wide-eyed. Now they could say:
"Transfiguration? Hah—I know Mr. Green can turn a desk into a pig!"
"If you can cast nonverbal spells too, you've barely reached Mr. Green's one-month mark."
Mr. Green was a first-year's pride. Even Professor Flitwick said:
"Astonishing, children—you're the fastest-improving first-years in Charms!"
It was thanks to the Green Notes—but that didn't stop the kids from squaring their shoulders.
Joining the secret group had become an obsession for Harry and Ron, especially since they often felt a gap when they were with Neville. So their moods had been poor.
From the corner, Justin laughed for three straight days, and even Hermione wore a strange look. What were those two thinking? Did they really think Sean cared about Quidditch?
It was a Thursday of light snow. Flurries drifted onto the windows, and some students watched curiously as a thin skin of ice formed.
Sean was still hurrying about. After a deep read of his notes and other alchemy texts, he had found an answer—the link between Potions and Alchemy.
[The first step of Alchemy is melting—traditionally called the black phase (nigredo).
In this initial black stage, impure metals—the alchemist's feedstock—or old, outdated states of matter are killed, corrupted, and merged into the prima materia so they can be remade and reborn in a new form.
At this time the will that perceives alchemy's profound change is crucial—and it further stratifies apprentices from apprentices.]
It sounded familiar.
Sean drew out Advanced Potion-Making:
[Potion fusion is praised as one of the deepest transformations. Impure substances—the potion's ingredients—or old, outdated states are killed and merged into the prima materia so they can be remade and reborn in a new form.]
He didn't know who had borrowed from whom, but the point was clear—Potions and Alchemy are tightly linked. Both involve transformation of matter.
So unlocking the Adept Potions title became a decision beyond doubt.
On his way to the dungeons he opened his panel:
[Title: Potions Initiate]
[Greatly increases potion perception; slightly boosts potions aptitude]
Initiate was the entry-level aptitude; to reach Adept he'd need:
[Advance: Three Adept-level potions and three Beginner-level potions unlock the Potions—Adept title]
[Scabrous Solution: Adept (210/900)]
[Deflating Draught: Beginner (220/300)]
[Swelling Solution: Beginner (210/300)]
His progress wasn't low. Brewing took long and cost much, so proficiency demands weren't sky-high. He could realistically grind to Adept soon.
Snow-laced wind already seeped through the dungeon corridor. Since the troll incident, Professor Snape had been on edge. He would stare into Sean's green eyes one moment, then show a deep, smoldering anger the next.
"You'd better learn it within an hour—Sean Green! Do you think you have time to spare?!"