Twelve hundred Galleons?!
That wasn't the number he remembered.
"Oh, take it, my boy—"
As if expecting Sean's confusion, a note floated out of the bag.
Sean looked up to see Headmaster Dumbledore winking at him.
Hogwarts sure was loaded, Sean thought as he quietly tucked the bag away. It was a valuable item itself, made from Occamy hide and intricate alchemical craftsmanship, which kept its price sky-high.
Now, Sean's little black pouch was brimming with riches: a bag with an Undetectable Extension Charm holding twelve hundred Galleons, a few notes of wisdom from the greatest potioneer, and a yellowed, sturdy letter.
Sean had never felt his steps so light. Golden light poured through the massive windows, bathing the ancient stone walls in warmth that felt almost tangible.
The moving portraits on the walls were busy as ever. A wizard in a powdered wig dozed off in his frame, a buzzing bee perched on his hat. In the next frame, a noblewoman and her pet cat hummed an off-key tune alongside a faun playing a flute in a landscape painting.
That is, until a reckless knight charged through on his stubby pony, clearing a path.
"Young Green!"
Sean stopped at the familiar voice.
"Thank you for your help, Sir."
"No trouble at all—"
The knight, Sir Cadogan, seemed to have heard what he wanted and trotted off, humming a little tune.
Nearby, the Fat Lady chuckled. "That knight—always showing off."
Lady Violet, her cheeks still a bit flushed, said nothing, her sparkling eyes fixed on the knight. He was struggling to climb back onto his pony, but everyone knew: when you needed a noble heart and a sturdy spirit, Sir Cadogan would always show up.
Just like when Sirius Black, the wild fugitive, slashed the Fat Lady's canvas to ribbons, only Sir Cadogan bravely volunteered to guard the Gryffindor Tower.
In the final Battle of Hogwarts, he'd raced through the portraits alongside Harry, cheering him on, ready to fight to the end.
A noble heart, a strong spirit, fearless courage—
Sean watched the knight disappear, a complex but fiery emotion swelling in his chest.
He started walking again, faster and faster, until the wind whistled past his ears.
In the Transfiguration classroom, Professor Minerva McGonagall watched the young wizard approach, her eyes gleaming with pride. Yet her brow remained furrowed, her stern face softening into something deeper.
A few ravens flew by at dusk, their calls drowning out her faint murmur.
October brought colder weather, more rain, and darker nights, but no mud, wind, or storm could dim the warm glow of the fireplace.
When Sean jogged up, McGonagall's stern expression softened.
"No Transfiguration practice today, Mr. Green. Get some rest," she said, noticing the slight upward curve of his lips. Her voice was gentle but firm. "Life's a long road, Mr. Green, and it'll be full of challenges. So, whatever you do, hold on to that hopeful smile."
In the Transfiguration classroom, Minerva McGonagall hadn't written a letter in ages. But now, she wanted to visit Holly's Orphanage.
Her eyes were slightly downcast, her hands never pausing.
"Minerva, it's been a while since I've seen you write a letter," Dumbledore said, appearing in the classroom. His tone was kind, with a faint hint of… probing?
McGonagall paused, her quill hovering for a moment. "Forgive me, Albus, but unless you've seen that barren soil with your own eyes—that child, gritting his teeth and walking such a long road…"
A lonely child, a child without a family, a child who'd come from cold winters and barren soil, a child with every reason to complain or break.
In that frail frame, she saw nothing but resilience and a kind soul.
Outside, a downpour began, the sky dark as if coated in sticky black potion. But inside, the room was bright and lively.
The firelight danced across countless cozy armchairs where students read, chatted, or did homework. Fred and George Weasley, the mischievous twins, were busy wondering what would happen if they fed a fire salamander some Filibuster Fireworks.
Fred had "rescued" the vibrant orange lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class. Now it sulked on a table, smoldering faintly, surrounded by curious onlookers.
Amid the crowd, Sean pulled a strange note from his bag. The elegant handwriting was oddly skewed, but when he tilted it, the scrawled words became clear.
---
Dear Mr. Green,
Hearing of your request from Minerva, I am both pleased and moved by your passion for knowledge.
Honeydukes' Lemon Drops may sweeten the tongue, but a tireless thirst for knowledge is the true light that brightens the wizarding world.
Regarding your request to stay at Hogwarts over the summer, I have given it careful thought. I am pleased to inform you, Mr. Green, that permission to stay will be granted under the following conditions:
1. You must maintain an outstanding level of magical proficiency, which will be the primary criterion.
2. You must provide written recommendations from at least three professors (including your Head of House), attesting not only to your talent but also to your responsibility and teamwork.
3. You must make a special contribution, whether assisting Madam Pince in organizing books or tending to magical plants. I want to see how you turn your gifts into actions that benefit others. Greatness in the wizarding world always comes with responsibility.
Should you stay, you're welcome to join me for tea in my office every Saturday morning.
And above all, always remember: Hogwarts' hearths will forever burn warmly for you.
---
Sean clutched the envelope, stunned. He'd only mentioned the idea in passing, yet Professor McGonagall had fought for his chance.
Hogwarts, which never allowed students to stay over the summer, had opened its doors for him.
Even Tom Riddle, once the school's golden boy, hadn't received such treatment.
The fire in the hearth seemed to burn even brighter.
As the sunset tugged at a wisp of cloud, Dumbledore gently stroked Fawkes' feathers, gazing through the stained-glass window at the ambitious young wizard.
A new beginning. A right beginning.
---