Sean stared at the letter from Gideon in his hand, his face twisted with confusion.
He had just handed his finished paper to Snape. After Snape read it, he scolded Sean harshly for nearly ten minutes, pointing out thirteen errors and calling the paper utterly worthless. Sean trudged back to his dormitory, clutching the marked-up parchment, his mind blank with despair. That's when Blaise delivered Gideon's letter.
It stated that for the next six years, Jason would serve as Sean's follower, even accompanying him to Beauxbatons.
Sean felt a headache brewing as he read the letter.
What on earth is my cunning grandfather planning?
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After the exams, before the results came out, Sean stood in Snape's office, silent as a mouse.
Snape sat in his chair, flipping through Sean's paper with a scowl.
After revising the paper seven times in two days, Sean felt numb from the endless corrections. He just hoped it would pass this time. He didn't want to write another paper anytime soon.
"Fine," Snape said at last. "Take the paper back, rewrite it on proper parchment, and attach a cover letter. Have an owl deliver the paper and letter to this address. If The Golden Crucible accepts it, the Wizengamot will send you a certificate, a payment voucher, and a copy of the journal. If it's rejected, you'll get a receipt and your original paper."
"Is there a bonus if they pick my paper?" Sean asked, perking up.
Snape sighed, glancing at Sean. If Sean hadn't been slaving over revisions, Snape might've snapped at him. "If The Golden Crucible publishes your paper, their editors will pay royalties based on its value. If others cite your work later, you'll earn a small fee. But don't get your hopes up—the money's barely worth mentioning, far less than what you make selling potions around Hogwarts."
Sean chuckled, unfazed. He'd never tried to hide his potion-selling side hustle from the professors. As long as his brews were safe and didn't make anyone sick, no one bothered him about it.
"Right, mail the paper to this address," Snape continued. "The latest issue of The Golden Crucible is closing submissions soon. If you're quick, you might make the deadline. We'll see if it's accepted."
"I'll send it right away," Sean said.
"Hmph," Snape grunted.
Seeing Snape's words taper off, Sean knew it was time to go.
After a year together, they'd developed a certain mutual understanding.
Sean headed to the Owlery in the West Tower, found a sturdy owl with a grumpy expression, and handed it his paper. He gave the address, and the owl flapped off into the sky, parchment clutched in its talons.
As time passed, the little wizards, once relaxed after their exams, grew anxious and eager. They longed for the holidays to start, but the uncertainty of their final grades loomed like a dark cloud.
This was especially true for top students like Hermione, not the struggling ones.
With dark circles under her eyes, Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, her face twisted with worry. "What if I failed Transfiguration?" she muttered, wringing her hands. "I know I got one question wrong… I'm doomed. Professor McGonagall will be so disappointed. And Potions—Snape hates Gryffindors. What if he fails me on purpose? It's over, I've definitely failed Potions…"
Harry and Ron sat beside her, looking utterly defeated.
They'd reassured Hermione countless times that she'd aced her exams. But no matter how often they insisted, she'd calm down for only a few minutes before spiraling back into self-doubt. Harry and Ron, once confident they'd at least pass, now started questioning their own grades, caught in Hermione's whirlwind of worry.
Just as Harry wondered how to snap Hermione out of it, he spotted Sean entering the Great Hall. Without a second thought, he jumped up and hurried over. Since the night Voldemort's magic knocked him out, Harry hadn't had a proper chance to talk to Sean.
Plus, Sean had been holed up writing papers, rarely leaving his dormitory, and Harry couldn't exactly waltz into the Slytherin common room to find him. So, they hadn't spoken in days.
"Sean, hold on a second," Harry called.
Sean, already pausing when he saw Harry approaching, stepped forward with a grin. "Harry, what's up?"
Harry pulled Sean aside and whispered, "Sean, if you hadn't saved me back then, I might've been killed by… You-Know-Who and Quirrell."
Dumbledore had told Harry his mother's love protected him, making it impossible for Voldemort to harm him directly. Still, Harry believed Sean's help had been crucial. Without him, Harry might not have survived Voldemort's attack.
"Harry, even without me, You-Know-Who couldn't have hurt you," Sean said, his tone calm but firm. "Besides, I think Quirrell's sneaky moves at Hogwarts didn't fool the headmaster. I've always felt Dumbledore knew what Quirrell was up to. He just wanted to figure out Quirrell's goal and who was behind him. Even if I hadn't been there, Dumbledore would've made sure neither Quirrell nor You-Know-Who could touch you."
"You mean… Headmaster Dumbledore was protecting me all along?" Harry's face lit up with disbelief.
"That's what I think," Sean replied with a shrug.
As Harry returned to the Gryffindor table, still processing the idea, Sean made his way to the Slytherin table. He sat across from Blaise, grabbed his knife and fork, and dug into his meal, the clatter of plates filling the air.
Mid-bite, Sean glanced up and noticed Jason sitting nearby, watching him. In the past, Jason would've looked away or pretended Sean didn't exist. But this time, he gave a slight nod, a quiet greeting.
Sean, catching Jason's gesture, recalled Gideon's letter. It had said that starting this summer, Jason would be his follower for six years. Apparently, it was true.
This was going to be a hassle.
Could he say no?
Knowing his cunning grandfather, probably not.
Oh well, one step at a time, Sean thought, spearing a roasted potato.
After wolfing down their meal, Sean and Blaise headed back to the Slytherin common room, the dungeon's green glow casting eerie shadows.
Both were exhausted lately. Sean was worn out from slaving over his The Golden Crucible paper, while Blaise was drained from romantic drama. His third-year girlfriend had been picking fights over every little thing, and Blaise's patience was wearing thin. Otherwise, he wouldn't have trudged back to the common room with Sean today, missing a chance to patch things up.
As they stepped inside, they saw a crowd huddled around the notice board. Curious, they pushed through and found the announcement for next year's prefects. Sean skimmed it, uninterested in who'd been chosen, and turned to leave. But before he could, Samuel and Irina, approached him. "Samuel, Irina, what's this about?" Sean asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Let's talk over here," Samuel said, leading Sean to a quiet corner of the common room.
Irina flicked her wand, summoning a Hogwarts house-elf who appeared with a pop, balancing a tray of steaming black tea. The elf set it down with a bow and vanished.
Once the tea was poured, Irina spoke first. "Sean, remember what you told me before the Quidditch match?"
Of course Sean remembered. He'd suggested the Slytherin Quidditch team bend the rules to let Malfoy join as a first-year, then leverage that to get the Malfoy family to donate more Nimbus 2000 brooms. Sadly, Malfoy was useless, and despite Harry's long absence, Slytherin still hadn't nabbed the Golden Snitch.
Looking at Irina, Sean sensed something and nodded. "That plan's done, right? We lost."
"We lost," Irina admitted, "but your idea was brilliant. The seventh-year prefects loved it. Even though we didn't win Quidditch, the rewards for suggesting it weren't cut at all."
Seeing the grins on Samuel and Irina's faces, Sean knew they'd scored big. Clearly, Slytherin's seven-year Quidditch streak meant more than he'd realized. There were layers to this he didn't fully grasp.
"So… Samuel, Irina, you're not just here for me to congratulate you, are you?" Sean asked, smirking.
Samuel and Irina chuckled, and Irina said, "Not everyone knows about this, but with your skills, you're practically guaranteed to join us, so we can tell you. After graduation, Slytherin alumni form a group called the Slytherin Brotherhood. The name says 'brotherhood,' but talented witches can join too. That's not the point…
The point is, members of this group promise to help each other. It's a hidden network, a huge advantage. Samuel and I were on the fence about joining, but your Quidditch idea pushed us over the line. We've officially joined the Slytherin Brotherhood—two years before graduation, which is rare. We'll have a strong future in the group.
And we owe it to you."
Sean offered his congratulations, but his mind was on the Slytherin Brotherhood.
It sounded like those exclusive Muggle clubs where politicians and tycoons trade favors. In the Muggle world, a letter from a club member could get you into a top school or secure a deal. The Slytherin Brotherhood was clearly the wizarding version.
"Sean, joining the Slytherin Brotherhood is a big deal for us," Irina continued. "If we work at the Ministry of Magic after graduation, we can tap into this network to connect with powerful members who are also in the Brotherhood. It'll give us a leg up. Even if we go into business, the Brotherhood's support is huge. So, we've talked it over. Samuel and I want to give you a thank-you gift. Please accept it."
Samuel reached into a bag charmed with an Extension Charm and pulled out two contracts, placing them before Sean.
One was on plain paper, the other on fine parchment. One was for the Muggle world, the other for the wizarding world.
"You can see," Samuel said, "one contract is for a Muggle hotel chain, the other for a shop in Diagon Alley. The Muggle one offers 5% shares, the Diagon Alley one 3%. Sign them, and you'll get those shares, plus yearly dividends."
Sean flipped through the contracts and shook his head. "These are too much. I can't take them."
"Sean, it's not too much for the help you gave us," Irina insisted.
Sean knew the shares were less a thank-you and more an investment in his potential. Before, Samuel and Irina had only talked about supporting him, watching his moves. Now, with his duels, Potions Club success, and rumors of his The Golden Crucible paper, they saw him as a rising star worth betting on.
Logically, Sean could accept the shares without much trouble. But he didn't like it. Taking favors meant owing favors, and the price could be steep later. The shares were tempting, but Sean wasn't desperate. He didn't need to chain himself for a shiny reward.
"Keep the Diagon Alley shop shares," Sean said. "Change the Muggle hotel chain to 2% as a reward for my help. I'll take that."
Samuel and Irina exchanged a glance, regret in their eyes. They wanted to invest, but Sean wasn't biting. If he were less capable, they might've thought him ungrateful. But Sean's track record—duels, potions, and now The Golden Crucible—proved he was a powerhouse in the making.
Since Sean wouldn't budge, Irina tapped her wand on the contract. The Muggle hotel chain's 5% changed to 2%.
Sean flicked his wand, signing the contract with a flourish. His name glowed briefly on the paper. From that moment, he owned 2% of the Muggle hotel chain—a gift he intended for his parents.
As Squibs, Sean's parents knew the wizarding world but lived as Muggles. Their lives hadn't been easy. Raised in the magical world, they lacked the education or skills for high-paying Muggle jobs, scraping by with modest work. This 2% share would let them live comfortably, like a middle-class Muggle family, easing their burdens.