"Ghosts really are strange creatures.
We've got the friendly Fat Friar, Nearly Headless Nick, and even a professor…"
Justin opened his assignment, which only contained a rough outline.
"Oh, if only he wouldn't suddenly lose his mind halfway through class.
Cedric said first-years have never been given homework this long.
He tried to find Professor Binns to complain, but could never locate him—
And even if he could, I doubt he'd convince the professor to change his mind.
A whole foot of writing… Merlin help us.
Sean, did you finish yours?"
Justin shyly closed his parchment, hope shining in his gray-blue eyes.
"Yes."
Sean nodded, then took out a sheet of parchment
and a light–blue notebook from his bag.
The parchment contained the essay structure Michael and the others had recorded earlier,
and the light–blue notebook was Sean's own compiled and reorganized version of A History of Magic.
He kept another identical notebook for his thoughts and inspirations.
"Merlin's beard—Sean, you really finished it?!"
Justin clapped a hand over his mouth the moment the words slipped out.
"I mean—I knew you could do it, but every time it happens, it still feels unbelievable…
Are we really in the same year?"
His voice grew quieter toward the end—barely above a whisper.
"I'll only look at the structure. I promise I won't copy.
If I ever do something that dishonest, may I never again set foot inside the school kitchen."
Justin suddenly raised his right hand solemnly,
his gray-blue eyes full of sincerity—and a tiny bit of panic.
Sean simply nodded and placed the notebook into Justin's hands,
then left the Great Hall heading toward the library.
Morning was when Sean was strongest,
so he always tackled the most difficult tasks first.
Today, that meant fully reorganizing A History of Magic:
Cross-referencing it with Modern Magical History, Significant Magical Events of the Twentieth Century,
and Notable Magical Names of Our Time,
creating a structure that was uniquely his.
Sean believed that with this, he could surely earn Outstanding in History of Magic.
The library's oak tables were a dark reddish-brown, accompanied by floating lanterns, crystal globes, and vases of enchanted flowers.
Sean drowned himself happily in the absurdities and wonders of magical history.
Wizards, truly, were something else.
For example:
"In the Middle Ages, Muggles were terrified of magic,
but they were remarkably poor at recognizing it.
When they occasionally caught a real witch or wizard and attempted to burn them,
it rarely worked.
During burning, witches and wizards performed a simple flame-freezing charm,
feeling only a pleasant tickling sensation while pretending to scream in agony.
Wendelin the Weird adored being burned, and arranged to be captured
forty-seven different times in various disguises."
The reality was dramatically different from Sean's imagined scenes of tragedy—
and far stranger than his mental image of noble, dignified magical folk.
After he finished organizing the Medieval section, he had to face the pressing problem once more:
Where could he find potion ingredients?
Maybe Professor Sprout had leftover materials she didn't need?
Maybe he could find a way to buy some in Hogsmeade—if he located one of the castle's secret passages.
Maybe he could ask Professor Sprout whether first-years were allowed to use Hogwarts' potion ingredients after class,
and then secretly practice?
But that idea carried enormous risks.
Still—there were always more solutions than obstacles.
Sean opened his notebook, preparing to sort his thoughts.
But when he flipped to the first page, he froze.
"Emmerick was a short-lived but extremely vicious dark wizard…"
He flipped again.
"Uric the Oddball became convinced he was dead after hearing augurey cries…"
This was wrong!
Meanwhile, in the Great Hall—
Justin was reading the parchment intently, muttering to himself:
"Oh—that's brilliant… what a genius…"
He opened the light–blue notebook, and his hand halted mid-turn.
[Acquire potion ingredients]
"Sean wants to practice brewing on his own?"
That was his first thought.
"Sean doesn't have the ingredients?"
That was the second.
"I do."
That was the last.
He carefully packed up the parchment and notebook,
then—before Herbology class began—dashed back to the Hufflepuff common room.
The cozy, plant-filled space overflowed with warmth:
vines on the walls, steaming milk and pumpkin juice on the tables, and candies and pies stacked everywhere.
Justin hurried down a candlelit hallway into his dormitory and opened his enormous trunk.
Among scattered letters and postcards
lay rows of jars and crystal bottles.
A careful eye would see two full sets of every potion ingredient a first-year might need.
He remembered the conversation at Slugs & Jiggers Apothecary:
"Are you sure you want to buy one full set of everything, sir?"
"Yes, please."
"My dear lady, I hate to deceive someone so elegant—but these ingredients aren't on Hogwarts' required supply list.
Are you certain you still want them?"
"Precisely because they are not required—pack two sets."
Only now did Justin begin to understand his mother's wisdom.
"If everyone has something, you must have a better version.
If no one has something, you must be the one who does.
Small expenses are investments.
And the greatest investment of all… is love and sincerity."
"I think… I understand now."
Justin whispered softly, staring at the overflowing trunk,
his crisp shirt collar still holding the faint warmth of his mother's iron.
Back in the Hogwarts Library—
Sean stepped out beneath the stone archway, waiting for the rotating staircase to align.
He wasn't planning to retrieve his notebook from Justin.
Herbology was about to begin, and afterwards he could exchange notes properly.
There was nothing secret written inside anyway—only processing techniques and the idea of searching for potion ingredients.
Eight o'clock.
Warm sunlight flickered across the armor stands.
The greenhouse's grassy scent drifted down the corridor.
Sean pushed open the oak door.
A scattered handful of students were already inside.
Professor Sprout put down her trowel and smiled warmly in his direction.
"Over here, Sean!"
Michael hooked his arm around Sean and dragged him toward Terry and Anthony.
"Why do I feel like the professor is staring at you?"
Michael stretched his neck, whispering dramatically.
Advance Chapters available on Patreon
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