Chapter 132: Refusal
"You mean you are not interested in Quidditch?" Prefect Penelope looked baffled. She turned her confusion into frank sincerity.
"May I ask why? You know, Mr Green, you have real talent. If you cannot join the Quidditch team, it would be quite a shame."
Shawn thought for a moment. He flicked his wand. The flame in the jar suddenly leapt up and became a fire salamander.
It scampered across the ground, leaving a trail of flames in its wake. After coiling to gather strength, it swelled to several times its size before slowly dispersing... and flowing back into Shawn's jar as a ribbon of fire.
The astonishing display earned a chorus of gasps. "Merlin—" Prefect Penelope stood rooted to the spot.
This was advanced Transfiguration. Even though she had only just grasped the basics, and here was this young wizard casting it as casually as breathing.
And judging by his manner, he still had plenty of power in reserve.
"I heard there was a Ravenclaw called Green in this year who was quite good, but surely not to this degree," Troya mumbled.
"Am I even learning the same Transfiguration as him? What is the point?" the blond Ravenclaw beside him said blankly.
"Little wizard. Foolish little wizard," Mr Owl said smugly. His wings stopped flapping and folded with great elegance.
In the face of Mr Owl's mockery, several Ravenclaws lowered their heads.
They began to wonder whether they truly were...
Under their collective gaze, Shawn gave a polite nod.
"Thank you for the invitation. I would rather spend my time on Transfiguration, though."
He stepped past the frowning Prefect with her tightly pressed lips.
She sighed in exasperation and threw a furious glare at the trembling Ravenclaws.
Especially that idiot Roger.
If they had found Green a bit earlier, before he had fallen in love with Transfiguration, could they have made him fall for Quidditch instead?
Even a little would have done. Interest could be cultivated slowly.
When he soared through the sky on a broom, when he scored with skill and flair, when he basked in cheers and admiring stares...
"Roger, you had better lead the team to win this year's Quidditch Cup," she snapped, anger lacing her words.
"I will think of something else."
"Yes, ma'am," Roger said, straightening.
Mr Owl gave a haughty snort and vanished into the wall.
Penelope was in a foul mood, but the arrival of another figure made her eyes light up.
Further down the corridor, where torches burned on the walls, Minerva McGonagall stood watching the young wizard for a long time.
In her hand was a letter dusted with snowflakes. The snow was melting into cold droplets of water, leaving scalding marks on her heart.
"Go and... collect some information for me. About Shawn and Professor McGonagall," she murmured to the Ravenclaws behind her, as if recalling some rumour.
…
On that same corridor, Ravenclaw was not the only house nursing a broken heart.
"H‑Harry, do we still have a chance?" Ron tried to smile. The result looked worse than crying.
"There is still... a chance, I suppose?" Harry said, swaying.
Every first‑year admired Mr Green. It was not only because of the Green Notes.
More importantly, Green knew everything and was willing to share. Even Slytherins would not speak ill of him.
When older students showed off a spell, first‑years used to watch with longing. Now you could say, "Transfiguration? Ha. I know Mr Green can turn a desk into a pig."
"If you lot also knew nonverbal spells, you might just about match what Mr Green achieved in a month."
Mr Green was the pride of the first years.
Even Professor Flitwick had said, "Astonishing, children. You are the fastest‑improving first‑years in Charms I have ever taught."
Though that was thanks to the Green Notes, it did not stop the young wizards puffing out their chests.
Joining the secret group had become an obsession for Harry and Ron. Especially when they were with Neville, a sense of distance crept in.
So the two of them had been in low spirits.
Justin, lurking in a corner, had been laughing for three solid days. Even Hermione looked oddly amused.
What were those two thinking?
Did they really believe Shawn would care about Quidditch?
It was a Thursday with light snow.
Fluttering flakes drifted against the windows, drawing curious glances from a few students as they slowly froze into a thin crust of ice.
Shawn moved as briskly as ever. After closely studying the notes and several other books on Alchemy, he had at last found his answer.
The answer about Potions and Alchemy.
In this black, initial stage, impure metals – the raw materials of Alchemy – or the old, obsolete state of being, are killed, broken down, dissolved into primal matter so that they may be reshaped and reborn in new form.
At this stage, the will capable of perceiving Alchemy's profound transformations becomes critically important, and further divides entry‑level alchemists into tiers.]
It sounded familiar.
Shawn pulled out Advanced Potion‑Making.
[The fusion stage of a potion is hailed as one of the most mysterious transformations. Impure substances – potion ingredients – or the old, obsolete state of being, are killed, dissolved into primal matter so that they may be reshaped and reborn in new form.]
Shawn had no idea which discipline was borrowing from the other, but the passage revealed one truth: Potions and Alchemy shared an intimate connection.
Both involved the transformation of matter.
So, unlocking the Proficient‑level title in Potions became an unquestionable goal.
On his way down to the dungeons, he opened his panel.
[Title: Novice Potioneer]
[Greatly increases perception of potions; slightly enhances potion talent]
Novice Potioneer was the Entry title. To reach Proficient required:
[Advancement: Three Proficient‑level potions and three Entry‑level potions to unlock Proficient‑level title in Potions domain]
[Boil‑Cure Potion: Proficient (210/900)]
[Deflating Draught: Entry (220/300)]
[Swelling Solution: Entry (210/300)]
Shawn's progress was not bad. Potions took a long time to brew and consumed a lot of materials, so proficiency requirements were not especially high.
It gave him hope that he could grind to a Proficient title in a short span.
The wind in the dungeons already carried snow. Ever since the troll incident, Professor Snape had been restless and on edge.
One moment, he would stare at Shawn's vivid green eyes. Next, he would radiate deep pain and fury.
"You had better be able to learn this within the hour, Shawn Green. Do you think you have all the time in the world?!"