Hagrid's ability to keep a secret is basically zero.
The Hope Nook crew only had to sit in his hut for a few minutes before they spotted the extra dragon egg he was "not" hiding.
So that morning, everyone got invited over to help name the Norwegian Ridgeback. They started bickering before they even set out:
"Hermione—Merlin, where's my sleep block on this schedule?!"
Ron shot up from his seat after seeing his study plan.
"Eight hours. Do you not have eyes?"
Hermione tilted her chin.
"Merlin— I don't think I'm at the 'only sleep that much' stage yet. Save that for when I'm old."
Ron was basically pleading.
He and Harry never could get tough with Hermione. In the Hope Nook, Sean would guide them gently and precisely.
Those green eyes of his were always deep and unreadable when he was alone—but when faced with their questions, there was this steady, comforting patience.
No one wanted to pester Sean, though; everyone knew he was busy—so busy he was often nowhere to be found.
So Hermione usually coached them. They'd slowly realized she could be a bit much, but without her, they'd be doomed under a mountain of homework.
"Ron Weasley! You and Harry are going to hold us back!
"Justin's going to excel across the board, I'm telling you; Neville won't be far behind, either!
"It's just you two—no progress and always slacking!"
She finished scolding, then marched to Sean.
"Sean, can you show them the schedule you used a while back?"
Sean paused, the runes he was carving freezing for two beats. "Mm."
The bookcase disdainfully spat out a notebook; Hermione had to use a Levitation Charm to catch it before it hit the ceiling.
"Sorry."
Sean tapped the cabinet with his wand; the cabinet gave a very human little shiver.
He'd been transfiguring the cabinet every time he shelved a book—now it seemed to be drifting toward Oddball Wizard Chess territory; put simply, it had developed a bit of self-awareness.
Sometimes it even courteously handed him a book while he was still pondering what to read next.
Sean figured he'd flooded it with so many small intentions through transfiguration that it had begun to form a will of its own.
Like a snowman—if all it can do is roll, throw, or dodge snowballs, that's nothing special.
But combine those—and have it spar a wizard in a snowball fight—and it gets interesting.
His bookcase was probably the same story.
"Sometimes I wonder if I'm not slacking enough…"
Hermione muttered, then showed Ron and the others the plan.
Three nights a week, Sean hauled himself to the dungeon to brew; twice a week he sat in on upper-year alchemy classes and took one solo session besides. On top of that: trips to the Forest, the Greenhouse, the Transfiguration office…
And he still carved out time for alchemy, and kept up with History of Magic and Astronomy.
"Sean— is he Superman…?"
Ron gaped.
"All right, Hermione, you win—looks like Harry and I really have been slacking… Merlin, I never thought I'd say that…"
He immediately changed his tune.
He was now unsure Sean even had a normal class schedule.
"In the non-magical world, we call that time management," Justin said with a smile.
He only said it because his own load wasn't much lighter than Sean's. Along with grinding his studies, he organized and sold Green's Notes, tracked everyone's progress, catalogued questions and distilled lessons into the cabinet.
He was the hub for playing to each other's strengths—and had naturally taken on the legwork of probing Quirrell's motives.
While Ron shamefacedly rewrote his plan, Sean found himself thinking:
"Rest is for the dead."
His eyes flickered.
Snow had long since stopped at Hogwarts, but rain still drummed on the stone walls without end.
Sean couldn't stop; he didn't have time to rest. If he rested—when the accident came—he might not get back up.
When he stepped out of the Hope Nook, the talking mirror didn't speak; it only reflected those calm, deep green eyes back at him, like lake-glass:
"I know. I can't stop."
Maybe he heard something— or maybe it was only the wind.
Hagrid's hut.
Fang was barking his head off—Hagrid saw the red dot marked "Sean" inching closer on the Planner Map, and a red exclamation mark lit up.
He grinned wide, then tapped a yellow question mark onto Sean's location to show he'd seen the ping.
Why a yellow question mark? Because it was still half-finished—Sean hadn't added features yet, so Hagrid just slapped on a placeholder.
The Planner Map was Sean's gift to Hagrid; Hagrid could never find anything—most days he lived in a perpetual "Where are the Magical Creatures?" state.
So when Sean stuck a tiny button on a creature—
Hagrid nearly lifted him in a hug from sheer joy; the narrowly-escaped Sean shot him a mildly baffled look.
Hagrid was thoroughly sheepish; he kept his hands clasped behind his back whenever he saw the boy, a big oaf moving with awkward care.
Now, sure he wouldn't do anything daft, he carefully rolled up the map and stepped outside.
"Sean—come in, quick—"
The two of them set about regulating the egg's fire temperature, exactly as Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit prescribed—proper heat would help it hatch faster.
Outside,
a knot of small figures drew nearer.
"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon. He told me the first time we met," Harry said, a bit excited.
"But it's against the law," Ron said.
"The Warlocks' Convention of 1709 explicitly banned dragon keeping—everyone knows that.
"You keep one in your back garden and Muggles will notice—and they're nearly impossible to tame. It's dangerous.
"You should see the burns on Charlie; he got those driving wild dragons off in Romania."
"Wizards really keep dragons?" Justin frowned. Wizards seemed a bit too heroic for their own good.
"'Course. And they Obliviate any Muggles who see them," Ron said, smug at having insider knowledge.
"Let's hope Hagrid remembers he lives in a wooden house," Hermione added, worried.
They tumbled into the hut, bickering—
—and found Sean sitting neatly in a transfigured chair, a book in hand, toasting the egg by the fire.
"Sean—that's not for eating!" Ron yelped.