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HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 70
🕑 Added 2025-11-10 17:11:36 +0000 UTCChapter 70: The Letter
Shawn was quietly running through the notes in his head.
Professor Sprout had not only taught him how to process galangal, but also oxalis, bush wormwood, and aloe juice.
All of these were ingredients for the Deflating Draught. Thanks to that, Shawn felt very confident about tonight’s brewing.
Together with the improved ritual and will-guidance, he could at least produce a Proficient-standard Deflating Draught.
Yes, mastering it and already brewing at Proficient standard.
His steps grew lighter.
Until—
"Hogsmeade weekend is still a month away... oh, and it was only on my second trip that I learned this is the only all-wizarding village in Britain—"
A familiar voice was speaking.
"Mm-hm."
Shawn saw it was Leon answering.
"What are you planning to buy at Honeydukes this time?" Leon raised an eyebrow. "If you dare ask for broom polish in there again, you can march in on your own."
"Heh, heh—"
Shawn could already guess who that was.
"They have everything, though... Pepper Imps—smoke right out of your mouth when you eat them—and chocolate balls filled with strawberry creme and regular custard. They even sell Sugar Quills like the one you were sucking in class when Professor McGonagall wasn’t looking, and then you got tossed out..."
Leon looked down his nose at Bruce. "And you still walked in and asked the clerk for broom polish. When he didn’t give it to you, you sprinkled Itching Powder on people."
Shawn’s eyes widened slightly at that.
"All right, all right. I gave out antidotes, didn’t I? And I got walloped with brooms for it—mm—lovely weather today... Oh, Shawn!"
Bruce turned as if he had eyes in the back of his head and waved.
Leon quietly swallowed the line he had been about to add—"And what about the beating Piste and I took?"
Shawn greeted the three upperclassmen politely.
Then the bell rang. Shawn was about to head for the Great Hall when Bruce said, laughter in his voice, "While you were gone, just dealing with the disasters the Hufflepuffs caused chewed through a lot of our time. I sometimes think they’re naturals at mischief. Otherwise, how were they noisier than I ever was?"
Bruce fluttered his lashes. Leon and Piste nodded gravely behind him, though it was anyone’s guess which part they were agreeing with.
"It also made me realize one thing—you came back at exactly the right time."
Bruce produced three chocolate raspberry ice creams topped with chopped nuts from who knew where, shoved them into Shawn’s hands, and murmured, "You’ll never guess. I won a bet on you. The Hufflepuff handbook says sharing joy is a key part of sharing."
Feeling a bit at sea, Shawn carried the three chocolate-raspberry-and-nut ice creams into the Great Hall.
He had the sense that Bruce was hiding something. But given Bruce’s habit of buying broom polish in Honeydukes and sprinkling Itching Powder when refused, Shawn had a hard time guessing what his plan could be.
Perhaps, as Leon had once remarked, "When danger strikes, you can trust Bruce completely. When there’s no danger, it’s best to keep your distance."
In the Great Hall, Hermione was still writing letters with intense focus, her face shading from worry to delight and back again. More sweets and notebooks had appeared beside her, no doubt just delivered by owls.
"Shawn—well, I mean—"
She turned, and a chocolate raspberry ice cream with chopped nuts was pressed into her hands.
"Tastes good," Shawn said, and passed another to Justin, who looked dazed from spending so much time in the kitchens.
Hermione stared at the ice cream for a heartbeat, then seemed to exhale a breath she had been holding.
"Last time, I noticed you were out of notebooks..."
She said it in one rush, and a moment later, a stack of notebooks rose like a small hill, blocking the roast chicken in front of Shawn.
The hearths in the Hall always burned with warm light. Shawn heard Hermione’s voice drift in pieces.
"You brought too few. I happened to have extra..."
And then she buried herself in her letters without looking at him.
Shawn froze for a few seconds. On those notebooks, the blank pages stamped Presented to Miss Hermione Granger had been neatly torn out.
It looked as if they had been prepared for a long time.
So when Justin later asked him quietly in the classroom what else Hermione might like, Shawn thought for a long while.
"Complete, matured notes for the seven core Hogwarts subjects," he said.
"Mer—Merlin," Justin groaned, clapping a hand to his forehead. He recovered a beat later. "All right, I cannot believe I am saying this, but—you’re right, Shawn."
Shawn stayed in the classroom for a while, mostly helping Justin set things up and bundling the notes together.
Justin swore up and down that Hermione would not enter the greenhouse today. Shawn had no idea what strings he had pulled.
Meanwhile, in the corridor, Harry was quietly having Hedwig slip a letter about the Gringotts break-in among the post for Hermione.
...
The dungeon.
Heart warm, pack heavy with notebooks, Shawn turned the corner.
Just as he had not expected the broom to come from Professor McGonagall, he had not expected his shortage of notebooks to be solved by Hermione.
Speaking of letters, he took a yellowed page from the very innermost pocket of his bag.
The elderly lady who often visited the orphanage had slipped it to him. In the second week after he received it, he learned she had passed away.
The paper was thick, as if made of some remarkably tough material.
Dear Shawn:
Life will suddenly get better at some point. That is my little secret. Please keep doing something, however small. The gears of fate will begin to turn in their time. My dear child, you must believe this. Forever love you—Milan
(A pressed violet was pinned at one corner of the page.)
He put the letter away and stepped into the dungeon.
Cold and dim, the dungeon flickered with candle shadows. Glass jars clustered in the corners, strange organs floating slowly in viscous liquids.
Professor Snape’s black robes skimmed the dusty flagstones like a bat unfurling its wings.
When he saw those familiar techniques again, his gaze deepened into something complicated.
Shawn laid his notebook to the side. In every gap between steps, he jotted notes about the brewing process.
He had grown used to constant revision.
Until a draft flipped the notebook to a page dense with writing.
Snape seemed utterly uninterested in Shawn’s brewing. In truth, his cold eyes had already swept the page in an instant.
He saw only a few words.
Using the Nimbus 2000.
