Neville clearly hadn't expected anyone to wait quietly in one spot for over ten minutes. When he cautiously turned his head, he was still met by Sean's calm face.
So the expression that had been on the verge of tears nearly crumpled into full-on sobbing.
Sean sat down lightly and, with a flick, turned the book in his hand into a blue cushion.
Once again, he bumped Transfiguration and Charms to the top of his study list.
His Intermediate Transfiguration still wasn't proficient enough; if he could reach "Expert," he figured he'd be able to turn an entire desk into a wild boar.
As for Charms, Transfiguration filled in the gaps in his offense.
Although, right now, his strongest offensive option didn't seem to be Transfiguration at all, but the Dark Arts Knockback Jinx.
Sean had no intention of using it lightly—he already had enough buffs stacked on himself.
Not using it didn't mean he couldn't learn it; you can never have too many spells tucked away for emergencies.
On defense he was still lacking, so he picked a near-universal counter-spell—Finite.
Books file it under defensive magic; it complements protective charms like Protego (the Shield Charm).
In their second year, Professor Snape first demonstrated it at the Hogwarts Dueling Club to end the volley between Harry and Malfoy.
In Chamber of Secrets, Hermione used it to stop an enchanted Bludger from chasing its target.
So it's plainly not on the same difficulty tier as Protego—easier, yet just as practical. An excellent choice, really.
"You only just taught me the Levitation Charm and I failed again. I—I think, Sean—maybe I'm not even a wizard."
Neville's voice was low. Maybe because Sean had coached his levitation so many times, maybe because Sean had never mocked him, Neville actually spoke at length for once. "They say I'm timid and muddle-headed, and they're right. I forget so many things. I can hardly do anything right."
Sean listened in silence. The oak stairs gave the faintest creak underfoot, like a sleeping giant's snore.
A magical lantern hung overhead, its light a pool of flowing, honey-gold that softened as the night deepened, warmly bathing this little pocket of space.
Neville, curled on the broad step at the corner, muttered on; Sean simply listened.
"Your Levitation Charm failed—"
Sean said.
Neville had already ducked his head, as if bracing for the disgust and laughter that always seemed to follow.
"So… shall we try again?"
Sean's voice was very soft. In the gentle glow Neville still couldn't quite make out his face, because something bright and wet was sliding down Neville's own.
Meanwhile, inside the classroom—
"Alright, alright—just a bit longer."
Justin paced, anxious.
He'd been watching ever since Sean first crossed paths with Mr. Longbottom.
He was sure of it: Mr. Longbottom was a kind-hearted Gryffindor. And he was nothing like the Slytherins' sneers suggested—he wasn't lacking in courage.
After Malfoy snatched his Remembrall and Harry got it back, Neville had even dared—prompted by Harry—to talk back to Malfoy:
"You're a coward!" Malfoy said.
"Oh? Harry says I'm not a coward—you are."
That was Neville's reply.
From that moment, Justin knew there was courage sleeping inside Mr. Longbottom; he just needed guidance.
He'd thought the guide would be Harry, but Mr. Longbottom kept seeking out Sean instead.
"Maybe you two should come in and practice?"
Sean heard a thump; Justin was leaning in the doorway with a platter piled with fried meats and a little mountain of puddings.
Hermione tipped up her nose and nodded. "It's freezing out there, Sean. If you catch another cold—!"
Another Gryffindor joined them, and day after day Sean's most common sight became Hermione, fretfully tutoring Mr. Longbottom.
Justin, meanwhile, practically lived in the kitchens; now and then he'd snag curious plants from the greenhouses and bake up oddities.
Like "Every-Flavour Pudding"—as Justin christened it—each serving a random mix of six pudding flavors.
Hermione rolled her eyes at him, then helped herself to two servings without a shred of shame.
Saturday morning.
Sean sat on the lawn with Professor McGonagall's notes in hand. To the south, the Black Lake lay as smooth as a mirror; Sean knew Hogwarts's drainage ended there.
In the lake lived a giant squid, grindylows, and a merpeople colony.
Some even claimed the giant squid was Gryffindor himself; Sean had no idea whether that was true.
A black speck in the azure sky grew rapidly larger; Sean stood up.
"Madam Hooch," he said.
"Good morning, lad!"
Madam Hooch swung off her broom with effortless grace, stirring a breeze that smoothed the bright green turf.
"Flight tests begin tomorrow afternoon. Remember to fetch your broom. If you can, sleep with it—that wouldn't be a bad idea." Madam Hooch wasn't joking; some Quidditch players had nearly made their brooms their spouses.
There'd even been a wizard in Italy who tried to marry his broom. Unsurprisingly, the request was denied.
In any case, the more intimately you know your broom, the bigger your edge in the air.
"Yes, ma'am."
Sean flicked his wand; the cushion on the grass became a book again, and the scattered quills and parchments zipped into his bag at a Summoning Charm.
October was growing colder; sweat without a quick change meant young wizards could catch a chill easily.
Having lived through his share of foggy-headed days, Sean wasn't about to repeat the mistake, so he followed Madam Hooch's lead to the changing rooms first.
Passing the Gryffindor changing room, he saw a meeting in full swing:
Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, was holding up a giant diagram of the pitch, covered in colored lines, arrows, and X's.
He tapped it with his wand and the arrows began to wriggle like caterpillars.
Then he boomed out his tactics. They'd start training after tomorrow's first-years finished their flight tests, and he wrapped with:
"Crush Slytherin! Hufflepuff's nothing to worry about! With Potter, Ravenclaw can't touch us either! Our name will be on the Quidditch Cup this year—because we've got the best team ever!"
The man was, to put it mildly, a Quidditch maniac.
Wanting no part of Quidditch business, Sean slipped away and picked up his Nimbus 2000 from Madam Hooch.
He was already picturing the blissful future of never climbing stairs again—just gliding straight into Ravenclaw Tower.