Sean sank onto the Slytherin bench in the Great Hall, exhaling hard. He grabbed his knife and fork, digging into his meal. Writing his Potions essay all afternoon had worn out his mind, producing just a short paragraph. It felt as grueling as a Potions Club session. His stomach growled fiercely.
Blaise Zabini, across the table, eyed him and shook his head. "You're more tired now than before exams."
"No choice," Sean said, mouth half-full. He choked, coughed, and thumped his chest, gulping pumpkin juice to clear it. "The essay Snape wants is a big deal. It's got high standards. I want it done fast, so I'm stuck working hard."
Blaise leaned in. "Can that essay really get into The Golden Crucible?"
"Not guaranteed, but it's possible," Sean said, shrugging.
Awe flashed over Blaise's face, half for The Golden Crucible, half for his friend Sean.
Sean caught his look and grinned. "Stop staring like that. It's gross. I'm eating."
"It's The Golden Crucible! The top Potions journal!" Blaise said. "My mum gets it every month. My best mate might publish in it!"
Sean laughed, shaking his head. "Act normal, will you? It might not happen. If my writing's bad, they won't publish it. You're getting ahead of yourself."
"We're both first-years, but you're already at this level," Blaise said. "It's wild."
"Just luck," Sean said, brushing it off.
Blaise chuckled, his goofy grin lingering, making Sean lose his appetite. He left half his roast chicken uneaten.
After lunch, Sean craved fresh air. He strolled to Hogwarts' small garden, the cool breeze easing his mind. There, he spotted Snape cornering Harry, his voice sharp with threats.
Was Snape scaring Harry to keep him safe from Quirrell and Voldemort, or just venting his grudge? Maybe both, Sean thought. Snape's feelings for Harry were a tangle—always harsh, yet fiercely protective, even to the point of giving his life.
Sean sighed. Snape had been good to him, and he didn't want to see him die by Nagini's fangs again. After a life of pain, Snape deserved peace.
He watched Harry, Ron Weasley, and Hermione lower their heads and hurry back to the castle. Tonight, Sean knew, they'd likely go for the Philosopher's Stone. With his plan ready, he stopped watching and approached Snape.
"Professor, my essay's over halfway done," Sean said. "I'll have it for you tomorrow or the day after."
"Be thorough," Snape snapped, robes swirling. "I won't accept a rushed, sloppy paper."
"Don't worry, I've got it," Sean said.
Snape strode off without another word.
Sean wandered the grounds a bit longer, letting the tension slip away, then returned to the near-empty library to grind out more of his essay.
After dinner, Sean went to his room, claiming he was tired. He shut the door, faking sleep.
He tossed some food to Kulkan, still coiled and dozing, then swapped into light clothes and soft sneakers. He strapped a pouch with nine potions to his waist, cast a Disillusionment Charm to blend into the shadows, and slipped out of the common room, heading for the fourth-floor room where Fluffy guarded the trapdoor.
The corridors were quiet. Most students lingered in common rooms after dinner, chatting or playing games. Ghosts rarely roamed now, and Peeves, scared of Slytherin's Bloody Baron, wouldn't bother Sean.
He reached the fourth-floor corridor, spotting the door ajar. Heavy panting and low growls echoed—Fluffy was awake.
Good thing I came prepared, Sean thought.
He pulled a music box from his pouch, opened it, and slid it through the door's crack. Soon, loud snores replaced the growls. Sean nudged the door open, saw Fluffy's three heads slumped, and crossed to the trapdoor. He lifted it and jumped in.
His feet hit something soft—Devil's Snare. Before its vines could grab him, Sean's wand flashed a bright light, making the plant recoil. He dropped through, free.
Using a Levitation Charm to slow his fall, Sean's wandlight revealed scorched Devil's Snare vines and footprints of different sizes. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been here already.
I rushed, thinking I'd beat them, but I'm late? Sean thought. I hope it's not too late. Missing a shot at Voldemort would be a waste.
Sean pressed on, urgency driving him.
He reached the Winged Keys room, the right key already in the lock. Waving his wand to fend off other keys, he opened the door and stepped onto a giant Wizard's Chessboard. Ron lay slumped to the side. Sean checked him—unhurt, just out cold—and moved on.
Two steps later, he spotted Harry and Hermione nearing the troll's room, about to enter the Potions chamber.
"Harry! Hermione!" Sean called out.
Harry and Hermione froze, turning to face him in the troll's room.
Sean stepped closer, pinching his nose. The air was foul—thick with the troll's stench and a sharp tang of blood. It was enough to make anyone gag.
Blood…
Sean glanced at the troll, then froze. It wasn't just knocked out. Its head was smashed, brains and flesh splattered across the wall like a gruesome painting. The skull above its eyes was a ruined mess.
So brutal, Sean thought. Wasn't this world supposed to be for kids at first? Even the movies were PG. Did heads explode in the books?
Since entering the wizarding world, things felt off. His grandfather, Gideon, didn't need a wand to banish Sean's uncle with a shout.
The magic in Gideon's old notebook was stranger than anything Sean expected.
At school, Jason, a third-year Slytherin, was a student who'd mastered the Shield Charm—something many adult wizards couldn't do. In Diagon Alley, Sean had seen two Aurors who moved like elite soldiers. And that pocket watch Gideon gave him? Its power was almost too strong.
Sean had brushed these off as oddities, but this mangled troll changed everything. This world was darker, its magic wilder and more dangerous. More people wielded powerful spells than he'd thought.
If this were a movie, it'd be rated R, not PG-13. Dark and dangerous…
Sean shook his head, snapping back to the moment.
No time to overthink.
"Harry, Hermione, what are you doing here?" he asked.
"We…" Harry started, glancing at Hermione, unsure.
They hesitated. Should they say they were stopping Snape from stealing the Philosopher's Stone? Snape was Sean's mentor, and they worried he wouldn't believe them.
"Forget it," Sean said. "What's your plan now?"
"We're heading deeper in," Hermione said.
"Alright!" Sean nodded. "I'm coming with you."
"But…" Harry trailed off, uneasy.
Sean remembered—Harry and Hermione thought Snape was after the Stone. No wonder they were wary of him, a Slytherin tied to Snape.
He faked a panicked look. "Hurry up, you two! When I got here, I saw Snape and McGonagall patrolling outside. If we dawdle, they'll catch us, and we're in big trouble!"
"Snape?" Harry said, eyes wide.
Harry and Hermione exchanged glances, confusion flickering. If Snape was outside, who was ahead? Who tricked Hagrid about Fluffy? Who killed the unicorn for its blood? Who was after the Philosopher's Stone?
They trusted Sean. He was Slytherin, but one of the good ones. Still, they'd avoided him, thinking Snape was the thief.
"Sean, is Snape really outside? Professor Snape?" Hermione asked.
Sean nodded, feigning confusion. "He's with McGonagall. No one could fake that, right?"
"If Snape's outside, who's in here?" Hermione said.
Harry turned to her, face grim.
Sean's words didn't fully clear Snape, but their doubts about him faded.
"No matter who it is, we stop them!" Harry said, looking at Sean. "Come with us. I'll explain on the way."
"Got it!" Sean said.
The three left the troll's room, hurrying through a short corridor. Hermione quickly explained their mission to Sean, who nodded as if it was news. They reached the Potions room. As they crossed the threshold, black flames roared up ahead, and purple flames flared behind, trapping them.
"Look!" Hermione said, spotting seven bottles and a parchment. She grabbed the paper. "This is a riddle. Three bottles have poison, two have wine, one gets us through the black flames, one through the purple. Give me a minute to solve it."
Hermione studied the parchment, ready to crack the puzzle.
But Sean stepped forward, sniffing each bottle carefully.
He picked up the smallest one.
"This has Fireproof Potion," he said. "It's what we need."
Hermione paused. "How do you know? Don't we need the riddle?"
Sean grinned. "Did I learn Potions for nothing?" He pointed at the bottles. "Those two have wine. These three aren't poison—they're strong sleeping draughts, like Draught of Living Death. That one's a calming potion. None help with flames. This one in my hand? Fireproof Potion."
"How do you know it's Fireproof?" Hermione asked, skeptical.
Sean pulled a vial from his potion pouch, its liquid matching the small bottle's. "I brought my own Fireproof Potion. I know the smell."