The Great Hall, at the staff table.
Dumbledore's silver beard glimmered in the candlelight, and his eyes twinkled behind his half-moon glasses when an owl dropped a bag of sweets, smacking a Gryffindor student square on the head.
As he blinked with amusement, the brilliant Transfiguration student sitting beside him vanished without a trace.
His smile deepened.
The greatest white wizard of the century clasped his hands together, murmuring softly, "Oh, splendid, isn't it? At Hogwarts, those who need help always seem to find it…"
The noise of the Great Hall faded into the background for Sean.
Clutching a letter, he walked down an empty corridor, the suits of armor catching the light as they gleamed. The spirited owl perched on his shoulder hooted, nudging him toward a path he'd walked countless times before.
He didn't notice the crowd gathering in the portrait of Lady Wheatfield behind him.
Golden wheat rolled under the sunlight like an ocean kissed by the sun. Hidden among the waves, a few figures holding blue cornflowers whispered to each other.
"Sir, I'm so excited! That boy's been so worried today, his sharp eyebrows practically twisted into knots!" one said.
Lady Violet clutched the hem of her skirt, watching the young wizard pass with his owl. For a moment, she felt like she couldn't breathe.
"Lady Violet, oh, help me, please! My injured hand can't quite reach my eyes," Sir Cadogan said, setting down his pony, his eyes sparkling.
"You all saw that letter, didn't you? I can't believe it… You know, I've been watching young McGonagall for fifty years!" the Fat Lady said, hand over her heart, only to be interrupted by Sir Cadogan's low voice.
"Alright, alright, my dear lady, keep your eyes on that big cat. A knight's gaze should only be on young Green."
…
"Professor?"
Sean knocked on the wooden door.
He was nervous.
He wasn't afraid of Professor Snape, nor did he hold any prejudice against Professor Quirrell—though the two-headed thing was admittedly a bit out there.
But Professor McGonagall? She was different.
He'd never forget the owl that crashed through the window—yep, the one on his shoulder right now. Nor could he forget the help she'd given him.
The orphanage's sickbeds always reeked of mold, and the constant threat of death wasn't exactly pleasant. Sean could still recall the day Professor McGonagall took him away from it all.
He pushed the door open.
The Transfiguration office smelled faintly of sandalwood and parchment. The fire in the hearth crackled wildly, and beside it, a long, wrapped object sat tightly bundled.
Professor McGonagall's emerald-green robes swished as she moved, a few silver strands of hair catching the firelight. Her usually stern expression softened, her voice calm and warm. "Mr. Green, come here."
Sean trotted over obediently, missing the deeper worry in her eyes.
With a flick of her wand, the long package floated onto the desk in front of him. "Open it, Mr. Green."
Sean held his breath, his mind going blank for a moment.
On the wooden desk, he carefully unwrapped the package to reveal an absolutely brilliant broomstick: sleek, glossy, with a mahogany handle and neatly tied, straight twigs at the tail.
"Nimbus 2000" gleamed in golden letters at the top of the handle.
"I… I don't understand, Professor," Sean said, his voice soft and cautious, not daring to give in to excitement or joy.
Think about it—he wasn't a Gryffindor, nor was he some chosen savior. Just three months ago, he was a kid scraping by in an orphanage, waiting for his health to improve enough to escape Holyce.
He knew Professor McGonagall was kind beneath her stern exterior, but did he really deserve this kind of overwhelming generosity? A Nimbus 2000 wasn't some beat-up old broom—it cost at least 600 Galleons in Diagon Alley.
"By Merlin's beard!" Sir Cadogan nearly burst out of his portrait frame, itching to give Sean a knock on the head.
The Fat Lady grabbed him. "Sir, my dear sir, how could you ruin such a moment?"
In the firelight, Minerva McGonagall gently moved the broom aside, her tender gaze erasing Sean's confusion.
"Come here, child," she said.
Suddenly, Sean found himself enveloped in a hug.
A comforting scent surrounded him, mingling with a mix of warmth and uncertainty. He caught the glint of the star-shaped emerald brooch on McGonagall's chest and heard her soft voice.
"Mr. Green, no magic lessons today. Tell me about your time at Hogwarts, will you?"
…
In the corridor, a knight strode purposefully, two ladies trailing behind him through the golden wheatfield. All three faces beamed with smiles.
"Even the sternest faces can let slip a surprisingly warm voice now and then. This was well worth the trip," the Fat Lady said, dabbing at her eyes.
"Hmph!" Sir Cadogan's mustache twitched as he muttered, "Coward, coward! Even happiness makes him freeze up."
His voice softened as he spoke, trailing off.
Sean hugged the broom as he headed to the Quidditch pitch. A charm made it featherlight in his arms.
"Come on, Mr. Green," Madam Hooch called, already sorting through brooms. Her eyes landed on the shiny new Nimbus, and she gave a satisfied nod. "Nice broom. Get a feel for it. Today, we're running through some test drills."
Sean nodded and swung his leg over the broom.
Only then did he catch the hints Madam Hooch had been dropping.
Without even asking her permission, he kicked off and soared into the air, leaving behind his usual caution.
Madam Hooch's hawk-like gaze followed him, a hint of pride in her eyes.
The test wasn't easy: weaving through hoops, dodging poles, and avoiding charmed golf balls, all within half an hour. Madam Hooch held him to the strictest standards.
"Mr. Green, turn! Pull up! Stay focused, adjust your stance—only practice will keep you safe from the flying mishaps Hogwarts is known for!"
…
In a room where the fire roared, a tall witch watched the Quidditch pitch. An old voice spoke beside her.
"Minerva, it's been a while since you've cared this much about a student," the kindly wizard with a long white beard said, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief and a touch of teasing.
Minerva McGonagall's robes were still slightly creased, her voice a blend of sternness and warmth that somehow worked perfectly together.
She looked at Sean, as if seeing a seed—or perhaps a sprout finally breaking through the soil.
"You don't understand, Albus. He smiled faintly and told me so much. And I feel like, for this moment, I've been waiting a very long time."
---