Chapter 70: Feast and Rumors

"Sean, look, where's our Head of House going?" Blaise nudged Sean, his voice low but curious.

Sean glanced at the staff table, where Professor Snape was rising, his black robes billowing as he slipped through the door behind the table, vanishing from the Great Hall. The enchanted ceiling glimmered above, casting starlight over the chattering students, but Snape's exit was an odd note in the festive air.

Professors rarely missed the start-of-term feast, let alone left mid-banquet. Snape's departure hinted at something unusual—perhaps an urgent matter, maybe tied to the whispers of Harry and Ron's absence. Sean's mind wandered, picturing Snape striding off to handle some secret Hogwarts business. Then, unbidden, a ridiculous image popped up: Snape, stone-faced, robes clutched, perched in the castle's ancient lavatory, tackling a more… personal issue.

Sean stifled a chuckle, the thought too absurd to share. Blaise, Andy, and Jason shot him puzzled looks, catching his sudden grin. They'd seen him deep in thought moments ago, only to crack up as Snape left. Sean shook his head, waving off their curiosity. How could he explain? Admitting he'd imagined Snape in such a comical predicament would brand him a complete weirdo.

The feast began, platters materializing with a flourish. Sean sliced into a roast beef, its crispy edge just how he liked it, paired with a dollop of treacle tart for good measure. Blaise, beside him, piled his plate with rarer cuts, muttering about Sean's taste for "overcooked" meat. Their banter faded into the hall's hum, laughter and clinking goblets filling the air.

When the feast ended, the Slytherins trekked to their common room in the dungeons, the stone walls cool and torchlit. The new password, "Purity," echoed as the hidden door slid open, a stark reminder of Slytherin's obsession with blood status. Sean, technically pure-blood through his Bulstrode lineage—despite his Squib parents—fit their mold. His father's family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, gave him legitimacy, a key to his place in the Slytherin Brotherhood's reserve group. Half its members were staunch purists, and without that heritage, no amount of talent or Golden Crucible papers would've earned him a seat.

In his dormitory, Sean found Kurkan slithering from a spacious new snake nest, charmed to keep the serpent cozy. Since Kurkan had grown too large to tuck into Sean's robes, he'd left it behind more often, much to the snake's sulky dismay. For two days, Kurkan had coiled in a huff, its scales glinting with indignation. Sean gave it an apologetic pat, promising extra attention.

He called for a house-elf, who popped in with a steaming mug of cocoa, then settled at his desk, a potions book open before him. A knock interrupted his reading. Sean opened the door, and Blaise burst in, eyes gleaming with gossip. "Sean, heard what happened to the Chosen One and his friends?"

Sean knew exactly what—Harry and Ron's wild ride in the Weasley's flying car, straight out of Chamber of Secrets. But he feigned ignorance, tilting his head. "No clue. What's up with Harry and the others?"

Blaise leaned in, voice brimming with glee. "Word is, they missed the Hogwarts Express, so Ron nicked his family's flying car and zoomed to Hogwarts with Harry. Muggle saw them, though. Rumor has it they'll be expelled!"

Sean smiled, shaking his head. "Blaise, why do you dislike them so much?"

"Because they're Gryffindors," Blaise said, as if it were obvious, "and they nearly cost us our seven-year House Cup streak last year."

The Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry was as old as Hogwarts itself, a feud that sparked glares across the Great Hall and hexes in the corridors. Most students in both Houses reveled in the mutual dislike, and Sean had no plans to play peacemaker. He leaned back, eyeing Blaise. "Harry and Ron getting expelled? Slim chance. They're young, and after what they pulled last year, the professors—Dumbledore especially—won't kick them out unless they've done something unforgivable."

"Pity," Blaise said, though his smirk betrayed little real disappointment. He flopped onto Sean's bed, sprawling like a cat claiming a sunbeam. Their conversation drifted, hopping from Quidditch odds to the new first-years' nervous faces at the Sorting Ceremony. But as the enchanted candles in Sean's dormitory flickered, casting shadows like tiny dancing charms, Sean noticed something off. It was late, and Blaise, usually quick to retreat to his own room, kept lingering, rambling about random topics—Gilderoy Lockhart's garish robes, the rumor of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts curse, anything to keep talking.

"Blaise, what's up?" Sean asked, squinting. "You're acting like you're glued to my room."

Blaise's confident grin faltered, a rare flush creeping up his cheeks. He cleared his throat, voice sheepish. "Er, Sean, mind if I crash here tonight?"

Sean raised an eyebrow, amused. "What's this? Someone after you with a wand?"

Scratching his head, Blaise looked like a first-year caught sneaking sweets. "Well, if you call it being chased… my ex-girlfriend was lurking outside my room earlier. I don't want to get caught up with her, so I need a hideout."

"I thought you two broke up?"

"We did," Blaise groaned. "But she showed up, saying she wants to get back together. I told her it's over, no feelings left, but she's not listening. And, well, she's older, so…"

"So she's got a better hex than you?" Sean teased, grinning.

Blaise nodded, wincing. "Pretty much. Sean, just for tonight, let me stay."

"You can dodge her today, but not forever," Sean said, shaking his head.

Blaise blinked, puzzled. "Er, what's that mean?"

Sean chuckled, waving it off. "Never mind. Look, I'll cast a Disillusionment Charm on you. Sneak back to your room, and she won't spot you."

Blaise's face lit up, then twisted into mock offense. "What, Sean, you don't want to share a bed with me?"

Rolling his eyes, Sean drew his wand and pointed it at Blaise. "Hold still." With a flick, he cast the Disillusionment Charm, and Blaise shivered as if doused with icy water. His body shimmered, blending into the room like a chameleon against the dungeon stone. Blaise glanced at his hands—or where they should've been—marveling. "This is brilliant! You've got to teach me this, Sean."

"If we've got time, sure," Sean said, smirking. "Now go. The charm won't last long. Dawdle, and you'll flicker back into view right in front of her."

"Alright, I'm off. Catch you later!" Blaise's voice floated from the air, a grin audible in his tone.

"Get lost!" Sean called, laughing.

The door creaked open and shut, invisible footsteps fading. As the caster, Sean sensed Blaise's departure, the charm's magic tingling faintly in his mind. He sighed, settling back at his desk. Second year, and Blaise was already tangled in romantic trouble. The guy had a knack for charming older students but Hogwarts wasn't a Muggle school. Here, a scorned witch could sling a Stinging Hex faster than a broken heart could mend. Sean shook his head, half-amused, half-exasperated. Blaise was bound to stir up more drama if he kept chasing senior witches.

Author's Note:

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