Resolve

Another day, Sean emerged from the Dungeon.

He carefully cleaned up the traces left behind from his brewing. Even after Justin inspected the place closely for quite a while, he found nothing suspicious.

Before long, lightning flashed across the sky.

It was easy to tell that Hogwarts was in for another day of rumbling thunder.

It was raining outside the castle, while Sean read in the Library.

The magical crystal ball gave off a gentle, warm glow. Madam Pince always made a habit of glancing at Sean as she passed by.

If Hermione spending six hours in the Library every day was already considered diligent, then Sean, who opened the Library doors with Madam Pince each morning and closed the Library's oak doors with her every night, could be called half a librarian.

At the very least, Sean helped organize all the books on this row of shelves.

It was not because Sean enjoyed helping others; after roughly reading through all the books, tidying them up was an easy task.

Every now and then, Madam Pince would tell Sean—

which books had genuine substance and which were nothing but empty boasting.

Sean was deeply grateful for this.

Madam Pince was not as incapable of kindness as the Young Wizards' rumors claimed.

At least, when she saw the annotations in Sean's History of Magic notes, she was willing to discuss them with him for a while, and she was also willing to share desserts with Sean—not in the Library, of course, but when opening in the morning and closing at night.

The desserts from Justin had been spreading far and wide lately.

No one knew how he had persuaded the House-elves to let him into the Hogwarts kitchens, but his skills were indeed first-rate.

Perhaps Hufflepuffs were born with a talent for food magic. The desserts Justin had improved in "Conjure a Feast!" had recently received endless praise.

Even Hermione could eat two Daifuku in one bite, her cheeks puffed up round, while Sean was usually the first to try them.

Outside the window, rain pattered down upon the fertile earth, and a misty layer of moisture rose over the Scottish Highlands.

The nights here were always dim and warm. Whenever a damp breeze carrying the scent of soil brushed across Sean's cheeks, his emerald-green eyes would always gleam with a magical radiance.

"You need to be more resolute. The curve of your left hand should be wider. Most importantly, believe—believe that you can do it... break free of gravity..."

Sean spoke softly as he corrected Justin's Levitation Charm once again.

Because he had put in enough work, Sean's progress in Charms had surpassed that of the other Young Wizards in just over a week.

Even Hermione would stop and carefully consider his instruction.

Sean never minded sharing his experience.

After practice, when everyone was tired, he was more than happy to share some of his insignificant knowledge about Charms.

The only thing troubling Sean somewhat was that Professor Snape had been brewing potions far too frequently lately.

Over the past few days, Professor Snape and Sean had entered a strange sort of rhythm.

When one entered the Dungeon, if Professor Snape was not there, then Sean was;

if Sean was not there, then Professor Snape was.

Through this game of hide-and-seek, Sean had already unlocked over two-thirds of his Potions title.

Yet Sean still felt a sense of urgency. He had already been at school for a week and a half.

This progress was still too slow, so he made a decision.

Even without any definite word from Professor Snape, he would continue brewing potions.

At the very least, he had to complete the unlocking of his Potions title before this week was over. It was his assurance that he could go farther down the path of potions.

In the Magical World, the differences between wizards with different talents had always been obvious.

Sean understood that deeply.

Ravenclaw Common Room.

Ever since the notice for Flying Class had been posted, nearly every Young Wizard had been talking endlessly about Quidditch.

"Many people think the glorious age of the Chudley Cannons is over, but even more people believe they will surely recreate their past glory!

After all, the Chudley Cannons have lifted the League Cup twenty-one times!"

Michael held a poster in one hand and braced himself against a chair with the other, talking up a storm.

On the poster, the Chudley Cannons members wore bright orange robes decorated with a speeding cannonball and two black letters: "C."

"Oh, all right, Michael, then can you explain their slogan?

Before 1972, it was 'We shall conquer all,' so how did it later become 'Let's all cross our fingers and be optimistic'?"

A tall, skinny young wizard suddenly laughed.

"That! That doesn't count!"

Michael looked as though someone had hit a sore spot.

What followed were remarks like "That slogan was made up by the management," "It has nothing to do with the team," and "You have no idea how glorious the Chudley Cannons used to be," making everyone laugh until their faces turned red.

"How utterly pathetic..."

In the end, even Michael could not help sighing before helplessly spreading his hands.

The fireplace blazed warmly as Sean happened to pass by, his face pale.

Behind him was Anthony, pretending to read while his gaze never left Sean.

—He was always half a beat behind Sean.

"Oh! Sean, Anthony!"

Sharp-eyed Michael spotted the two of them and hurried over enthusiastically.

Casually hooking an arm around Sean's, he led them to sit together in the Ravenclaw Common Room.

The velvet upholstery of the chairs overhead had been slightly worn by age, giving off a soft, mellow sheen.

Astronomy-themed cushions and low stools were scattered everywhere, padded with silk in deep purple, inky blue, or bronze.

They had been casually placed atop Persian flying carpets or velvet rugs, like scattered constellations.

The lively discussions mixed with the sound of heavy rain pouring outside, and Sean finally took a breather in the Common Room.

The Ravenclaws discussed Quidditch teams from Britain and Ireland, having already forgotten the Quidditch skills they had been bragging about earlier.

Sean also slowly took out The Quidditch Ball. It had to be said, the book really was interesting.

For example, the Falmouth Falcons were known for their fierce, hard-hitting style, and they had the world-famous Beaters Kevin and Karl Broad.

The team's slogan was: "Let us win, but if we cannot win, let us break a few heads."

It was certainly intimidating.

Suddenly, Sean noticed that the discussion around him had stopped. He looked up in confusion and found six or seven heads crowded around him.

"Sean, you borrowed The Quidditch Ball?!"

Michael's startled cry broke the silence first.

"Sean, can I take a look?"

Sean heard Michael ask somewhat sheepishly.

Anthony, the long black-haired wizard, immediately sighed at his lack of backbone.

He casually glanced over and saw Terry still watching the raindrops by the Stained Glass Window. He had been there for three hours already.

Anthony sighed again.

Sean nodded and generously placed the book on the table.

The young wizards immediately erupted into noise:

"Let me see too, Michael."

"Me, me, me! And me!"

Even the young wizards who owned the book could not resist joining in. Could a book precious enough to be kept in Madam Pince's hands possibly be the same as one they had bought themselves...?

"Oh—everyone, I think we need to be careful..."

Michael's voice was swept away by the storm raging outside.

Sean thought again of tomorrow's plan.

That was right. As long as Professor Snape was not in the dungeon tomorrow, even if he did not find the professor himself to confirm it was safe, Sean would still take the risk of brewing a potion.

He was only six proficiency points short.

The most difficult Scholarship Fragments were finally about to be collected.