Chapter 136

When Wizard Sean Green passed by here.

Malfoy and Harry rolled around in the snow together, while Ron, Crabbe, and Goyle were grappling with each other, punching and kicking, each screaming in pain.

Wizard Sean silently summoned two snowmen, who quickly pulled them apart.

Malfoy shuddered, didn’t look at Wizard Sean, let out a faint hum, then left with Goyle and Crabbe.

As for Harry, he now felt even more like a baboon—this time without even his wand.

Wizard Sean watched Harry and Ron for a while; both kept their heads down, somehow feeling guilty for no clear reason.

Nothing seemed amiss, no need to visit the infirmary… so Wizard Sean walked away too.

To Harry and Ron, it looked like Wizard Sean was disappointed.

After all, they were wizards—before the Green Notes appeared, Wizard Sean had already given them the notes, whose content was far more detailed than any anthology.

Yet one went to train in Quidditch, something Wizard Sean disliked, and the other obsessed over wizard’s chess—learning not a single proper spell.

“Harry, have we really lost all chance…?”

This time, Ron couldn’t even force a smile.

He had always wanted to join the secret organization. Think about it—they six had all survived the troll incident, and the other four were all improving: Justin, outstanding in Herbology and spells; even Neville had earned Gryffindor eleven points.

Now everyone’s impression of him had changed.

“I think so…”

“Harry, Ron, good morning—”

Jia Jia Siting couldn’t take it anymore; he burst out from the snow in the courtyard, blinking his eyes.

“I say, if you want to know the outcome, why not just ask him yourself?”

…

As Wizard Sean walked down the corridor, he half-expected Fred or George to pop out from somewhere—but fate disagreed.

So Wizard Sean, no longer waiting, went outside the castle; from occasional observations of Harry, he knew Gryffindor had training that afternoon.

By the stained-glass window on the third floor, Professor McGonagall watched the young wizard leave solitary footprints in the snow.

Behind her, several Slytherins crept furtively.

“Young wizard! Foolish young wizard!”

The sudden appearance of Mr. Owl startled them, and they instantly fled.

Mr. Owl glanced at the group led by Luo Jie, his eyes revealing clear, human-like disappointment and confusion.

Thus, the eagle door knocker of Ravenclaw’s common room seemed to malfunction that day, asking several difficult questions in succession, leaving several Ravenclaws shivering outside in the wind for hours.

At the Quidditch pitch, Wizard Sean had reached the locker room door.

Two patches of red flame suddenly sprouted from the snow.

“Seeing you at the Quidditch pitch—”

Fred leapt out of the snow, a badge in hand.

“We knew another alchemical genius had emerged!”

George looked genuinely pleased.

“Fred, damn it! Where’s my prefect badge?!”

At that moment, a neatly dressed man stepped out of the locker room, his tone sharply irritated.

It was Percy Weasley, Gryffindor’s prefect. He followed rules rigidly, loved yelling at rule-breakers; Ron called him a bookworm, obsessed with appearances and utterly inflexible.

He clutched a copy of How Prefects Gain Power, making Fred sneer; he shouted at full volume:

“I’m George, Percy! Didn’t How Prefects Gain Power teach you to tell this apart? What a pity—”

He dragged out his final syllable and winked at Wizard Sean.

“Fine—George! Tell me, where’s my prefect badge?!”

He roared.

“It was a joke—I’m Fred!”

“Give it to me!!!”

And so Fred was chased around by the furious Percy.

George and Wizard Sean watched them; then George pulled a badge from his pocket:

“I don’t get it—why do prefects have to polish their badges so much?… Run west, Fred!”

He shouted. Fred changed direction.

“Oh, by the way, about floating quills—”

Before he finished speaking, Wizard Sean produced his own alchemical creation.

“I knew you had the same talent as us—qualified! Very qualified!”

George blinked, tucked the floating quill into his bag alongside the prefect badge.

“I didn’t expect you to finish it in two weeks—you’re clearly born for alchemy!”

“Alright, do you have notes or a diary? Write now—even if it’s not proper alchemical practice, you don’t even know what alchemy is yet!”

“Of course, Professor Tera will find you fascinating—we just need to engineer a few chance encounters…”

Wizard Sean handed over his notebook; George patted his shoulder, wearing the expression of “we’re clearly the same kind.”

“Professor Tera—who’s that?”

Wizard Sean asked.

“Oh! Good question! Professor Tera is a council member of the International Alchemical Association and the most mysterious professor in the school—only sixth- and seventh-year wizards ever meet her.

More importantly… Fred! To your right!”

George shouted, warning Fred, who was playing hide-and-seek with Percy around the common room.

Then they saw Percy storming toward them.

“Not good—let’s go, Green!”

George vanished in a flash, calling back as he ran:

“Don’t worry—we’ll find you, Great Green!”

“Great Green?”

Percy was furious, but he seemed to have caught an intriguing word; he stopped and turned to Wizard Sean.

“Oh, Mr. Green.”

Percy forced himself to appear friendly.

This Green was no ordinary student—he passed the flying test and wrote the wildly popular Green Notes.

Percy had read the book; even the history of magic section was so well-written he had to admit it.

In short, whether becoming a Quidditch star or a future magical scholar, he owed Wizard Sean a smile.

“Hello, Mr. Weasley.”

Wizard Sean replied politely.

“Oh, just call me Prefect Percy.”

He seemed unusually approachable.

Outside the locker room, the oak door stood slightly ajar, revealing warm light and muffled voices from within. At the snow’s edge, Fred had his arm around George’s shoulder.

“I’m going to throw up my lunch—call me ‘Broken’ Percy instead…”

Fred made a grotesque face.

Rarely, he didn’t hear George’s reply.

He turned his head—only saw George staring blankly at a notebook.

“Great Green Notes?!”

Fred feigned shock, but George remained lost in thought.

He instantly grew serious.

“Ah… spent two days, barely made the floating quill…

Strange, George—is this English?”