When it was time for the Hogwarts Express to depart, students lined up and filed out of the snow-clad castle.
In the distance one could see, across the white, a giant leading a string of small figures, tracing dark, winding lines through the snow.
The view from Ravenclaw Tower was always good, but Sean only lifted his head and stared at the horizon for a long time.
Stowing the thick, resilient paper in his bag, Sean set about making the last of his biscuits.
The Hope Nook was emptier now. Justin and Hermione had just left, and Harry and Ron had spent the last few days buried in the library. So when Sean came in, he found Neville practicing Aguamenti.
The wooden desk spat out the first row of alchemy books on the left; as Sean was checking them, a loud bang sounded at his side.
He turned his head—Neville had drenched himself with Aguamenti. The boom had been the great ball of water hitting the floor.
Sean looked down at the damp patches on his notes and heard Neville's stammered voice, on the verge of tears:
"S—sorry, Sean…"
Drenched as he was, he apologized first.
Outside, several feet of snow had piled up; cold air blew in over the frozen lake and made Neville shiver.
Sean flicked his wand, and the window swung shut. While the hearth dried the books and Neville, Sean heard him whisper:
"Sean… if you're going to throw me out of the Nook, I'll go now…"
Neville's tearful eyes made Sean a little puzzled… What on earth?
"You know, Neville—no one can throw you out," Sean said, as if stating a simple fact.
"But I… ruined your books," Neville said, still shivering.
"They're only wet, Neville—they can be dried," Sean said. He guessed it was another of Harry and Ron's rumors; last time he'd heard them say: if you dare touch Sean's books, you'd better be stronger than ten trolls combined.
"Sean— it's all my fault. Everyone knows I'm basically a Squib," Neville said, round face full of guilt. He clutched his wand—marked with scars like a veteran of battles.
"I think sometimes the problem isn't you," Sean said.
"W—what problem?" Neville put the wand behind his back, as if hiding it would keep it out of the conversation.
But he knew, of course: "the wand chooses the wizard" wasn't just Ollivander's line; nearly every wizard in Britain believes it. Even his Gran had been furious that he kept his father's wand by his side.
"You've always understood, Neville. I know this is hard—but maybe it's time to face it, right…?" Sean looked him in the eye and spoke softly, turning a page in his book as he finished.
Who knows how long passed; the wet books were nearly dry.
"Should I… change wands?" Neville asked, dazed. How could he not understand? Yet he still looked ready to cry.
He looked at the wand in his hand and wondered if not being so clumsy would be enough…
"But… I want to keep it. Sometimes, especially at night, I want my dad to know I'm at Hogwarts… just like him. Sean—have I… disappointed him?"
Sean turned his head: "When a problem is spoken aloud, it's already halfway solved. Neville—why make the wand in your hand leave you?"
"What… do you mean?" Neville couldn't quite follow.
"Choice works like this: you face two bad endings, or two good ones—otherwise, why call it a choice?
"The happy thing is, Neville, you face two good choices—and happier still, it might not be a multiple choice at all.
"You can keep your father's wand with you, right? I suspect in some special ways it will be useful. Try this—Finite."
Sean flicked his wand; the desk that had been self-transfiguring halted.
Neville hadn't followed yet. He cast the counter-charm by reflex—and to his surprise, got it right in one go.
He hadn't stopped the desk's transfiguration entirely, but it was a world away from the days when he couldn't even manage Levitation.
"Why… is this?" Neville stood stunned.
"Because it is the wand of Legendary Auror Frank Longbottom—now inherited by his son, Neville Longbottom. It was born for battle and protection," Sean said, looking at the wand—just as he'd expected.
"You can own two wands, Neville. When you need to attack or guard, this one is still your partner."
Sean seldom spoke so much; by the time he finished, Neville was sobbing.
At the doorway, Hogwarts' cold wind brushed Sean's face, and he could smell a sweet, warm hint of pumpkin.
Neville did need a wand—but Frank Longbottom's wand wasn't useless.
In some fields, Neville's performance with his father's wand was terrifyingly good.
In Defense Against the Dark Arts practicals he had never slipped; he bested the Boggart in one try, every time, and with excellent effect.
In the DA he learned faster than ninety-nine percent of his peers—disarms and stunners flew, and a Patronus came at call.
Seen from that angle, not only does it tie together Neville's on-and-off magical talent, it also makes the Department of Mysteries battle, from Neville's perspective, all the more stirring.
Neville probably found it strange himself—facing a surging host of Death Eaters, the boy who could do nothing suddenly vanished, replaced by the wand's surging power.
Because in that wand lived the will of the Legendary Auror—Frank Longbottom.
"I… won't make it in time!" Neville burst out a long while later, running from the Nook. He had resolved to buy a wand for himself, but the Hogwarts Express had already departed; even if he applied to leave now, he could never catch it.
"Or perhaps—just in time." A form was suddenly in Sean's hand; he snapped his wrist and the parchment unfurled. In plain words it said:
[Dear Mr. Green,
I think I have agreed to file Longbottom's leave request. Have that rascal come back quickly.
It is my great honour that the boy has a friend like you. If you change your mind and wish to spend Christmas with the Longbottom family, be sure to contact me in time.
—Yours faithfully, Augusta Longbottom]
"Hurry, then," Sean said with a blink—his voice dissolving into the snow-covered castle of Hogwarts.