"We've never seen that Green kid at training…"
Wood was pacing anxiously on the muddy ground, oblivious to the muck clinging to his shoes.
"He's gotta be Ravenclaw's secret weapon! Just like you, Harry. You've got to help the team figure this out, Harry. You're the only one who can do it… If we go poking around, we'll tip them off. Those Ravenclaws won't let us in on the real answers—they're too good at scheming. Just like how we always split up with you after leaving the Quidditch pitch, they're definitely trying to keep this under wraps!"
Wood's mission was stressing Harry out big time.
So, he went to Ron.
"Green's notes—oh, wait, you mean that Ravenclaw, Green?" Ron said.
In the Great Hall, Ron was hunched over a piece of parchment, scribbling furiously, pausing to scratch his head or chew on his quill.
Harry totally got how he was feeling. It was the weekend, and their homework hadn't even been touched.
If they didn't finish, other professors might let it slide, but Snape? He'd probably toss them out of the castle.
And now Harry had one more thing to worry about.
"Yeah, Ron, what kind of guy do you think he is?" Harry asked quietly.
"What kind of guy?" Ron slammed his quill down on the table with a thud, looking like he had all the answers. "Well, you know Percy, right? People like that—always acting superior, bossing everyone around…"
Ron nodded knowingly. "Remember Platform Nine and Three-Quarters? My mom told you to watch out for Peeves, and that guy was like, 'It's the Bloody Baron, not Peeves, Mum. Honestly, you're so out of touch.'"
He mimicked Percy's tone, and it was pretty hilarious.
But Harry wasn't laughing. Hesitantly, he said, "But… Sean Green's not like a prefect, is he?"
"Seriously, Harry, how can you even think that?" Ron threw up his hands. "If he was different, he wouldn't be hanging out with Hermione."
Something seemed to click for Ron, and he practically growled, "Remember? 'So you think this is a reward for breaking school rules?' I'm telling you, he's just like Hermione—a total nightmare!"
Ron's words left Harry quiet for a long time.
Until Neville, passing by, stammered out, "Sean… he's not like… what you're saying…"
"Oh, come on, Neville," Ron started, "I bet they just feel sorry for you, like Hermione—"
He stopped mid-sentence, realizing he'd gone too far. The stress of homework must've scrambled his brain to say something so harsh.
"S-s-sorry, Neville, I didn't mean it like that," Ron stuttered, apologizing.
When Neville forgave him, Ron let out a huge sigh of relief.
"Sean's different," Neville said again, his usual timidity fading. He sounded more certain this time. "Sean told me, if you want to know someone, you can't just listen to rumors. You've got to actually talk to them… like… like he did with me."
Neville's face flushed red as he spoke. Those were the words Sean had used to comfort him, and now, somehow, he'd found the courage to say them out loud.
"Well said, Neville!" Justin chimed in, striding over.
His praise made Neville turn even redder. "Standing up for your friends is one of the bravest things you can do."
Justin leaned in, speaking softly to Neville. "You did great. Oh, and evening, Harry."
"Evening," Harry mumbled, feeling uneasy. He and Ron had just been badmouthing someone.
Justin ignored Ron. He figured if someone couldn't choose a life of hope and sincerity, they'd only grow more narrow-minded.
Like that redheaded wizard.
At that moment, Sean walked out of the Great Hall, arms full of books. He had an hour before heading to the dungeons, so he planned to practice Finite in a classroom.
He pulled out a piece of parchment—Professor Flitwick's cheerfully written schedule, listing times Sean could find him for extra help.
Though Flitwick sometimes got his schedule mixed up—like when he got tipsy at the Three Broomsticks—Sean would just practice charms on his own until the professor showed up.
As he passed the fireplace in the corner, Sean noticed Justin, Harry, Ron, and Neville talking together.
Ron looked startled when their eyes met, and Harry didn't seem much better.
Sean didn't think much of it and kept walking out of the Great Hall.
"Oh no, oh no…" Ron muttered, his mouth hanging open. His messy hair and homework-fried brain snapped into clarity. "Green didn't hear us, did he? Merlin's beard, I don't even know the guy, and I said all that?!"
His eyes dimmed, as if he could already see Sean's notes with a big scrawl: "No Ron or dogs allowed."
Justin watched Ron clutch his hair in panic, surprised. This Gryffindor didn't seem all bad—just a bit reckless.
Harry wasn't much better off. He instinctively felt Ron's words were their shared mistake.
The fire crackled in the hearth. Harry and Ron exchanged a look, like they'd made a big decision.
"Neville's right," Harry said. "We messed up again. Justin, can you tell me how to find Sean?"
His eyes burned with determination, like a lion ready to pounce.
"Sean's usually in the second-floor corridor around six," Justin replied. "If you and Mr. Weasley want to apologize, that's a good time to catch him."
As Harry and Ron left, Justin couldn't help but chuckle, thinking Sean was in for a surprise.
…
Evening.
The stained-glass windows cast colorful light across Sean's face as he gazed outside. A giant with a lantern—several times larger than the one Sean held—strode past the castle.
At that moment, by a gleaming suit of armor, Harry and Ron waited nervously.
What if Ron was right? What if Sean was some arrogant jerk?
Maybe he'd just scoff and walk away.
Or, worse, lecture them like Hermione?
Harry thought, If he pulls out his wand, I'm done for. I can't take on a troll or wrestle a werewolf barehanded.
But what happened next caught Harry completely off guard.
"You're saying you talked trash about me behind my back, and now you want to apologize?"