Outside the classroom, the stone walls glowed in candlelight and let out a soft "coo." Mr. Owl cocked one talon and, like a little acrobat, nudged his spectacles back into place.
His other foot clutched a parchment scroll tight, those big eyes bright as coals—just like the day Professor McGonagall's face had flickered in the hearth.
Beside the soft cushion, to the left of the gold-edged letter, lay a sweater that looked perfectly proper and comfortable. On the blue-and-white collar sat a note:
[My mum sent loads of sweaters—you're not the only one.
Your friend,
Hermione Granger]
As if to prove it, two more sweaters were set to the left—clearly labeled, bold and neat: For Justin and For Neville.
Sean's smiles were always slight—just a small curve at the corners of his mouth—but it was enough to snag the attention of the few heads peeking through the crack in the door.
Mr. Owl flapped and squawked at full volume:
"Little wizard! Foolish little wizard!"
"Please keep it down…" Justin pressed his palms together, and only then did Mr. Owl stop shouting and swivel his head a full 180 degrees.
Then he snuck one eye open again, as if he could see straight through the sky-blue door to whatever was happening inside.
Sean put the sweaters away in the wardrobe. Just when he thought that was the lot, he spotted one more—clearly a size larger—tucked beneath Justin's parcel. A wrinkled scrap of paper lay on top:
[Sean, I… don't have anything else…]
Sean's smile grew warmer. His shorthand quill scratched out a few lines on the back:
[Thank you. It's enough.]
By midday, Sean had received three sweaters. Alongside the problem of which one to wear came another: what should he give in return?
One-sided friendship never lasts. Like any bond, it has to be tended for so long that time itself goes fuzzy.
As the fire roared higher, Sean glanced casually toward the door. Maybe they ought to put a Quieting Charm on Mr. Owl—then his squawking wouldn't drift all the way over here.
He slipped his wand away—so much for grinding Quieting Charm proficiency—and instead gathered the three sweaters in his arms and walked toward the door.
That sent the three little eavesdroppers at the crack into a panic; they bolted for the spiral stairs.
"Ha—foolish little wizards!" Mr. Owl finished laughing, then clapped a talon over his beak. "A Ravenclaw… owl mustn't laugh like that…"
Once Sean was sure the hall had cleared, he pushed the door fully open.
Cradling three sweaters and carrying his broom, he headed up into Ravenclaw Tower.
The cold wind no longer bit—new sweaters will do that. His first… well, his first three.
But later, Sean discovered that wasn't all.
…
"Turn just ahead and he'll be there—"
A wizard with lively red hair slipped out from behind a painting—Fred Weasley.
"Odd—how does Ron know Green's going there?" An identical face lifted another frame. George blinked. "Unless he's a clock—no one's that punctual!"
"Then it'd have to be a paid clock—S—"
Fred had just picked up the line when he went chalk-white.
"What are you hissing at—oh! A rattlesnake? Sss—Professor Snape." George set the portrait back and snapped to attention.
Snape glowered at them, his billowing robes like a sweep of storm cloud. He flicked his wand at the secret passage and swept away.
"Rare… truly rare…" Fred murmured, still rooted to the spot.
"We're alive?!" George patted Fred up and down, then nodded—intact after all.
"This isn't right…" Fred batted George's hand off his mouth.
"Certainly isn't right…" George stepped forward with a little flourish. Bickering, they moved on—never noticing that the bundle in their hands had somehow gotten thicker.
…
At the end of the corridor, Sean immediately spotted two heads of hair bright as orange fire; Fred and George always walked like they were bouncing.
"Special price—two Galleons!" Fred traced a little flourish in the air and bowed.
"But we nearly died just now…" George hefted a full set of clothes and shook his head, smiling.
"Job's a job—risk included!" Fred pulled the boots from the bag and stuffed them into Sean's arms until his hands were full.
"Hold up…" George finally noticed the three sweaters in Sean's hands and squinted one eye. "Sweater hoarder?!"
Before Sean could answer, Fred chimed right in: "Still no discount!"
Let them talk—Sean wasn't sure he could get a word in edgewise anyway. He drew two Galleons from his Undetectable Extension Bag and set them in Fred's palm; with a quiet thank-you, he turned to go.
"He's got an Undetectable Extension Bag! Did you see that, George?"
"Unless that rattlesnake blinded me—what I do see is we ought to do more business with him."
Back in the dorm, Sean realized he no longer had to choose a sweater. In the middle of the bundle lay a pure-black jumper with a green collar.
For no reason at all, he thought of those somber black eyes at the dungeon door. Sure enough, a slip of paper was tucked inside:
[Wear it.]
Brief as ever.
Leaving Ravenclaw Tower, Sean didn't feel the wind at all. His mind was full of a tightly packed training plan for spells.
His Quieting Charm was already Beginner, not far from Adept.
The only hard part was Disillusionment—the most complex spell he'd tried yet, as Professor Flitwick's notes showed. Quieting got three paragraphs; Disillusionment filled ten pages, from history to minutiae.
Looking at Disillusionment: Locked (0/30) on his panel, Sean's eyes hardened with resolve.
A modest green-tier aptitude can't easily master a difficult Disillusionment—but he only needed to pull it off once. One success, and the panel would let him fill it to thirty.
And once Charms hit Apprentice tier, he'd gain a new insight.
Stacked progress doesn't put much stock in "talent."
The October wind didn't only roar down the corridors—even the classroom hearth wavered for a moment, though one "coo" from Mr. Owl and the flames leapt higher again.
Justin and Hermione pretended to be busy, but they'd been sneaking glances for ages at Sean, who was deep in practicing the Quieting Charm.
Only Neville was truly occupied—carefully tending to the plant they called the Biting Vine.
~~~
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