[You gained Magical Creature Affinity: Thestral (Woo-Woo) at Entry standard, Proficiency +3]
…
[A new Magical Creature title has been unlocked. Please check.]
By the time the sun tilted west, Sean had earned a new title.
[Title: Intermediate Magical Creature Affinity]
[Slightly increases affinity with magical creatures; greatly increases understanding of magical creatures]
More understanding?
That sounded excellent.
Sean thought of a certain Hufflepuff upperclassman—his grasp of magical creatures was so keen he was nearly chatting with his Bowtruckle in English.
Outside the hut.
When Tila dangled from his wrist, Sean stopped relying only on the "techniques" Hagrid had taught and simply watched the little creature. He had a faint sense that it was… cold?
No—!
He quickly tucked it into his pocket and padded the inside with a thick, soft lining.
So Tila didn't like his pocket—Tila was cold?
No wonder it always clambered up his arm the moment they entered Hagrid's warm hut.
[You gained Magical Creature Affinity: Bowtruckle (Tila) at Adept standard, Proficiency +10]
Sean: "…"
Sorry about that.
Crunching over snow that hadn't yet melted, Sean crossed the Quidditch practice pitch.
He had an alchemy class in the afternoon and potions to brew in the evening.
He also wondered whether Professor McGonagall would still allow him to pursue alchemy…
Compared to alchemy—which required an Outstanding in Transfiguration to even enroll—Transfiguration felt like the foundation stone.
One studied magic; the other remade it.
Her worry wasn't groundless: for a first-year, laying a solid base was the priority…
On the Quidditch pitch.
With the Ravenclaw match day approaching, the weather grew nastier. On Roger's patch-up pep-talks, the Ravenclaw team pushed themselves harder.
"Beat Hufflepuff, then topple Gryffindor. Merlin—maybe we can win the House Cup."
In the stands, Michael shook Terry in excitement.
"Don't—shake—me—"
Terry was excited too, but he'd been rattled to pieces.
"Strictly speaking, we still need enough everyday points," Anthony said evenly.
"Strictly—speaking—"
Michael mimicked Anthony's tone and got a book bonking his head by Anthony's silent Levitation.
"Ow!"
He clutched his head and launched himself at Anthony.
Down below, at the pitch's edge, Minerva McGonagall stood calmly in the snow.
She was, of course, caring too much—forgetting that every young wizard had his own path.
While she fretted over his future, had she even asked that child what he wanted?
"Mr. Green, over here."
She called softly.
"Professor McGonagall."
Through the blowing snow Sean's outline drew near, resolving into his young face.
"You enjoy alchemy, and you're good at it—don't you, Mr. Green?"
She softened her voice.
"Yes, Professor."
Sensing something in her tone, Sean answered honestly.
"Then go and do it boldly. If you run into trouble in Transfiguration, you come to me."
She seemed satisfied with his reply. She patted his head and left the pitch. At the door, the roar inside made her glance back on reflex.
Sean remained standing in the snow, a little dazed.
That afternoon's alchemy class Sean attended with the upper years.
For all his leaps in alchemy, there were fundamentals he hadn't fully mastered yet.
Alchemy had grown so vast it beggared an ordinary wizard's imagination; when time allowed, Professor Tayra had urged him to sit in.
When she saw him slip in, something complex flickered in her eyes, but she merely placed him at the front.
His neighbor was Pamela Peyton—Ravenclaw's best alchemy student.
The high tables were built for older students; Sean flicked his wand, raised the chair, and popped into view.
An unusual smile touched Tayra's face—and then she launched into three times the usual content:
"Roman wizards embraced the Persian Mithras cult; Mithraic rites spread through the Empire and re-titled the Greek 'Papyri of Black Magic' as prayers to Mithras.
Some hold that exchange between Germanic and Roman wizards helped midwife the runic scripts.
Roman and Persian Mithraic rites directly birthed the earliest forms of several alchemical ceremonies…"
The blizzard of ritual lore had upper-year quills practically smoking.
So when a paper airplane summoned Tayra from the room, the curious upper-years instantly dropped alchemy—and broke into noisy chatter.
"Been to the new joke shop in Diagon Alley yet?"
A Gryffindor asked, pulling a transforming cookie from his bag.
"Of course—the Animal Party series. Dad says the place spread through Britain before it even opened. Merlin—you snagged one!" gasped his friend.
"I swear whoever's behind it must be a long-studied master—blending animal morphs with alchemy and food magic. What a genius idea!"
the blond boy added.
Not exactly, Sean thought.
Tayra hurried back, flung the noisy Gryffindor out, and the room barely had time to almost feel sorry before it dropped back into the grind.
Sean left with more ritual-magic insight, a firmer hand on his next design.
Still—Snape had been odd lately, hard to read.
From the alchemy room he crossed the torchlit echoing entrance hall; the Great Hall's aroma floated invitingly, and he could have found his seat with his eyes shut.
He slid onto his usual edge seat—now crowded with the rest of the Hope Nook.
Even Harry and Ron had moved over; nearly everyone stuck together now.
Maybe because they shared a secret. Maybe because of a looming threat.
Either way, they agreed: they should act as a unit.
Meanwhile, farther down the Ravenclaw table, in the lively patch, the Quidditch team had gathered. Roger's and Prefect Penelope's eyes were trained in the same direction.