Neville had left school as well—he'd gone to purchase a wand of his own.
With only Sean left in the Hope Nook, he still felt at ease. The winter sun seemed to soak him through; snowflakes drifted onto his graver, and he heard the panel:
[You practiced Rooster Biscuit crafting at an Apprentice standard. Proficiency +1]
There was much good news this winter, and Sean had finished making his final biscuit.
Once that last biscuit reached Beginner, he could unlock a new alchemy title.
When he was tired, he gulped down two Mrs. Norris Biscuits, and in the blink of an eye the Nook was empty—leaving only a black cat that walked very oddly on the snow.
Its white paws sank into the drift, then jerked up as if startled—perhaps from the cold.
In this state, Sean didn't share fatigue with his wizard self; he couldn't even sense his magic—how could he feel worn out from overuse?
With only one night left before Christmas, one thing occupied his mind.
Something odd—enough to send ripples across the lake.
Michael and Anthony's usual racket was, for once, quiet; the Jumping Bean Pod hadn't been overwatered, and looked much better.
What lay before Sean was a marvelous winter evening. Gifts were piled into a little hill in his dorm; the Christmas tree was laden with glittering trinkets.
An owl flew in, a yellowed letter in its beak.
Sean read it, then sat to write a reply. The owl flew off with Sean's Galleons, and the original letter went into a small wooden box.
It already held many letters; most were from Justin—England may have mobiles now, but he seemed to like this form best.
The letter Sean had just received, placed on the inner stack and sent from far-off London, read:
[Dear Mr. Green,
Even if it's full of danger and uncertainty, you must still love—that is something great and remarkable.
—Rowland Taylor]
…
Hogwarts had grown quiet. Those who left would reunite with family; those who stayed… would enjoy a splendid luncheon.
Sean had planned to feast—but when he woke, there was a new pile of parcels at the foot of his bed.
So he began opening gifts.
A small box came first: inside were dozens of photographs.
Pictures in the carriage compartment—their first meeting; Hermione's birthday, when she hadn't yet dried the tears at her eyes; the warm sun at the edge of the forest and the bustle in the kitchens.
[To Sean Green:
My mother says:
Going all the way to a castle in the Highlands is a kind of journey.
And the meaning of a journey
is an unexpected meeting.
I always said I'd go far away—
oh,
Sean,
do you know?
I made it.]
Wind carried white snowflakes in; Sean put the letter away. Inside Hogwarts, winter had stopped feeling cold.
The second box burst into confetti, draping the Ravenclaw dorm in streamers—Sean didn't need to guess who sent it.
Then the third, the fourth…
You can never have too many gifts.
Great Hall.
Sean had never attended such a lavish Christmas feast.
A hundred plump roast turkeys, mountains of roasts and boiled potatoes, platters upon platters of tiny sausages, bowls of buttered peas, and many Christmas puddings. Dishes of thick gravy and lingonberry sauce were heaped together—and every few steps along the table, piles of Wizard Whizz-Bangs waited for you.
These curious crackers were not like the cheap ones the orphanage sometimes bought, with flimsy paper hats and plastic toys. These were the Weasley twins' wizard poppers.
Sean pulled one—no cannon blast, but a fluting whistle as blue smoke swallowed the long table, and from inside burst a mole-shaped hat and several live, fluttering doves.
At the high table, Headmaster Dumbledore had swapped his pointed hat for a flower-trimmed ladies' bonnet. Professor Flitwick had just told him a joke, and he chuckled contentedly.
His eye wandered—subtly or not—toward Sean. With no one beside him, the sight emboldened a few small witches.
"Go on, Abbot, remember? He wrote you back—it's just a little something more!" A witch with deep eyes nudged Hannah Abbott with a smile.
"He writes back to everyone and—and besides, Sally-Anne, it's only because Mr. Longbottom brought a Herbology Guide and I—I want to thank him…" Hannah's cheeks flushed. Hufflepuffs adored Mr. Green—top to bottom.
He had compiled the Herbology Guide himself. Like his history notes, it was accurate, wide-ranging, and vividly written.
According to Mr. Longbottom's stammering account, they had written it word by word in the greenhouse—and it was free. If you wanted to help in the greenhouse, you could take one.
Importantly, the first page read:
[For every wizard who loves nature: it is not necessary to go to the greenhouse, nor is talent required. The moment you pick up a hoe—Herbology truly begins.]
Thanks to the Herbology Guide, Green's reputation in Hufflepuff had shifted from "brilliant, distant, a little intimidating" to "a wizard with a cool face and a warm heart."
"Go on! Go on!" Urged on by Sally-Anne and the others, Hannah drew closer; Dumbledore's smile grew softer and kinder.
Until—
"Merry Christmas, Sean! You'll never guess what Harry got!"
Ron came pelting over and dropped into the seat beside Sean, startling the little witches.
"Merry Christmas. Ron—did you forget? There's Mrs. Weasley's jumper too…" Harry said, embarrassed—and then, without a qualm, made Ron embarrassed as well.
"My mum said she has to send you one—in my opinion that's—Merlin! You're wearing it!"
Sean knew what he meant… Mrs. Weasley had sent him a sky-blue jumper, too.
"It's very warm. Mrs. Weasley's work is excellent," Sean said. He had seven jumpers now—one for each day of the week.
"Merry Christmas!"
"Hey, look—Sean and Harry got Weasley jumpers too!"
Fred and George popped out, both in blue jumpers—one with a big yellow "F," the other with a big yellow "G."
~~~
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