Defense Against the Dark Arts was, as always, a slog.
The classroom's stale air clung to Sean as Professor Quirrell droned on about his vampire encounter for the seventh time, prompting stifled laughter from the Slytherins.
Seated at the back, Sean skimmed his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook before slipping out a library-borrowed potions tome, its pages dense with advanced brews.
Since Snape's note, he'd devoured those twelve books, cross-referencing Gideon Bulstrode's old notes to unravel their complexities.
Bit by bit, he was mastering the craft.
When class ended, Sean and Blaise didn't head to the library.
Instead, they slipped into the Slytherin common room, its emerald glow casting shadows across the stone walls. A third-year waited by the fireplace—Andy Morgan.
"Morgan, been here long?" Sean asked.
Andy, a Slytherin whose family traded in magical goods, had a knack for commerce.
Since his second year, he'd run a discreet business within Slytherin, sourcing rare items unavailable at Hogwarts. This year, his trade had expanded across houses, though Gryffindors shunned him, and Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs rarely engaged.
Slytherin remained his stronghold.
"Sean, Blaise I told you last time—just call me Andy," Andy said, flashing a grin.
Sean nodded, cutting to the chase. "Andy, got what I asked for?"
"Of course, but you know, small business, tight margins…" Andy trailed off, eyes glinting.
Sean didn't hesitate, pulling three Galleons and eleven Sickles from his robe and handing them over. Andy inspected the coins, then drew a bulging sack from his pocket—charmed with an Undetectable Extension Charm, Sean noted—and passed it to Sean. The sack brimmed with potion ingredients, their faint glow hinting at potency.
"Money and goods settled," Andy said. "We're done."
Sean and Blaise turned to leave, but Andy called out, "Sean, hold up. Got another proposition."
Sean paused, brow furrowing. Blaise spoke first, voice sharp. "Andy, what's this about? Don't break the rules."
"I'd never," Andy said, raising his hands. "No rule-breaking, or my business is done. It's a good deal, I swear." He fixed on Sean. "You're buying ingredients for a Wit-Sharpening Potion, right? Not too tough for a Potions Club member like you."
Sean's eyes narrowed. "Andy, how do you know I'm in the Potions Club?"
The club wasn't a secret, but it wasn't common knowledge either. Andy's certainty suggested insider information.
Andy's smile turned sly. "I've got my sources. Helps keep the business running."
"What's your point?" Sean asked, though he already suspected Andy's angle.
As expected, Andy leaned in. "Those ingredients can yield five Wit-Sharpening Potions. A single vial's worth matches—or exceeds—what you paid. That's Galleons in profit. If you nail two out of five brews, it's pure gain. What's your success rate, Sean? Interested in a partnership?"
"Why not brew and sell them myself?" Sean countered, testing him.
Andy's eyes lit up, sensing a bite. "You could, but you're a student, not a merchant. Galleons fuel your studies, not haggling. Give me thirty percent of the profits, and I'll handle sales, source materials, and deliver them to you. Plus, I'll share information—my network's yours. What do you say?"
Sean weighed it. The deal was sound, leveraging Andy's connections while freeing his time. "Meet me here tomorrow, same time. Half a Galleon and half the ingredients for a Wit-Sharpening Potion."
"Done!" Andy beamed. "Tomorrow it is."
With a quick goodbye, Andy slipped out, his step lighter.
Blaise frowned, watching him go. "Sean, Andy's gearing up for graduation."
"Meaning?" Sean asked.
"The Morgans aren't a big family, but they're rising," Blaise said. "They pick heirs by merit, so their kids start hustling at Hogwarts. Andy's the only Morgan here now. He's building capital to launch a real trade after school."
Sean nodded, impressed.
Blaise's insight revealed a sharper side, beyond his usual charm.
He didn't pry—friends shared what they chose, and Sean respected that line.
"Let's move," Sean said. "Brewing potions for trade's a gray area. We need a safe spot."
He meant the Room of Requirement, tucked away on the eighth floor. Few Slytherins ventured there outside Divination, and the room's corridor was typically deserted. Two Slytherins lingering would still draw eyes, so they moved fast.
Before the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy's troll-beating misadventure, Sean focused, picturing a room equipped for discreet potion-brewing. He paced three times, the stone wall rippling into a door.
Grabbing a puzzled Blaise, Sean hauled him and the ingredient sack through, the door sealing shut behind them.
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Blaise stood by the Room of Requirement's window, gazing at the enchanted view—a starlit Hogwarts sprawl, conjured to soothe.
"The view here's brilliant," he said, turning to Sean. "How'd you find this place? We're always together, and I've never seen you come here."
"I have a notebook from my grandfather," Sean replied, wiping a cauldron. "It mentions this room."
Blaise nodded. He'd glimpsed Sean's notebook before, its pages brimming with magical lore.
Learning it came from Gideon Bulstrode, the Bulstrode patriarch, quashed any doubts about the Room's existence.
The air hummed with the faint scent of herbs, the cauldrons' warmth a stark contrast to the dungeon's chill.
Sean poured the final Wit-Sharpening Potion into a vial, exhaling heavily.
He sank into a chair, rubbing his aching shoulders. "This is brutal work," he muttered. "Not for the faint-hearted."
Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Still planning to keep dealing with Andy?"
"Got to," Sean said, voice firm.
"My parents are Squibs—barely different from Muggles, except they know the wizarding world. If I just coast through magic, I don't need much coin. But I want more—deep mastery. That takes Galleons. Between regular classes and the Potions Club's demands, I need Wit-Sharpening Potions, among other things. I can't keep leaning on my parents, so I'm earning my own way."
He stood, eyeing the four vials on the table, their contents shimmering faintly.
Of the five batches, one had failed—a misstep with the flame—but the others were solid, one even flawless. Sean planned to keep two for himself and sell two through Andy.
It was discreet, profitable, and met his needs without drawing attention.
He uncorked the perfect vial and drank it.
A cool clarity washed over his mind, untangling the fog of exhaustion. His body still ached, but his thoughts sharpened, ready for study.
"Got a date later?" Sean asked, smirking. "That third-year girl from before?"
Blaise turned from the window, coughing lightly. "Third-year, yes, but a different girl."
"Another one?" Sean teased.
"It's not 'another,'" Blaise said, mock-indignant. "Relationships need the right fit. I'm twelve, with five years until I'm of age. I want to find true love by graduation, maybe marry right after. Time's tight, so I'm selective."
Sean's mouth twitched. Marriage at twelve? Blaise's bravado was absurd, but quintessentially him—charming, ambitious, and utterly Slytherin. He didn't press, letting Blaise's dreams stand unchallenged.
They packed their supplies, the Room's cauldrons gleaming in the dim light, and slipped out, the door vanishing behind them.
Blaise headed for his date, while Sean made for the library, his sack of books heavy with purpose.
In the library's quiet stacks, Sean barely settled when Hermione slid into the seat beside him, her voice a whisper. "Hello, Sean, can we talk?"
"This is a library," he said, glancing around. "Let's step outside."
Hermione shook her head. "It's just a quick thing. Madam Pince is with the fifth- and seventh-years. Keep your voice low."
"Alright, what's up?" Sean asked, setting his book aside.
"Did you know Harry and Malfoy are dueling tonight?" she asked, eyes wide.
Sean's brows lifted. "Yeah, I heard. What about it?"
"I think Malfoy's up to something," Hermione said urgently. "Can you convince Harry to skip it? I tried, but he's stubborn. You're his friend—maybe he'll listen to you."
Sean shook his head. "Hermione, I already tried this morning. Harry's set on going. I can't change his mind."
Her frown deepened. "What if we both talk to him? This feels wrong. If Harry duels, he could get expelled. He wouldn't want that."
"Hermione, I'm done persuading," Sean said firmly. "Harry's made his choice. Pushing more might end our friendship. And don't worry about expulsion—Dumbledore's been Headmaster for decades, and no student's been expelled unless the Ministry steps in. Harry breaking a rule won't get him kicked out. It's not happening."
He didn't add that Harry was special to Dumbledore, practically untouchable short of a grave crime.
Hermione didn't need to know that.
Hermione's expression tightened, unconvinced but out of arguments. Madam Pince's distant footsteps echoed, and Hermione fell silent, her worry palpable.
To her, Sean's calm seemed like Slytherin indifference, uncaring about Harry's fate.
Sean had no time to clarify.
His mind was elsewhere, a new plan forming.
Malfoy's underhanded tactics—setting traps instead of dueling—were despicable, even by Slytherin standards. Challenging Malfoy to a pure-blood duel, like the one Sean won against Jason, felt justified.
It would call out Malfoy's cowardice and test Gideon Bulstrode's support for his grandson's ambitions.
Sean opened his potions book, the library's hush settling around him, but his thoughts burned with the thrill of the challenge ahead.