Chapter 66: Come to Me
In the corridor.
Shawn glanced twice, curious, at Sir Cadogan. The knight had his back to him and was still trying to mount that squat pony.
Nothing seemed to be wrong.
"Young Green, you never look in the best of health," said Lady Violet, blinking with interest. "Is it Charms today, Potions, or Transfiguration?"
"Transfiguration," Shawn answered honestly.
He looked again at Sir Cadogan.
The knight seemed none the worse for wear. It appeared Professor Snape was comparatively... lenient with portraits?
Just as Shawn walked away reassured, a stifled, laughing female voice spoke.
"All right, my dear knight, young Green has gone."
Only then did the knight in the portrait slowly turn around, and his front was utterly different from his back.
The gleaming breastplate down through the belly armor was dented into an unnatural curve. The nasal guard had been bashed askew to the left.
The red ostrich plume that usually stood so proudly at the top of his helm was now only half a feather, drooping and dripping mud.
His face was a disaster.
The left eye was swollen to a slit, the right was bulging wide. His beard had been clotted into hard clumps by some sticky slime, and a few suspicious mushroom scraps still clung there.
"What are you staring at!" he rasped, still loud as a trumpet, glaring out of the frame at the students. "Never seen the medals of victory before?"
When those first-years edged around the side of the frame, they could not help but snort with laughter.
From behind, Sir Cadogan was a different sight entirely. Not a speck of mud stained the silver-blue cloak, its velvet smooth as new. The bright plate at his back was polished enough to reflect Hermione Granger's hurried frown as she passed. Even the tassel on the sword slung across his back had been carefully braided and swayed with elegant precision.
"Ha ha, knight, you have suffered terribly," Lady Violet said, laughing so hard she could barely speak.
"Vile trolls, many against one," Sir Cadogan growled, chagrined, startling a first-year into landing on his backside. "And the vile—"
He looked left and right, saw nothing, and muttered a few more words under his breath.
...
With Professor Snape's potions to help, Shawn's Charms progress was flying.
Before, he had needed a long rest before practicing again. Now he could recover half his strength in half an hour.
"Aguamenti!"
As Shawn traced the arc that shaped water, a stream flowed from his wand tip. It did not last long, but guiding the flow still meant more proficiency.
[You practiced the Water-Making Spell once at Proficient standard, Proficiency +10]
Shawn checked the panel quietly.
[Summoning Charm: Apprentice standard (3/30)]
[Water-Making Spell: Entry-level (2/300)]
[Levitation Charm: Entry-level (200/900)]
There was hope of grinding the Summoning Charm up to Entry-level by tomorrow.
The thought made the corners of his mouth lift.
"Aguamenti!"
A resonant female voice echoed him. Water sprang from Hermione's wand tip as well.
"It seems a larger arc really does help," she said, sketching the curve at full scale across her notebook. A second quill twitched as Shawn added notes on pronunciation.
Then Hermione tilted her chin high and looked toward Justin, still practicing.
"My mother says every brook has its own course," Justin said with a gentle smile, unconcerned by his slow progress. "But in the end, they all reach the sea."
His words brought a blush to Hermione's cheeks. She turned away.
"Very well. It seems you can manage on your own."
"No. Mother meant that all the rivers in the world meet again. Hermione, would you help a little stream that is still stranded?"
Justin raised his wand in a posture of desperate need.
Hermione puffed out her cheeks, but still stepped closer.
"Hmph. Your stress accents are all wrong."
...
Wednesday.
The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall still showed violet twilight.
Thousands of candles floated in midair, casting warm halos of light.
All four long tables had already erupted into morning chatter.
First-years in pajamas rubbed sleepy eyes and nearly poured pumpkin juice into their porridge. Two Hufflepuff girls bent their heads together over Transfiguration notes, jam glistening on the ends of their hair. On the Ravenclaw table, laughter burst suddenly as someone made a History of Magic textbook tap-dance.
Owls swept down from the rafters like rain made of feathers, bringing packages and papers like the Daily Prophet.
There were more messengers than usual today.
Even Shawn's spot at the table drew over ten owls.
Shawn supposed owls shared secrets, too. Otherwise, why would the number begging for food at his place grow every time?
So he fought his way through breakfast while flicking his wand, tearing the toast into pieces, and sending nuts and small bits of meat toward the tired messengers' feathers.
Hermione received an especially large pile of letters today.
When she opened them, out spilled many books, fine quills, and assorted sweets.
Her voice was gentler than usual as a result, and the thing she did most was write letters with care.
Justin was not in the Hall.
He had been busy in the kitchens for two days.
In fact, when Hermione had urgently needed to write letters last time, he had sent his owl to help her with the post and had learned something by chance.
Tomorrow was the young witch's birthday.
So after a few discreet inquiries, he had thrown himself into battle in the kitchens.
As a side note, he had asked in passing, "Shawn, oh, that is, what about you?"
Shawn fell silent for a while and shook his head.
He did not know.
For orphans raised in orphanages, the day they were found was celebrated as their birthday.
Unfortunately, the caretaker who had found Shawn had left, unable to endure the meager pay.
And the orphanage had not celebrated birthdays in a long time.
Knowing one's date of birth had become a luxury.
Shawn did not notice that when he shook his head, Justin froze in place.
In the Hall, every table had its share of owls.
Hermione opened letters, and when she took out a plush toy, her face tightened with annoyance. Then, helpless but careful, she tucked it into her bag.
Shawn, by contrast, faced a rare empty space where letters should be.
He did not mind. He did battle with lamb chops and pondered the possibility of asking the twins to "adventure" a broom into school.
With several days' hard brewing, it might be possible to raise a hundred Galleons for a Nimbus 1500.
He would have to factor in what it would cost to hire the twins...
As Shawn's thoughts drifted, an owl with a naturally jaunty air landed in front of him, a letter in its claws.
When Shawn offered a small piece of lamb chop, the owl put the letter in his hand.
Shawn was silent for a moment.
He was an orphan, was he not? What in the world...?
Fortunately, Hogwarts had plenty of "ghosts" already.
He opened the envelope.
—Minerva McGonagall]