Is buying a sweater really that hard?
When the weather turned cold, Sean had already asked the two Weasley prefects to slip down to Hogsmeade today and pick up some clothes—scarf, sweater, shirt, and boots.
He hadn't expected their mission to go south at the very start: they were spotted just as they were leaving the castle.
Back in the corridor corner at the time—
"A sweater—of course—dead simple!"
Fred winked.
"Since you've come to us—"
George shot Fred a sly look.
"—you ought to know our price!" Fred caught on.
"Five Sickles each!" George blurted, then sneaked a look at Sean.
"Deal!" Sean said, crisp and clear.
"Eh—n-no—six Sickles!" George scrambled to recover.
"Deal!"
Sean shook the Weasley's hand.
The prefect jerked away like he'd been shocked. "Seven!"
"Deal!"
"Eight—no, nine—Merlin!" George wilted.
"Three Galleons," Fred declared grandly. "Scarf, sweater, shirt, gloves, and boots—everything included! We're only making one Sickle, not a Knut more!"
"I trust you," Sean said.
"Two Galleons—please stop talking," George groaned. "I've never seen a first-year like you. Those other kids…"
"They think we'll charge them ten Galleons!" Fred cut in.
"But in truth they only buy ten Knuts' worth," George muttered, giving Sean a curious look. "Let's go—before we regret this…"
Sean nodded.
They'd barely taken a few steps when Fred slung an arm over George's shoulder and whispered, "So how much did we make?"
"Two Sickles," George said, blinking.
They grinned at each other and high-fived.
Then a sharp cat's yowl rang out.
The two figures, just slipping into a secret passage, bolted.
"It's nine at night—why is Mrs. Norris here, Fred?!" George yelped.
"How should I know!" Fred hurled a ball of Bulbadox powder, but Mrs. Norris was already on them.
After waiting a while in the corridor for Mrs. Norris, Sean left, disappointed.
In the end, the next time Sean saw the twins, he was in the dungeon—watching them serve detention. Five whole days, and they still couldn't wriggle out from Professor Snape—despite promising they'd slip away for an hour to buy Sean winter gear.
Only today did their detention end, after Snape assigned them to scrub toilets. According to Fred, they got out early because they gave up a few Gryffindors' names.
"Oh, them—our dear brothers in arms," George said solemnly.
"But you paid enough," Fred added with a wink.
It fit Sean's stereotype of the twins a little too well. For a moment he worried—if someone else paid them, would they sell him out?
In fact—
"Tell me—why did you sneak out?" Snape's voice sliced the dungeon air; Fred, polishing windows, and George, sweeping, both flinched.
"We were only verifying a secret passage," Fred said, brazening it out.
"One that's supposed to be long abandoned," George said, very serious.
Snape said nothing—just smiled without smiling. "If I assign you two weeks scrubbing lavatories…"
"To buy a sweater, Professor!" George pleaded, face falling.
"We need sweaters, Professor," Fred said, putting on his most earnest look.
To their surprise, Snape only stared at them for a beat—then told them to get out of his dungeon.
In the Hogwarts Great Hall—
The enchanted ceiling showed a clear, gray-blue sky; wisps of thin cloud drifted across it. Warm toast scented the air, mixed with the damp of morning.
Suddenly a beating of wings swelled from far to near, like a rainstorm on windows.
Hundreds of owls poured through the high windows, brown, gray, and white wings all blurring together—until they circled down to each House table.
Somewhere a Howler shrieked, and Sean, Hermione, Neville, and Justin dutifully clapped hands over their ears.
Justin glanced toward the stained glass; the downpour had just broken, but the trees weren't so lucky—at least half their leaves were gone.
A silver-gray owl strutted down to Justin, carrying a thick, weighty parcel. He shot Sean a cautious look—Sean was still busy launching a final assault on an apple pie—then let out a deep sigh of relief.
Inside was a thick sweater and gloves, along with a photo of four little wizards—all shivering with cold, faces mixed, yet strangely all looking at the one in the middle. In the firelight, those green eyes seemed to take on a touch of warmth.
On the back, a line of handwriting:
[Dear Finch-Fletchley,
I've heard so many stories. I imagine his eyes must be smaller than the lake;
eyes like that, I think, don't cry.
Perhaps standing before him is like standing by the lakeshore,
a fine mist stretching into the sky.
Always cherish your friends.
—Always proud of you: Liliana]
Justin tucked the letter away in silence and slipped out of the Hall when Sean seemed not to notice.
At the same time a speckled owl landed by Hermione; the little witch also flicked a glance at Sean, then left lightly.
Sean pulled his gaze from his delicious plate—why did Justin and Hermione seem a little… odd lately?
In the classroom—
The fireplace roared. Sean came in with The Standard Book of Spells: Grade 1 and a small notebook from Professor Flitwick. As he habitually moved toward the hearth, a last gust made one final charge; Sean stepped forward, and it missed him.
On his usual seat sat a gold-edged letter, with a parcel beneath it.
Sean blinked, opened the envelope, and read:
[I can't believe autumn came so quickly—
the trees are already withering.
The good thing about autumn is
you can wear warm, handsome sweaters.
Sean, keep a little warmer.
—Ever your loyal friend, Justin Finch-Fletchley]
Outside the stained glass, an owl skimmed past, carrying away the last trace of autumn's chill.