Chapter 547: Similarities
"How could I have forgotten..." Ron muttered to himself, his brow furrowed.
"What are you on about?" Hermione asked, looking up from her Arithmancy charts.
"Think about it," Ron said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Do
you really think Sirius Black could beat Sean in a fight?"
Hermione paused, her quill hovering over the parchment. She considered the
question for a moment, then slowly shook her head. Though she hated to admit
it—mostly because it highlighted how far behind they all were—Sean Green was
no longer just a "student" like them. Hagrid had claimed Sean's magical prowess
was on par with the professors, and after seeing him handle the Dementor on the
train, Hermione didn't doubt it for a second.
"So... you think Sean is going to Hogsmeade to look after us?" Hermione guessed.
"Exactly," Ron said. Then, his face suddenly turned a bright shade of red. He
remembered they were technically supposed to be in the middle of a cold war.
Hermione saw his expression shift from confidence to awkwardness and remembered
the same thing. The two of them immediately went back to staring at their books
in stony silence.
The Corridors.
Sean could still hear the echoes of the third-years' excited chatter. To them,
visiting Hogsmeade was a rite of passage, a grand adventure consisting of
specific milestones.
"Dervish and Banges, Gladrags, Zonko's Joke Shop... and then a hot Butterbeer at
the Three Broomsticks," he heard a student recount. "Merlin's beard, could there
be a better day than tomorrow?"
"I'm telling you, Hannah, we have to hit the Post Office first!" a boy shouted.
"They've got nearly two hundred owls, all color-coded by how fast you want your
mail to go!"
"Oh, Honeydukes has a new kind of milk fudge," a girl giggled. "They say you can
sample it for free..."
Sean wove through the crowd, mentally mapping his own objectives for the
weekend. A visit to the Hog's Head Inn was mandatory. He hoped to find out
exactly what Lupin meant by the "changes" in the village. After that, he planned
to meet Professor Quirrell—who was acting as his liaison—and head to Gringotts.
There was no better place to find a cluster of Goblins. As for whether they
would be willing to share the secrets of their ancient contract magic? Quirrell
seemed confident.
"Goblins are shrewd creatures," the Professor had told him. "As long as the
profit is high enough, there is nothing they won't trade."
That was a relief to Sean. Between his book royalties and the success of The
Emerald Workshop, his vaults at Gringotts were currently sitting in the highest
tier of wealth. He honestly wasn't even sure how many Galleons he had anymore;
they were simply stacked in golden mountains.
As the sun began to set, the castle lost its honey-colored glow, the stones
turning a deep, somber grey. The twilight flared like a dying fire on the
horizon. Halloween was only a day away, and time was slipping through his
fingers.
Sean spent the entire day grinding his proficiency in the Dark Arts and
Transfiguration. By the evening, however, he was interrupted by a specific
request from Professor Snape. He was tasked with delivering two vials of potion
to the Defense Against the Dark Arts office.
Wolfsbane Potion.
It was a complex concoction designed to ease the agony of the lycanthropic
transformation. It didn't cure the condition, but it allowed the werewolf to
keep their human mind during the full moon, turning them into nothing more than
a sleepy, harmless wolf.
Damocles Belby had invented the potion in the latter half of the 20th century,
and to this day, very few Potions Masters were capable of brewing it correctly.
Fortunately, Sean had mastered the recipe recently.
Snape had expressed a rare, if grudging, satisfaction at the achievement. It
seemed Sean had finally reached the "passing grade" Snape had spent two years
moving further and further out of reach. The Gryffindors were the primary
beneficiaries of Snape's improved mood; their "Nightmare of the Dungeons" hadn't
taken a single point from them for minor mistakes all week.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts Office.
Sean arrived carrying several heavy volumes. These weren't standard schoolbooks;
they were advanced texts on the Dark Arts that Dumbledore had personally
selected for him.
Sean had been surprised when the Headmaster handed them over. Hogwarts was
strictly a "Dark Arts Free Zone," but since the rules were set by the Headmaster
himself, Sean didn't question the hypocrisy. He had been looking for a specific
volume—the legendary Secrets of the Darkest Art—but Dumbledore had apparently
kept that one back.
"Professor Lupin?" Sean called out, the two vials of smoking potion floating
steadily beside him. He knocked on the door.
"Mr. Green," Lupin said, opening the door immediately. He spotted the floating
vials and his eyes widened. For a split second, a look of profound, hidden
melancholy crossed his face before he masked it with a weary smile.
"Is it that time already? Please, come in... what can I do for you?" Lupin
asked, ushering him inside.
"I've brought your Wolfsbane, Professor," Sean said, cutting through the
pleasantries.
He followed Lupin into the office. A large glass tank stood in the corner.
Inside was a sickly-green, horned creature pressing its face against the glass,
making grotesque faces and flexing its long, spindly fingers.
"That's a Grindylow," Lupin noted, watching the creature. "A water demon. I just
received it for next week's lesson. They aren't much trouble once you know the
trick. It's all about breaking their grip. Did you notice the fingers? Strong,
but remarkably brittle."
The Grindylow bared its green teeth and dove into a tangle of weeds at the
bottom of the tank.
"Tea?" Lupin asked, looking around for his kettle. "I was just about to brew a
pot."
Sean gave a quiet nod.
Lupin tapped the kettle with his wand, and a jet of steam erupted from the
spout. He looked at the vials Sean had placed on the desk. "Professor Snape is
very kind to brew this for me. I was never much of a hand at Potions, and this
one is... exceptionally demanding."
He picked up a goblet, poured the smoking liquid, and took a cautious sniff. "A
shame sugar ruins the effect," he muttered. He took a sip and shuddered as the
bitter taste hit him.
Sean remained silent. He knew Snape's "kindness" was a complicated thing, likely
driven more by Dumbledore's orders than professional courtesy.
"Two vials... ah, I suppose that makes sense. He won't be in the castle
tomorrow," Lupin added offhandedly.
"He won't?" Sean asked, his curiosity piqued. Snape had been patrolling the
castle relentlessly lately.
"No..."
Lupin looked at the boy, his gaze lingering on the advanced Dark Arts books in
Sean's arms. He remembered seeing those same books years ago, before Dumbledore
had moved them to the restricted sections—or removed them from the library
entirely.
So similar, Lupin thought, his eyes dimming with a ghost of a memory.
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