"So, when you combine the three first-level ancient magic runes — [Flame], [Expansion], and [Air] — you get the second-level rune [Explosion]. There are many such combinations, but remember: a second-level rune requires at least two first-level runes. Currently, the most complex second-level rune formed from the largest number of first-level runes is called [Life]. This is a key point for your exams, so make sure you remember it."
In Ancient Runes class, Sean stared at the runes glowing on the blackboard. He immediately raised his hand."Professor Babbling, may I ask what first-level runes make up [Life]?"
Professor Bathsheda Babbling, as graceful as ever but with her usual frosty expression, fixed her eyes on him. "Even now, there are very few wizards alive who truly grasp the second-level rune [Life]. So don't be greedy, Mr. Bulstrode. And with your current level, it's meaningless to know."
"Professor, I have one more question. Last time you—"
But before Sean could finish, the bell rang outside the door.
All the students glanced between Sean and Professor Babbling. She calmly began gathering her things from the podium, shooting a glance at the door.
Seeing her move, Sean instantly packed up his notes and pencil too.
The two of them lunged for the door at the same time.
Professor Babbling eyed the exit so close now, a small, victorious smile curling at her lips. If I get through that door first, he can't corner me for questions after class. He won't take up my precious free time! Not today!
But then — thud thud thud! Sean leapt onto the nearest desk, sprinting straight over the rows instead of circling around. He landed in front of the classroom door just ahead of her, blocking her escape. Notebook already open, he stepped right in front of her path and launched into his next question.
Professor Babbling's eye twitched. She glared at him, but because of the agreement she had with Dumbledore, she had no choice but to answer — thoroughly, every single time. Damn it!
I thought teaching outside Avalon would be fun. I finally left, followed Dumbledore to Hogwarts, but now I'm stuck lecturing every week, bound by school rules, no time to lure curious fools to Avalon for sport — and now I have to deal with this infuriating boy! I should have stayed home. At least in Avalon I could tempt someone into mischief every summer…
Grumbling inwardly, Professor Babbling forced herself to answer every single question — and as always, her knowledge ran deep. Long-lived non-human races often preserved magic that wizardkind had forgotten centuries ago, and in the field of ancient runes, Bathsheda Babbling was unmatched in the wizarding world.
And yet, even here, she wasn't the greatest rune scholar Avalon had produced.
It took Sean another hour to finish his barrage of questions.
When they were finally done, Professor Babbling stalked out of the classroom with visible resentment clinging to her elegant steps. The moment she crossed the threshold, she vanished completely — just as she always did.
Watching her disappear, Sean tapped his notes thoughtfully. He could guess by now — she wasn't human.
But for all her reluctance, she'd answered his questions in depth, line by line. There must be some binding pact forcing her to.
He chuckled to himself, slipping his quill behind his ear as he gathered his books.
"Interesting."
Humming under his breath, Sean turned and left the ancient runes classroom behind him.
------------
Friday evening.
Tomorrow was Saturday — and at seven o'clock in the evening, Sean would be off to study under Antonius again. That meant he'd leave Hogwarts with the excuse of visiting Hogsmeade, where Aldrich would meet him. From there, they'd head to Diagon Alley and use Apparition to fetch the books he needed.
Apparition couldn't be performed inside Hogwarts — but once you stepped foot in Hogsmeade, no such restriction applied.
Thinking of that, Sean made a silent note to add Apparition to his long list of skills to master. With Aldrich around, he wouldn't have to find someone else to teach him anyway.
He stopped in front of Snape's office door, raised his hand to knock — but before his knuckles touched the wood, it swung open by itself.
"Come in," came Snape's cold drawl from within. "In the future, don't bother knocking. Just open the door and enter."
Stepping in, Sean closed the door behind him. "Professor," he began, "the reaction to my paper seems a bit… complicated."
Snape glanced up from the parchment on his desk, his eyes sweeping Sean up and down to make sure he was unscathed. Satisfied, he gave a curt nod. "Complicated, yes. That means it's worth discussing. As for those who oppose it — most are merely protecting their own interests. Pay them no mind. Any wizard with half a brain will understand exactly what your paper means for the potions community."
Sean blinked. Was Snape actually… reassuring him? Before he could find the right words, Snape spoke again.
"However, your so-called 'second-stage plan' is insufficient." His tone was clipped, but there was no real bite. "You propose to replace nine more ingredients. If you tackle them one by one, conflicts in properties will arise. My advice is this: in addition to substitutions, you should research fusion agents — catalysts that allow incompatible ingredients to blend without conflict."
Sean's gratitude caught in his throat — but his mind was already whirring. He turned the idea over and over. A fusion agent… that could really solve multiple conflicts at once. He nodded. "Yes, Professor, that's an excellent idea."
After a pause, Sean looked up at him, choosing his words carefully. Then, with just a hint of daring, he said, "Professor… what if you and I co-author the next paper?"
The silence that followed was sharp and absolute. Snape rose slowly from his chair, dark robes rustling, his expression shifting from unreadable to cold amusement — the corners of his mouth curling in a dangerous smile.
"Oh?" Snape drawled, voice dripping with mock disdain. "So the great Potions prodigy Sean Bulstrode intends to drag along his pitiful professor for a scrap of glory? Should I bow and scrape, trembling with gratitude for the chance to toil away like a mule under your grand brilliance?"
His tone cut like a knife, but beneath the sarcasm, Sean thought he caught the faintest glint of approval — or maybe that was just wishful thinking.