Watching Blaise disappear down the corridor, Sean turned back to Harry and the others with a light, casual tone.
"Alright," he said. "Where do you want to talk? Somewhere nearby, or somewhere more… private?"
Harry nodded toward a quiet corridor just ahead. "Let's go this way."
The four of them walked in silence for a few moments, their footsteps echoing off the stone floor. As they turned the corner, Draco Malfoy came into view. He was clearly heading in their direction, his expression already forming into a familiar sneer—until he noticed who Harry was walking with.
The sneer vanished. Malfoy took two more steps, paused, and then, with practiced smoothness, turned on his heel and vanished down another hallway—well out of Sean's line of sight.
Sean chuckled softly as he watched Malfoy retreat. "Well," he said, smirking, "that was unexpected. So, Harry… what brings you to me, of all people?"
Harry glanced briefly at Ron and Hermione, then drew a slow breath and met Sean's eyes.
"Sean," he said, "we've heard you're doing some kind of… potion business. Trading, ingredients, that sort of thing. I wanted to ask—do you know how to get your hands on bicorn horn and the skin of an African bush snake?"
The moment Harry spoke, Sean understood.
Polyjuice Potion.There was no other reason they'd need both bicorn horn and African bush snake skin.
What puzzled him was that he couldn't quite recall how they had gotten those ingredients in the original timeline—if they even had. But now that they had come to him, he wasn't going to turn them away. Whether it was due to the subtle camaraderie he felt or the fact that Harry had lent him the Invisibility Cloak without hesitation, Sean figured they deserved his help.
He didn't ask why they needed the ingredients. That was their business.
Instead, he simply said, "Are you in a hurry to use them? If not, I'll have them ready for you by Saturday night. Is that alright?"
Harry blinked in surprise. Ron's mouth fell open slightly. Even Hermione, who usually kept her composure, looked taken aback.
They clearly hadn't expected Sean to agree so readily—let alone promise delivery in just two days. Today was Thursday. That meant they'd have what they needed by the day after tomorrow.
"Really?" Harry asked, almost cautiously. "You can actually get them that soon?"
Sean offered a faint, knowing smile. "I told you—I know a thing or two about potions. Leave it to me."
------------
Back in the Slytherin common room.
Miles Bulstrode sat stiffly near the entrance of the Slytherin common room, just as Draco Malfoy passed by. He opened his mouth, intending to say something—but Malfoy didn't even glance in his direction. Without so much as a nod, Draco strode past, followed by Crabbe and Goyle, and took his usual spot on the central sofa as if Miles didn't exist. The three of them launched into loud, arrogant conversation, oblivious to everyone else.
Miles's face flushed with humiliation, shifting from pale to a blotchy, sickly blue. He turned to look around the room, searching for a familiar expression, a friendly glance—anything. But all he found were indifference and cold shoulders. Some glanced at him briefly, then looked away. Others didn't bother to acknowledge him at all.
He was invisible now.
Not long ago, when he first entered Hogwarts, things had been different. Miles remembered vividly how he had once been surrounded by admiration. His presence rivaled Malfoy's. In fact, after Malfoy was humiliated by Sean Bulstrode at the start of the year, Miles had even gained more followers—three more, to be exact. For a while, he had basked in that attention, believing he was destined for something greater.
But now… he had no one.
Even Jason, the timid and obedient boy who had followed him around like a shadow last year, had abandoned him. This year, Jason had sided with Sean—that conniving bastard—and now didn't even acknowledge Miles when they passed each other in the halls.
It was unbearable.
Humiliation burned in his chest like a slow curse, but there was nothing he could do about it.
Gritting his teeth, Miles Bulstrode clenched his fists in silent frustration.
He remembered clearly what his father had told him before the start of the school year—"Keep your head down, Miles. Be patient. Behave well. Your time will come."
Those words had echoed like a curse over the past weeks, especially as he watched his once-loyal followers drift away, one by one, toward Sean Bulstrode.
Sean—that bastard.
Still, Miles had begun to pick up on something subtle in his father's recent letters. There was a certain weight behind the words, a careful tone that hinted at deeper plans. His father was preparing to make a move—soon, and decisively.
From the way he spoke, it was clear: the family's full power was being readied. And once it moved, Sean would be nothing but ash in the wind.
I just have to wait, Miles reminded himself. Be patient… and he'll disappear for good.
Swallowing his resentment, Miles forced down his anger and made his way back to his room.
Once inside, he tossed his cloak aside and placed the book he'd been pretending to read on his desk. With a sigh, he considered summoning a Hogwarts house-elf for some tea and snacks to distract himself—but then something caught his eye.
There was a book already sitting on the desk.
Not the one he had just set down, but an entirely different one—worn, old, bound in dark leather. Its edges were weathered, its presence silent and strange. He didn't remember bringing it with him.
Frowning, Miles reached for it.
He opened the cover and flipped through the pages—blank. All of them. No title. No name. No writing. Just an eerie emptiness.
His first thought was that someone was playing a prank. Or maybe he'd mistakenly taken someone's old diary while leaving the library.
He nearly tossed it in the bin.
But then… something in him hesitated.
A strange reluctance. A flicker of curiosity. As though the book itself didn't want to be discarded.
Holding the old diary in his hands, Miles Bulstrode slowly sank into the chair at his desk. The common room noise faded into the background as he turned the mysterious object over in his fingers. The leather cover was worn but strangely intact—thick, old, and cool to the touch. He opened it again, flipping through the pages one by one.
Nothing. Not a single word.
But then his eyes caught something on the front cover—faded, yet still gleaming faintly in gold:
Tom Riddle
The name rang a bell.
Tom Riddle…It sounded familiar, though he couldn't quite place it. Definitely not a current student. Was he from Ravenclaw? Maybe Hufflepuff? Definitely not Gryffindor—those impulsive fools wouldn't keep a diary.
Slytherin? No… probably not. He would've remembered a name like that.
Miles frowned, fingers brushing over the gold-inked name. As he stared at it, a strange feeling came over him—a pull, soft but insistent, like a whisper in the back of his mind.
He felt it: the sudden, irrational urge to pick up his quill and write.
The thought came out of nowhere—sharp, vivid, and impossible to ignore. The diary was blank, after all. What harm could it do?
Just one line, he thought.
So he opened it.
He dipped his quill in ink, hesitated for only a heartbeat, and scrawled:
"I will punish everyone who looks down on me!"