Chapter 88: Secrets
It seemed Gryffindor were not the only ones out for flight training. Even from a distance, Shawn could see a knot of Hufflepuffs heading into the Quidditch pitch, chatting and laughing as they went.
As he passed them, he caught a glimpse of broomsticks and book covers. The broad‑smiling Hufflepuff on the far left was carrying The Beaters' Bible – "Knock the Seeker out of the sky" was rule one in that particular volume.
In the middle, a mild‑mannered older student had a broom in one hand and, in the other, He Flew Like a Madman. He pointed at a diagram showing a manoeuvre that involved two Chasers entering the scoring area together and slamming the Keeper aside, leaving one hoop wide open for a third Chaser.
It set the whole group roaring with laughter.
Shawn could not decide whether Quidditch made Hufflepuffs savage or whether wizards simply came with a streak of savagery built in.
He only knew to widen the gap between himself and any Quidditch players and slip away.
In the early light, a thin, pearly mist lay over the pitch.
The stands were empty. A few early owls perched on the high rafters, fussing with their feathers. Dew clung to the goalposts and dropped now and then, bursting into mushroom‑shaped splashes on the soft grass.
Wrapped in his thick Ravenclaw scarf, Shawn slid Intermediate Transfiguration back into his bag. The polished mahogany handle of the Nimbus 2000 caught the sun and blurred into molten gold‑red.
He listened to the wind moving through the pitch, a sound so calm it was nearly hypnotic. Far off, from the direction of the Owlery, came a few hoots. An owl, wings labouring, was dragging a letter toward the castle.
By then, Shawn was already drawing close to Hogwarts.
In a room where the fireplace burned bright, Minerva McGonagall's stern gaze softened and deepened.
He does need rest. He has earned it.
"Young wizard! A question for you!"
Mr Owl beat his wings and stared at Shawn as he came from the Great Hall. Shawn knew that the answer did not matter; Mr Owl would open the way regardless. Even so, he always answered seriously.
However…
He glanced at Neville, shivering beside him in the cold, and gave a small sigh.
"Shawn, it is too hard. I cannot answer any of it," Neville stammered. He did not seem to know about Mr Owl. He was already close to tears.
"Drink," Shawn said, passing him the steaming pumpkin juice he had just fetched.
"I assume Justin has told you about this place by now. So, Neville, why have you not gone in?" he asked.
The hot juice melted some of the shaking out of Neville's shoulders.
"It w-would be rude. I c-cannot… trouble anyone," Neville muttered.
He would get used to it, Shawn thought. Just as Justin had.
"A difficult question. A mysterious question. Young wizard. Clever young wizard. Tell me this – why do Hogwarts and the nearby village both have 'lard' in their names?" Mr Owl cried, delighted with himself.
He had never yet managed to stump Shawn, but that never stopped him from trying.
"Intelligence is the greatest wealth. If you forget that, the door to Ravenclaw will run away," he had once said.
"Hogwarts was founded around the tenth century. At the time, the wild boar was a sacred animal and much favoured by the nobles and great men of the western kingdoms as game. It also symbolised spiritual strength and the Druids," Shawn answered.
This time, Mr Owl did not go off on another tirade. He gave a very proper bow, and the sky‑blue door shimmered into view.
Neville stared. In his memories, Mr Owl was supposed to flap and screech and flash his talons, not bow politely. Was this really the same bird?
"Morning, Shawn," Justin called, watering a potted Dirigible Plum.
Since Neville had joined them – and brought a small jungle of plants along – Justin had gone to Professor Sprout for a few pots of his own. The Dirigible Plum looked like a cluster of orange‑red radishes hanging upside down from its shrub.
Shawn remembered that Xenophilius Lovegood and a few others believed that Dirigible Plums enhanced one's ability to accept the unusual.
The fire in the hearth crackled, pushing back the chill that had seeped into the corridor. Neville, still shivering, crept to one of the soft wooden armchairs by the fire and sat. Slowly, the warmth sank into him.
"What is that, Shawn?" Justin had spotted the long parcel at a glance. Several straight, even twigs poked from one end.
"A broom, obviously," Hermione said without looking up from her book. Then she glanced properly and added, "Very obviously."
"Nice," Justin breathed, and turned back to his watering can.
It was only when Shawn had sunk into the world of The Roots of Transfiguration that Justin dared to edge over and peer at the broom.
"Syrup tart?" Justin said, producing a pastry from Merlin, who knew where. It was made of flaky pastry and golden syrup. In the Great Hall, it was usually served hot with a dollop of clotted cream, or sometimes with plain cream, custard, or yoghurt.
"O‑oh, th‑thank you," Neville stammered, taking it. He was rearranging jars and pots on the big old table, which was crowded with containers of all shapes and sizes.
A pot of blackroot lounged at one corner, twining its pale new leaves. In another, under a magical glass cloche, a cluster of asphodel seedlings shivered restlessly.
"You are curious about Shawn's broom, too, aren't you?" Justin said quietly, as if proposing a secret mission.
"Y‑yes," Neville admitted.
So when Shawn looked up again, he found Neville and Justin easing a corner of the brown paper back. Hermione stood behind them, helpless, and jumped when her gaze met Shawn's green eyes.
He quietly looked away.
"Oh. A Nimbus 2000. Merlin," Justin whispered. He and Neville stroked the handle and then the gleaming, gold‑stamped letters at the top.
"Very good, Neville," Justin said.
A hint of confidence had crept onto Neville's shy face. At least this time, he had not bungled anything.
"Nimbus 2000?" Hermione said, not quite managing to keep the surprise out of her voice.
"And the flight test," Justin murmured. "The note is here in the wrapping. Tomorrow afternoon."
"He never told us," he added, half to himself. "Shawn never said a word. Right, Hermione, syrup tart?"
"You have been – no, wait, where did you get that?" Hermione demanded. There were far too many questions to pick from; for a moment, she did not know where to start.
"Oh, this?" Justin grinned. "That is what I planned to tell you about today. A few… magical arrangements."