A piece of bad news upended Sean's plans: Professor Tayra wasn't in.
"Tayra's a very busy witch—always shuttling between several wizarding schools… Not seeing her is normal," the Weasleys' words echoed in Sean's mind. It seemed unlikely he'd find the professor in the short term.
So Sean could only try to study ancient runes and choose materials on his own.
Or—he thought—maybe the twins would have some ideas?
Just like the rune notes they'd given him last time—no muddled descriptions, but precise phrasing that preserved meaning.
In the corridor, a figure on a pony flickered past; at the same corner where it vanished, a tall figure appeared.
When Sean entered the corridor, an unexpected witch stood before him.
"Mr. Green, a pleasure to see you."
The tall prefect spoke politely, with a hint of warmth.
"Prefect Clearwater," Sean nodded. He found this corridor annoyingly busy—every time he walked it, someone stopped him.
"Oh—Selection and Illumination of Alchemical Materials? Studying ancient alchemy? That's sixth-year content," the prefect said, glancing at his notebook—her smile brightening.
"Ravenclaw has many students who take Ancient Runes—maybe we can help?"
Sean shook his head. Her purpose wasn't hard to guess—and from the look of her, she hadn't planned to hide it.
"I imagine your notes are quite complete—but hear me out. Ravenclaw has a Magical Society. Yes, a club. It gathers many wizards like you who love to probe into magic…"
As she spoke, she watched him closely. He was a little interested—but not much.
"We have lots of Ancient Runes notes—everyone's annotations of those opaque texts. Easy to understand, checked by professors, very reliable."
Sean's eyes lit a little.
"Many were left by Ravenclaws from years ago."
Sean began to consider it.
"They can all be yours. And if you want to find Professor Bathsheba Babbling for lessons, we can manage that too… as long as you agree to play for Ravenclaw—three—no, two matches will do!"
The prefect spoke faster and faster. From her description, it sounded like Sean's first problem—runes and materials—might not be a problem after all.
He had always believed that magic is vast—what he set out to do might be something no one had succeeded at, but that didn't mean others hadn't failed before.
After all, even Venomous Tentacula had been eaten by some wizard—and ended up on a Chocolate Frog card.
Magic isn't always direct, but the lines contain gains.
So Sean wavered a little.
If the Magical Society's notes were truly useful, it would be fair to give something in return.
Penelope Clearwater's mouth quirked. They'd had an eye on Sean for more than a day or two. Especially with the twins being so unabashed, Sean's alchemy studies weren't hard to discover.
More importantly, she had just… struck a bargain—with someone.
"I think—"
Her terms were very tempting. He simply disliked Quidditch, its wasted time and potential for injury. But to play briefly—once or twice—was fine; his body was no longer so frail.
This was an equal exchange—Sean could accept that.
"Don't be too quick to refuse… I've heard Professor McGonagall is very fond of Quidditch—apparently she attends every match," Prefect Clearwater said softly, then stopped there.
"I'm sorry to have heard some things. If you're angry, I'll be in a world of trouble. But it's something that must be done, even at that cost.
"Sean, we need you—Ravenclaw's Quidditch team needs you—as does all of Ravenclaw. This is our best chance."
She looked at him.
"In Merlin's name, no one else will hear of this. I don't know why you aren't called Sean McG., but if you don't want to say, no one will ever know."
Penelope Clearwater was a clever witch. She faced her desires and kept herself constrained by a moral line not often seen. So although her shrewdness could be offensive, the Ravenclaws still trusted her—at least she dared lay everything on the table, no?
Wind hooted down the corridor. Wide Christmas garlands hung overhead, and the portraits shifted in light and shadow.
The prefect held her breath—the boy before her was thinking. Only when he heard "Professor McGonagall" did he stir—and then he calmed again.
"How dismal! To hear such shameful scheming!" a voice cried. Sean knew it at once—Sir Cadogan. His tone was courtly, but his state was not good—his pony was dragging him back into his frame, and his legs scraped along the floor.
"You should be ashamed, witch!" His legs dangled; he clutched the pony, voice deep with ancient knightly cadence, though the sight was less than dignified.
Penelope lowered her head a fraction. "I'm sorry."
"Love is not for using so, madam," the knight said—then winked at Sean. "You should first do something for your error—I think you've served your House honour well; now you should offer your apology."
Sean watched as the prefect pulled a stack of notes from her bag—she had them ready.
"You are right, Sir Cadogan," she said, handing the notes to Sean. "Whether or not you come, Ravenclaw will always support you. If you wish to find Professor Babbling—or decide to fight one match for Ravenclaw—contact me anytime."
This time her smile was utterly sincere. Then she tilted her head, mimed zipping her lips, and left the corridor.
The truth was… Sean had already agreed a moment earlier.
As for Professor McGonagall—she had originally intended to publicize the news… but since Professor Snape had no wish for it, she cheerfully let it be.
A little later.
In a corridor corner—
"Sir, will this really work?" Prefect Clearwater paced, all her earlier poise gone, looking almost uneasy.
"I understand little Green far better than anyone else at Hogwarts!" the knight said, full of confidence.
"Let's hope so," she sighed, paced a bit more, and left.
Sir Cadogan hummed a tune:
"Of course the great cat would prefer to go public—but keeping it quiet protects him, yes? Severus.
"Just think of seeing little Green fly free! Ha! The big cat must be as thrilled as I am!
"And while we're at it, one more nuisance solved—oh, little Green, when you find out, how will you thank me? I've no desire to hang at the dungeon door…"