The duel between Sean Bulstrode and Draco Malfoy was settled.
Snape met with Draco and Sean separately, decreeing they act as if the duel never happened.
On the surface, they complied.
But Draco's face betrayed him—each time he saw Sean, anger flared in his eyes, laced with a flicker of fear he couldn't mask.
Days later, whispers spread through Slytherin: Lucius Malfoy and Gideon Bulstrode had visited Hogwarts.
From that moment, Sean's status soared, rivaling Draco's and nearly eclipsing Miles Bulstrode, positioning Sean as the Bulstrode family's rising star.
In the Great Hall, Sean sat at the Slytherin table, the clatter of plates and chatter filling the air.
He scanned the faces around him.
Some Slytherins nodded curtly, others offered cautious smiles, and a few ignored him entirely.
Sean sighed, rubbing his temples.
Why are you being so nice to me?
What happened to backing Draco?
You claimed to despise me, the son of a Squib, stirring trouble at every turn.
Now you're all friendly?
Who am I supposed to duel now?
You can't challenge someone grinning at you—unless their smile's so hideous it's a crime.
His gaze flicked to Marcus Flint, the sixth-year Slytherin Quidditch captain.
Flint's cold scowl was tolerable, but his smile—crooked buckteeth flashing, eyes squinting to slits—was grim enough to haunt nightmares.
Sean shook his head, exasperated.
Strength and lineage.
His victory over Draco earned respect; his Bulstrode name drew deference.
When Sean challenged Draco, he'd braced for Slytherin's wrath.
He'd planned to retreat to the Room of Requirement, carving out a solitary space to rest, attend classes, and pick fights with anyone who crossed him.
But that plan gathered dust.
Gideon's intervention had swept away the duel's fallout, smoothing over Slytherin's hostility with a patriarch's authority.
Sean's thoughts churned.
My grandfather went to such lengths. This isn't just about sharpening Miles. What does he want with me, a grandson he barely knows?
Is he scheming against me?
No one would buy that.
Sean pushed the thought aside.
Dwelling on Gideon's motives was a distraction.
Whatever his grandfather Gideon intended, his actions undeniably benefited Sean.
For now, Sean would play along, reaping the advantages.
If Gideon's plans turned sour, Sean could always slip away to Diagon Alley and start a wand shop venture.
No one could bind him.
He spooned the last of his oatmeal, the Great Hall's clamor swirling around him.
A burst of laughter erupted from the Gryffindor table.
Sean glanced up.
The Weasley twins had pulled another prank, sparking roars of mirth among Gryffindors, with a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws joining in.
At the Slytherin table, Goyle stifled a chuckle, only to wince as Draco's elbow jabbed his ribs.
For Slytherins, public laughter was unseemly—doubly so when sparked by Gryffindors.
Most Slytherins glowered at the noise, craving the quiet dignity they prized.
If not for Hogwarts' rules, they'd never dine in such chaos.
Sean, unlike his housemates, barely minded the uproar.
The other houses' lively chatter signaled tomorrow's Halloween, a festival that stirred excitement in young witches and wizards.
Halloween.
Sean's thoughts drifted to past years at home, when his father, Adrian, would carve out time for spell practice and dueling charms to deck their house in flickering charms for the holiday.
This year, Sean would miss it.
His brow furrowed as a vague memory stirred.
Something happened on Halloween at Hogwarts, didn't it?
Harry and his friends faced trouble—dangerous, but they'd escaped unscathed.
Sean's time in this world had blurred the details, leaving only fragments of the story.
Forget it. They come out fine, and it's none of my business.
He shrugged, grabbing a slice of bread and layering it with bacon.
Blaise Zabini slid onto the bench, looking haggard, his tie askew.
Sean raised an eyebrow. "You, did you go out fooling around last night?"
"How can you call it fooling around?" Blaise retorted, indignant. "How can you slander me out of thin air? What is fooling around? I was in a serious relationship! Intimate contact during a relationship, how can that be called fooling around?"
"Oh…" Sean said dryly. "So I wasn't wrong, right?"
"That's about right."
Sean rolled his eyes, used to Blaise's tangled romantic escapades.
The boy's shamelessness was practically a talent.
"Eat fast," Sean said. "Transfiguration's soon. McGonagall doesn't coddle Slytherins. Fall asleep, and she'll dock points. Gryffindor's scores are tanking—she'd relish trimming ours, rules or not."
Blaise, mouth full, grinned. "Isn't this all thanks to you? It's barely three months into term, and you've nearly erased our early losses. Keep it up, and with Gryffindor's savior bleeding points, Slytherin's seven-year House Cup streak is safe."
Sean's expression turned skeptical.
He recalled Slytherin's streak ending this year, undone by Gryffindor.
Dumbledore's knack for boosting Harry—fifty, even a hundred points at the last moment—could crush any lead.
Harry's Quidditch prowess only sealed it; no one racked up points like him.
Sean's strategy was simple: claw back every point he'd lost, pile on more if he could.
If Slytherin lost the Cup, no one could pin it on him.
That was enough.
----------------------------------------------------
The Halloween spirit swept through Hogwarts, enchanting the young witches and wizards.
Girls adorned their robes with charmed pumpkin pins and bat-shaped clips, while boys buzzed about the Quidditch match slated after the holiday.
The Great Hall hummed with anticipation, its ceiling swirling with autumnal clouds.
"Sean, the owl is coming," Blaise said, nodding upward.
Sean glanced at the flock of owls swooping into the hall, their wings rustling like whispers.
Among them, his eagle owl, Rob, soared ahead, broad wings cutting through the flurry.
Rob landed deftly on the table, talons clicking against the wood.
Sean untied a slightly crumpled package from Rob's leg, nudging Kulkan—his snake, coiled at his collar—away from provoking the owl.
Under Blaise's curious gaze, Sean opened the package.
Inside were two letters from his parents, a bundle of Fizzing Whizzbees, and treasures from his mother, Margaret: a golden-crusted pumpkin pie and half a roast chicken, perfected over years to suit Sean's taste, a Halloween tradition.
As Sean sorted the goods, Harry and Ron slipped out from the Gryffindor table, clutching a long, poorly concealed package.
Even a novice could spot it was a broomstick—likely the finest model, though Sean, no Quidditch fanatic, couldn't recall its name.
Slytherin's Quidditch prospects, meanwhile, teetered precariously.
Sean scratched Rob's chin, tossing him a handful of nuts.
His eyes drifted to Draco, who was marching toward Harry with Crabbe and Goyle in tow, clearly itching for a confrontation.
Draco fixates on Harry, Sean thought, shaking his head. Is it just to needle him, or something else?
He refocused on Rob, feeding him another nut.
"Go to the Owlery," Sean murmured. "Rest up. I'll send a reply to Mum and Dad soon."
Rob hooted softly, taking flight.
Sean tucked Kulkan back into his sleeve, the snake's scales cool against his wrist.
Grabbing his books, he joined Blaise, weaving through the festive crowd toward class.
As Sean navigated Hogwarts' bustling corridors, whispers of Harry Potter's new Nimbus 2000 and his appointment as Gryffindor's Seeker spread like wildfire.
Slytherin's young wizards bristled at the news, their resentment toward the "Savior" deepening, deeming his first-year promotion unfair.
Sean noted their sour moods, his gaze landing on Irina, the fifth-year prefect, striding ahead.
After a moment's calculation, he quickened his pace. "Irina, can I have a word?"
Irina glanced at him, nodded, and bid her friend a brief farewell.
They stepped beneath a gnarled tree, its leaves tinged autumnal orange.
"Sean, what's on your mind?" she asked, her tone direct.
"Irina, you've heard, haven't you? Someone gifted Harry Potter a Nimbus 2000 and made him Gryffindor Seeker—in his first year."
She nodded. "It's spreading fast today. Hard to miss. What's this about?"
"I took flying lessons with Harry," Sean said. "He's got real talent, and with a top-tier broom, he's a threat to our Quidditch team."
Irina's expression sharpened. "Indeed. So, you're raising this because you have a plan, right?"
"It's simple," Sean replied. "Gryffindor's backed Harry as Seeker. We counter by promoting someone who'd relish challenging him. Someone eager enough to pay a price—like, say, funding seven Nimbus 2000s for Slytherin's team. Their family's among the wealthiest; they can afford it."
Irina's eyes gleamed as she grasped his meaning.
If her suggestion swayed the Quidditch outcome, the prestige would be hers.
"I owe you one, Sean," she said, a sly smile forming.
"We're Slytherins," Sean shrugged. "Same goal."
Irina patted his shoulder and hurried off to set the plan in motion.
Sean glanced at Harry in the distance, muttering, "Harry, I'm sorry. I'm a Slytherin after all. I've got to push for our seventh House Cup."
His scheme ensured Slytherin's strength.
If they lost the Cup, the blame wouldn't fall on him.
If they won, his idea would cement his influence in Slytherin—a chance he wouldn't squander.
Rejoining Blaise, who lounged nearby, Sean entered the Charms classroom, where Ravenclaws' chatter mingled with Slytherin's scheming.
After class, word spread: Snape had approved Draco Malfoy's addition to the Quidditch team, with the Malfoy family donating a fleet of Nimbus 2000s.
Sean marveled at their wealth.
A single Nimbus wasn't cheap; a batch was a fortune.
But he'd secured his goal, so the matter no longer concerned him.
That evening, the Great Hall glowed with Halloween splendor.
Bats fluttered from the enchanted ceiling, swooping like dark clouds.
Carved pumpkins grinned from every corner, their warm scent filling the air.
Golden plates brimmed with a feast far grander than the term's start.
Sean wrestled with a medium-rare steak when the hall's doors burst open.
Quirrell stumbled in, his face ashen with terror. "Troll! There's a troll in the basement!"