Of all the thoughts occupying Sean's mind, Severus Snape's whereabouts now ranked firmly at the top.
Snape had never explicitly said Sean was forbidden from returning to the dungeons to brew,
but Sean knew better than to test the limits of that silence.
Avoiding Snape was now priority one.
Fortunately, the margin for manoeuvring was not small.
Snape was one of the busiest people in Hogwarts—perhaps the busiest.
As a professor, he graded assignments, tracked the study progress of at least twelve different classes, and prepared lessons.
As Head of Slytherin, he settled conflicts, chased down students caught sneaking around,
and put out fires both metaphorical and literal.
And beyond that—Dumbledore's other tasks.
Under all of that weight, Snape's short temper was almost understandable:
endless work, endless trouble, and no assistant.
Sean could practically imagine the cries that followed Snape daily—
"Professor Snape! Merlin help us, the Gryffindors have started something again! Quick—come stop them!"
It wasn't hard to see why Snape carried a perpetual storm cloud over his head.
And if Sean remembered correctly, Snape's personal office was located on the far end of the dungeon complex…
Plenty of room to manoeuvre.
The thought warmed him so much that even the Great Hall's fireplace felt brighter.
Golden flames flickered across the stone walls, stretching two overlapping shadows across the floor.
In the Great Hall
"Oh, I must say," Justin Finch-Fletchley announced cheerfully,
"I've never found a Charms essay so easy to write."
A small lantern swayed from his left hand; in his right he tucked away five inches of parchment and a pale-blue notebook.
"Well, Justin," Hermione huffed, nose lifting, "two days ago you claimed Charms theory was harder than horse-riding."
She marched toward the tables with an impressive stack of books in her arms, the faint scent of ink trailing behind.
They had clearly come straight from the library—
the only place where first-years could realistically complete assignments like:
Here is the wand motion.
Here is the incantation.
Now please write a five-inch essay on the theory behind the Levitation Charm.
The collective first-year response:
What? Me? How??
The assignments weren't long, but they demanded thinking and independent research—skills most students had yet to develop.
So unless one lived in the library, finishing work was nearly impossible.
Hermione, who had practically memorized all first-year textbooks, could find references instantly.
Justin, however, worked much slower—especially with Professor Binns's infamously muddled essays.
Yet today, Justin was a different person:
not only had he finished a full-foot History of Magic essay,
he had written the Charms assignment in under three hours.
Even Hermione hadn't been that fast.
"You finished a solid essay on Charms," Hermione muttered, narrowing her eyes,
"and yet during practice your Levitation Charm didn't improve even a fraction.
I'm assuming you copied someone's method. And that someone is Sean."
"Half right," Justin said brightly.
"Sean taught me how. And while I believe he'd be fine with me sharing it, I'd prefer to ask first…"
He nodded toward a figure already seated.
"There he is."
Hermione made a vague sound of acknowledgment, not expecting these "little tricks" to be all that impressive—
even if they belonged to Sean.
Still, she found her eyes searching the crowd almost involuntarily.
The Great Hall bustled with students in identical robes, and for a moment she suspected Justin had mistaken someone else.
Then Justin suddenly sat down.
"Sean!"
"Mhm."
Sean replied without pausing his fierce battle with a roasted chicken.
"Would you mind—"
"You don't need to ask."
The voice came invisibly from somewhere inside the chicken.
Justin's grin widened. He passed his parchment to Hermione.
"You'll want to see this."
"Fine, but I don't expect—"
She flipped open the sheet.
Ten minutes later, Sean calmly sipped his pumpkin juice, the sweetness softening his lingering frustration.
Then came a distressed groan.
"This structure is brilliant—oh, if I had only seen this earlier…"
Sean's hand jerked and the pumpkin juice sloshed dangerously near the rim.
Hermione's face slowly turned red, her ears glowing pink.
"Sean— I mean—"
Words tangled on her tongue; she was not accustomed to giving compliments with the recipient right in front of her.
Thankfully, Sean was so absorbed he hadn't heard a thing,
and Justin—as always—saved the moment:
"She means your Charms notes are brilliant!
If only theory translated into practice as easily…"
"Mm. Practice is what matters."
Sean nodded, eyes distant.
His mind was already on the dungeons, wondering whether they would welcome him tonight.
But the answer was obvious.
The dungeons tonight were dangerous.
Snape had gone down there to brew—a process that would take hours regardless of the potion.
So Sean decided to invest the evening into his other six subjects.
The most practical one, of course, was Charms.
Which meant he needed a place to practice.
"Let's go practise Levitation," Justin said suddenly, an eager brightness flickering in his pale-gray eyes.
"Come with us, Sean?"
Sean blinked.
A moment later, three silhouettes moved across the hallway and stepped onto the shifting staircases.
Hogwarts Staircases
There were one hundred and forty-two staircases in Hogwarts.
Some wide and grand;
some narrow, creaking, and terrifyingly unstable.
Some changed destinations every Friday;
some simply vanished halfway, requiring students to leap.
Many doors would not open unless politely asked,
and others weren't doors at all—merely stone illusions.
Paintings wandered between frames,
and according to Justin, even suits of armour occasionally went for a stroll.
In a castle where everything moved and shifted,
a hidden room was not strange at all.
And tonight, they were about to find one.
Advance Chapters available on Patreon
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