Chapter 66: Come to Me

In the corridor.

Wizard Sean Green glanced twice at Sir Cadogan, who had his back to him and was still trying to climb onto the small horse.

It didn’t seem like anything was wrong.

“Little Green, you always look unwell.”

Lady Violet blinked, curious,

“Potions, Charms, or Transfiguration today?”

“Transfiguration.”

Wizard Sean answered honestly.

Then he glanced again at Sir Cadogan.

The knight appeared unharmed—perhaps Professor Snape was unusually… lenient with portraits?

Just as Wizard Sean was leaving, a muffled female voice chuckled:

“Alright, my dear Sir, little Green is gone.”

Only then did the knight in the portrait slowly turn around—his front looked nothing like his back.

His polished plate armor, from chest to belly guard, was dented into unnatural curves; the nasal guard was bent sharply to the left,

and the once-proud red ostrich feather atop his helm was now only half its length, limp and dripping mud.

His face was a scene of disaster:

his left eye swollen shut to a slit, his right eye bulging wide; his beard clumped into stiff, gluey strands, flecked with suspicious mushroom fragments.

“What are you staring at?!”

His voice was hoarse but still boisterous, glaring at the young wizards outside the frame,

“Never seen battle medals before?!”

But when the young wizards circled to the side of the frame, they all burst into laughter.

Sir Cadogan’s backside presented a completely different sight—the silver-blue cloak bore not a single smudge, its velvet surface as smooth as new;

the plate armor on his back gleamed so brightly it reflected Hermione Granger’s furrowed brow as she hurried past;

even the tassel of the longsword strapped to his back was meticulously braided, swaying gracefully with his movements.

“Hahaha—Sir, you’ve really gone through it—”

Lady Violet laughed until she couldn’t breathe.

“Cowardly ogre! Ganging up on one!”

Sir Cadogan growled in frustration, startling a first-year into sitting down hard,

“And that cowardly…”

He glanced left and right, saw nothing, then muttered under his breath.

…

With Professor Snape’s potion aid, Wizard Sean’s progress in Charms had been astonishing—

where he once needed hours of rest before practicing again, now he recovered half his strength in just thirty minutes.

“Agua—men—ti!”

As Wizard Sean’s wand traced the arc of flowing water, a stream followed its tip,

though it didn’t last long, being able to Making Guide the water meant his proficiency had increased.

【You practiced the Aqua Motus spell at a proficient level. Proficiency +10】

Wizard Sean silently checked his panel:

【Accio: Apprentice (3/300)】

【Aqua Motus: Beginner (2/900)】

【Wingardium Leviosa: Beginner (200/900)】

He might reach Beginner level in Accio before tomorrow—

thinking of it, Wizard Sean’s lips curled upward.

“Agua—men—ti!”

A strong, clear female voice rang out—Hermione’s wand tip also produced a stream of water,

“So the wider the arc, the better the effect…”

She drew the exact curve on her notebook, while her other quill trembled—Wizard Sean had added pronunciation details.

Then Hermione lifted her nose high, glancing at Justin still practicing.

“My mother says every brook has its own course,”

Justin smiled gently, utterly unconcerned by his slow progress,

“But do you know what happens? They all meet the sea.”

His words made Hermione blush; the little witch turned her head away:

“Fine, looks like you can manage on your own.”

“No—my mother meant all rivers in the world eventually reunite, Hermione. Will you help a stranded brook?”

Justin held his wand out, looking utterly in need of assistance.

Hermione puffed her cheeks, but still leaned closer:

“Hmph—your stress accents are all wrong!”

…

Wednesday.

The ceiling of the Great Hall still glowed with pale purple dawn light.

Thousands of candles hung midair, casting warm halos.

The four long tables were already noisy.

First-years in pajamas rubbed sleepy eyes, nearly pouring pumpkin juice into their porridge;

two Hufflepuff girls leaned heads together over Transfiguration notes, their hair tips sticky with jam;

the Ravenclaw table erupted in laughter as someone made their History of Magic textbook tap-dance.

Owls dove from above like a rain of feathers, delivering parcels and newspapers like the Daily Prophet.

Today’s messengers were unusually numerous.

Wizard Sean’s table now had over ten owls,

Wizard Sean speculated,

perhaps owls shared secrets among themselves—otherwise, why did the number of owls coming for food keep increasing?

So he fought with his lamb chop while waving his wand, tearing toast and flinging nuts and bits of meat toward the weary messengers’ feathers.

Hermione received an unusually large number of letters today,

and inside each were books, delicate quills, or sweets.

Her tone softened considerably; her main activity was writing letters carefully.

Justin did not appear in the Great Hall,

as he’d been busy in the kitchens these past two days.

In fact, when Hermione urgently needed to send a letter last time, he’d sent his own owl to help—and accidentally learned a piece of news—

Tomorrow was the little witch’s birthday.

After quietly gathering some information, he’d nearly fought a war in the kitchens.

Along the way, he casually asked:

“Wizard Sean, oh—I mean, what about you?”

Wizard Sean fell silent for a moment, then shook his head.

He didn’t know.

For an orphan raised in an orphanage, the day they were found was their birthday,

but sadly, the caretaker who found Wizard Sean had quit, unable to bear the meager pay.

And the orphanage hadn’t celebrated birthdays for orphans in years,

so knowing one’s birth date had become a luxury.

But Wizard Sean didn’t notice that when he shook his head,

Justin had frozen completely in place.

In the Great Hall.

Every table had been visited by owls.

Hermione opened letters; upon pulling out a plush toy, her face flushed with annoyance,

then she reluctantly, yet carefully, tucked it into her bag.

But at Wizard Sean’s table, letters were unusually absent.

Wizard Sean didn’t care—he fought with his lamb chop while pondering whether to send the Weasley twins on a “mission” to steal a broom back,

with all this potion-brewing, he might still scrape together a hundred Galleons to buy a Cleansweep 1500.

But he’d have to account for the twins’ fee…

As Wizard Sean’s thoughts drifted,

an owl with unmistakably cheerful demeanor landed before him, clutching a letter.

When Wizard Sean gently offered a small piece of lamb chop, the owl placed the letter in his hand instead.

Wizard Sean was silent for a moment,

he remembered—he was an orphan, wasn’t he? What the hell was this?

Fortunately, he’d already seen enough “ghosts” at Hogwarts.

So he opened the envelope:

{This is indeed your letter, so come to me, child.

—Minerva McGonagall}