CRACK!
A sharp impact nearby shattered Sean's thoughts.
He turned his head toward the sound. Aldrich stood beside him, wand drawn, his expression a thunderous mask of professionalism. At his feet, a red Quaffle bounced softly on the grass. Aldrich had clearly cast a Shield Charm just in time.
On the Quidditch pitch a short distance away, a group of Beauxbatons students hovered on their broomsticks, their derisive laughter echoing across the lawn. Their gloating expressions told the whole story. It was a deliberate provocation.
Ignoring the students, Aldrich's immediate concern was for Sean. "Young Master, are you alright?"
Sean shook his head. "I'm fine. I just don't understand why they're targeting me. I haven't offended them. Is it simply because I'm an outsider?"
For adolescents, simple dislike was often reason enough. Sean's question was more of a wry observation than a genuine inquiry.
Aldrich, however, looked at the cackling students, and a memory clicked into place. He leaned in and whispered, "Young Master, I believe those are the students who burst into the Great Hall at noon. The ones Professor Moreau disciplined. It seems they are blaming you for their punishment."
Sean's eyes narrowed slightly. Now that Aldrich mentioned it, he recognized them. He sighed. A disaster he hadn't even earned.
"Hey, Hogwarts!" one of the students shouted, his voice dripping with condescension. "Could you please throw the ball back? If you can't manage the throw, just say the word. We'll come and get it ourselves."
A fresh wave of jeering laughter erupted from his friends.
Sean sighed again, a soft, resigned sound. He had envisioned a quiet month at Beauxbatons, filled with books and new knowledge, before returning home to his parents. But these little thugs were insistent. Fine. If they insisted on a lesson, he would be happy to provide one.
"Aldrich, give me the ball."
"Young Master, you intend to...?"
"They want the ball," Sean said, his voice deceptively calm. "We'll give it to them."
Aldrich said nothing further, but Jensen, standing nearby, spoke up, a surprising spark of anger in his voice. "S-Young Master, are we just going to let this go? Just toss it back to them?"
Sean spared Jensen a glance. For the most part, his attendant had been a passive, drifting presence. But now, in the face of this provocation, a hint of shared indignation had surfaced. It was an improvement.
A thin, dangerous smile touched Sean's lips as he took the Quaffle from Aldrich. "Of course we have to return their ball, Jensen. But if they can't catch it... well, that's not my problem, is it?"
He shifted his stance, planting his feet firmly on the ground. His muscles coiled, power gathering in his shoulders and arm. With a single hand, he aimed at the loudmouth who had been taunting them.
Then, he threw.
The Quaffle left his hand not as a ball, but as a red blur, a miniature cannonball fired with explosive force. There was a collective gasp from the Beauxbatons students, followed by a scream. The Quaffle didn't just hit the loudmouth's broom; it obliterated it. The wood exploded into a shower of splinters, and the boy and the remnants of his broom plummeted toward the ground.
Sean watched as the boy's panicked friends scrambled to catch him before he hit the turf. Satisfied, he turned his back on the ensuing chaos on the pitch. Without a backward glance, he started walking toward the Great Hall, leaving a stunned Jensen and a quietly composed Aldrich to follow. The frantic shouts from the Quidditch pitch were a noise he simply chose to ignore.
Sitting in the Great Hall, Sean sampled a variety of special dishes, his mood considerably improved. Jensen, however, kept stealing glances at him, his face a mask of disbelief. He couldn't comprehend Sean's monstrous strength. He wasn't stupid; he knew with chilling certainty that if that throw had connected with his face, his head would have been smashed to pulp. If someone had told him Sean was a Troll in human skin, he would have believed them without question.
Aldrich, too, was privately curious about the source of his young master's physical power. But unlike Jensen, his curiosity would remain just that. When Marcellus Bulstrode had assigned him to Sean, the instructions had been unequivocal: his loyalty and service were to Sean, above all else. Even if Sean were to one day turn his back on the Bulstrode family, Aldrich was to follow. Exploring his young master's secrets was not part of his duty. It was a breach of the professional ethics he prided himself on—ethics that were as ingrained as the instinct to offer the perfect, comforting word at the perfect time.
After he had eaten his fill, Sean was enjoying a small dish of dessert when two figures approached their table. It was Fleur and Barre.
"May we sit here?" Fleur asked, a copy of The Golden Cauldron held in her hand.
Sean saw the journal and knew instantly the reason for their visit. He gestured to the empty chairs with a nod. "Of course. Please, join me."
Fleur and Barre smiled and sat, their initial nervousness giving way to academic excitement.
"Sean, may I call you that?" At Sean's nod, Fleur continued, "We saw the paper you published. We have some questions we would like to ask you, if it is not an inconvenience."
"Not at all," Sean replied. "Ask away. I will tell you anything I can."
"Thank you. Our questions are primarily about the two novel material processing methods you outlined. We were wondering about their universal applicability, if they can be adapted for use in other potions..."
Listening to them, Sean could immediately tell their knowledge of Potions was advanced. He adjusted his mindset, listening intently to their nuanced questions before giving them serious, thoughtful answers. It was a true meeting of minds. They challenged his assumptions and offered alternative perspectives he hadn't considered.
Time melted away. The three of them were so engrossed in their discussion of theory and technique that they didn't notice the Great Hall emptying around them, until at last they were the only ones left.
Fleur and Barre had gained a wealth of new insights, but so had Sean. In the process of answering their questions, he was forced to re-examine his own work through their eyes, gaining a new, deeper understanding of what he had created.
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