Transfiguration Office
Professor McGonagall was furious, but she cared more about whether Sean was hurt.
She slapped the dragon-dissection notes into his hands with the iciest glare, then, after a quick word with Professor Flitwick, sentenced him to two weeks of detention.
Sean just kept nodding. McGonagall sighed, like she'd thought of something, and gently pushed him out the door.
Hallway
The second he stepped out, he was mobbed.
Hermione threw her arms around him, then Harry, then Ron.
"You shouldn't have done that," Hermione said, voice shaky, eyes still red.
Harry and Ron didn't speak, but the message was the same.
Sean glanced at Justin, who was leaning against the wall with a grin, arms crossed.
"It was Justin's idea."
Nobody bought it. Everyone knew Justin followed Sean's lead.
Sean realized he wasn't getting out of the corridor without saying something, so he said slowly:
"Yeah. Because we're friends."
Then he slipped away while they were still stunned.
…
When the point loss hit all four houses, nobody had anyone to blame. Just a little curiosity: Why did Green break the rules?
The explanation leaked from Ravenclaw.
Nobody knew exactly what was said, but anyone who heard it shut up fast.
In that weird, tense vibe…
Sean was about to head to the International Alchemy Conference.
He left the alchemy office buzzing with excitement: his ritual was complete!
He had everything he needed!
Sure, it was just a baby dragon, but one day he'd make real dragon-biscuit troops.
And a baby dragon legion was still a legion.
Fang and Fireball didn't care about wizard logic.
Corridor
The invitation shimmered in his hand. In the flickering candlelight, he read:
> In the glow of the Aether, magic flows like liquid silver.
> Alchemists weave through ancient runes, yet none know the path.
> So we come for magic's future,
> The International Alchemy Conference,
> Tomorrow,
> Awaiting,
> The future you carry.
The letter burned hot, turning into a contract.
Sean felt it: a distant place now faintly tied to him.
He was heading back to Hope Cottage to pack when he ran into Harry, crouched by a door crack, totally focused.
Sean thought Harry had been buried in revision all week.
The five of them studied together every night, cramming potion recipes, spells, major magical inventions, goblin rebellion dates…
Sean figured nothing could shake their drive to ace exams with friends.
But as he got closer, he heard sobbing from the classroom.
Professor Quirrell.
"I—I can't… please, I can't…"
Like someone was threatening him.
Harry's brow furrowed at the door.
Snape was looming over Quirrell, maybe even threatening him.
But Quirrell wasn't giving in. He wouldn't agree to whatever Snape wanted.
Harry knew that tone: what someone sounds like when they're cornered.
Quirrell's danger level just shot up.
Harry bolted, two steps at a time, panic in his chest.
He pulled out the planning map Sean gave him and tapped a spot.
Instantly, Harry's name flashed red across every map.
Then everyone else's did too.
Above Harry's name, words appeared: EMERGENCY ROUND TABLE
Behind him, Sean quietly folded his trembling map.
He watched Quirrell rush out, fussing with his turban, face pale like he was about to cry, hurrying out of sight.
Quirrell… Sean didn't know if Voldemort had full control yet.
But that turban hadn't come off. So at least right now, the professor hadn't gone to Dumbledore.
Hopefully, before the Forbidden Forest, before the unicorn's scream, there was still time to fix this…
Quirrell reached the shadowed end of the hall.
His body shook.
In the Defense office, a squirrel biscuit sat on the desk. The Happy Easter frosting was half-rubbed off, leaving just Revive.
He sat in the dark, hunched, grading papers.
Without hesitation, he scrawled a giant O on Sean Green, then froze over Harry Potter.
He barely spoke in class, but inside, his mind was a storm.
The troll? He let it in. Chaos was just an excuse.
What kind of troll could cause real chaos in a castle guarded by the greatest white wizard?
And him, a Defense professor, fainting from a troll? Pathetic.
Like he was now.
Snape closing in… and the Dark Lord demanding unicorn blood again.
He thought he had no choice.
But now… maybe a tiny crack of possibility.
What should he do?
Dumbledore ignored his subtle cries for help. Would he be abandoned again?
Unicorns were the purest creatures…
Quirrell made a decision.
On his way out, he crashed into a startled, "just passing by" Harry.
His hand brushed Harry's. Nothing happened.
…
"Second Round Table" began the second Harry burst into the cottage, breathless.
They confirmed: Quirrell was more dangerous than ever, but they had no proof.
And now, at the worst possible time: Sean was leaving, Dumbledore was leaving, and Harry's group had detention starting tonight.
The weather turned ugly fast. The Great Hall ceiling grew darker, rain hammered the high windows.
The whole castle felt like it was swaying in a storm.
In that shaky, uneasy silence, they watched Sean leave Hope Cottage.
The second he was gone, the wind roared, whipping the Whomping Willow into a frenzy of squeaks and snaps.
Harry unclenched his fist.
A note fluttered down:
> Your detention starts tonight at 11 p.m. Meet Mr. Filch in the Entrance Hall.
> —Professor McGonagall