It looked like Gryffindor wasn't the only House out for flight practice. Even from a distance, Sean spotted a group of Hufflepuffs joking and laughing as they filed into the Quidditch pitch.
As he passed, he could see the brooms and books in their hands. The broad-smiling Hufflepuff on the far left was carrying The Beaters' Bible—"Take out the Seeker" was rule number one in that book. The mild-mannered upperclassman in the middle naturally cracked open He Flies Like a Madman and pointed to a passage about using a "pincer" to score—two Chasers enter the scoring area and shoulder the Keeper aside so a hoop is left wide open for the third Chaser.
That set everyone off laughing.
Sean couldn't tell whether Quidditch had made the Hufflepuffs a bit savage, or whether wizards just had a streak of savagery to begin with.
He simply widened the distance between himself and the Quidditch crowd and took his leave.
A thin, pearly mist veiled the pitch in the early morning.
The stands were empty, save for a few early owls preening on the high rafters. Dew beaded on the goal hoops and fell now and then, thumping into the soft grass and splashing up like tiny mushrooms.
Bundled in a thick Ravenclaw scarf, Sean slid Intermediate Transfiguration into his bag. The Nimbus 2000's glossy mahogany handle was blurred to a warm red-gold by the sun.
He listened to the wind drifting across the field, a sound so calm it was almost hypnotic. From the direction of the Owlery came a few distant hoots; a letter flapped lazily toward the castle.
By then, Sean was already nearing Hogwarts.
In a room warmed by a roaring fireplace, the severity in Minerva McGonagall's eyes broke into a deep gentleness.
—He really did need to rest. He'd earned it.
"Little wizard! Riddle me this!"
Mr. Owl beat his wings, fixing his gaze on Sean as he came from the Great Hall. Sean knew he'd be let in whether he answered or not—but he always answered Mr. Owl's questions seriously.
However—
He glanced at Neville shivering beside him in the cold wind and sighed softly.
"Sean—it's too hard—I can't answer it—" Neville was on the verge of tears; it seemed he didn't know about Mr. Owl's riddles.
"Here." Sean silently handed over the steaming pumpkin juice he'd just picked up. "I imagine Justin's told you about this already. So, Neville—why not go on in?"
With the hot pumpkin juice in him, Neville's trembling eased.
"It's—rude—I can't—cause trouble—" he stammered. He'd get used to it eventually, Sean thought—just like Justin had.
"A difficult question! A mysterious question! Little wizard! Clever little wizard! Why do both 'Hogwarts' and the nearby village have 'hog' in their names?"
Mr. Owl had never stumped Sean, but he never tired of trying.
"Exceptional wit is the greatest treasure! Forget that, and the Ravenclaw door will run away on its own!" Mr. Owl once declared.
"Hogwarts was founded around the tenth century. At the time, the wild boar was a sacred animal—favored by nobles and great hunters in the West—and it also symbolized spiritual strength and the Druids," Sean answered.
This time Mr. Owl didn't squawk. He bowed, neat as anything, and the sky-blue door shimmered into view.
Neville stared, wide-eyed. Wasn't this the same Mr. Owl who usually flapped, flashed his talons, and tried to grab people in a huff?
"Morning, Sean," Justin said, watering a pot of Dirigible Plums.
Ever since Neville joined them and brought in a menagerie of potted plants, Justin had fetched a few from Professor Sprout as well. Dirigible Plums, for instance—orange, radish-like fruit that hang upside down from their shrubs.
Sean remembered that Xenophilius Lovegood and a few others claimed Dirigible Plums could help people be more open to the unusual.
The fireplace snapped and crackled, pushing back the chill pooling in the corridor. Neville shuffled to a cushy wooden chair by the hearth and sat, slowly thawing.
"What's that, Sean?" Justin had spotted the long parcel at a glance; a few neat, straight twigs poked out from one end.
"Obviously a broom," Hermione said without looking up, then lifted her head from her book.
"Cool," Justin breathed, and turned away as if it were nothing.
Only when Sean had sunk into the world of Origins of Transfiguration did Justin start peeking nosily at the broom.
"Want a treacle tart?" he said, producing a pastry from who-knew-where—shortcrust filled with golden syrup.
In the Great Hall, it was usually served hot with a dollop of clotted cream, though sometimes with regular cream, custard, or yogurt instead.
"Th-th-thanks," Neville stammered, taking it. He was fiddling with the big, battered wooden table, crowded with pots and jars of all shapes and sizes. At one corner, a blackroot plant lazily coiled pale new shoots; in the next pot, several asphodel seedlings twitched restlessly under a magical glass cloche.
"You're curious about Sean's broom too, right?" Justin whispered, as if plotting a secret mission.
"Y-yeah," Neville admitted.
So when Sean looked up, he caught Neville and Justin sneaking a peek under one corner of the wrapping. Hermione, at the back, gave him a helpless look—then, when her eyes met his green ones, she flushed in a panic.
Sean quietly looked away.
"Oh—it's a Nimbus 2000! Merlin!" Justin and Neville pulled the paper back down again, admiring the gleaming letters stamped at the top of the handle.
"Very good, Neville," Sean said.
A faint new confidence seemed to settle on Neville's shy face.
Great—at least this time, he hadn't messed anything up.
"Nimbus 2000?" Hermione blurted, shocked all over again.
"And a flight test! The notice is in the wrapping—tomorrow afternoon—" Justin muttered. "Sean never told us—oh, right, Hermione, treacle tart?"
"You were—no, where did you even get that?" There was too much to say; Hermione didn't know where to start.
"Oh, this?" Justin grinned. "That's exactly what I was going to tell you today—about some… rather magical things."
~~~
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