Chapter 85: Harvest
Twelve hundred Galleons?! He was sure that wasn't the amount mentioned before.
"Ah, take it, child—" As if anticipating Sean's confusion, a small note fluttered out from the velvet pouch. Sean looked up to see Dumbledore twinkling at him.
Hogwarts truly is wealthy beyond measure. Sean silently secured the pouch in his bag. It too was a valuable item, crafted from Occamy hide using complex enchantments, making it notoriously expensive.
His small black bag now felt reassuringly heavy: a pouch with an Undetectable Extension Charm holding twelve hundred Galleons, several slips of parchment bearing the wisdom of a Potion Master, a worn but resilient letter… Sean had never felt so light on his feet. Golden sunlight streamed through the enormous windows, bathing the ancient stone walls in a tangible warmth.
The portraits lining the corridor were lively: a bewigged wizard snored softly in his frame, a buzzing bee perched precariously on his hat; in the adjacent frame, a noblewoman hummed tunelessly along with a small faun playing pipes in a landscape painting, her pet cat curled at her feet.
Their peaceful afternoon was shattered as Sir Cadogan, astride his pony, charged down the painted hallway. "Young Green!"
Sean paused, recognizing the familiar bellow. "Thank you for your help, Sir Knight."
"Mere trifles!" the knight declared, clearly having heard exactly what he wanted to hear. He trotted off, humming jauntily.
The Fat Lady chuckled nearby. "Sir Cadogan—never misses a chance to boast—"
Lady Violet blushed slightly, saying nothing, simply watching the knight with shining eyes as he, once again, struggled to stay mounted on his stubborn steed. But everyone knew, when a noble heart and mighty thews were needed, the knight would always appear. Just as he had bravely volunteered to guard Gryffindor Tower after Sirius Black had slashed the Fat Lady's portrait. And during the final Battle of Hogwarts, he had charged alongside Harry through the castle corridors, shouting encouragement, ready to fight to the last.
A noble heart… mighty thews… fearless courage… Watching the knight depart, Sean felt a complex, fervent emotion welling up inside him. He started walking again, faster and faster, until the wind whistled past his ears.
His destination: the Transfiguration classroom. Minerva McGonagall stood waiting by the window, watching his approaching figure. Relief flickered in her eyes, but the underlying worry remained, deepening the lines on her stern face. A few ravens cawed overhead as dusk began to settle, swallowing her soft sigh.
October brought colder weather, more rain, and longer nights. But the mud, wind, and storms couldn't extinguish the warm glow of the hearth fires within the castle.
As Sean hurried into the room, McGonagall's expression softened. "No Transfiguration practice today. Go and rest, Mr. Green." Noticing the faint, involuntary smile that touched Sean's lips at the mention of rest, she added, her voice both gentle and firm, "Life is a long road, Mr. Green. You will face many hardships along the way. So, whatever you do… you must hold onto that hopeful smile."
Later, in the empty Transfiguration classroom, Minerva McGonagall sat writing a letter – something she hadn't done in a long time. She was arranging a visit to a place called Hollysage Orphanage. Her brow was furrowed, her hand moving purposefully across the parchment.
"Minerva, I haven't seen you write a personal letter in ages…" Dumbledore had appeared silently beside her chair. His usual playful tone was gone, replaced by a gentle curiosity, perhaps tinged with… caution?
McGonagall paused, the enchanted quill hovering mid-air. "Forgive me, Albus. Unless you yourself have seen that barren ground… that child… fought his way so far…"
A lonely child.
A child without family.
A child who emerged from a cold winter and desolate soil.
A child with every reason to be bitter, broken.
Yet, within that frail body, she saw nothing but resilience and a fundamentally kind soul.
Outside, the rain fell in torrents, the sky as black as badly brewed potion. But inside the Gryffindor common room, it was bright and cheerful. Firelight danced across the cozy armchairs where students read, chatted, or worked on homework. Fred and George Weasley were attempting to feed Filibuster Fireworks to a salamander they'd 'rescued' from Care of Magical Creatures class. The bright orange lizard pulsed sullenly on a table, surrounded by a crowd of curious onlookers.
Amidst the cheerful chaos, Sean sat slightly apart, carefully examining a strangely folded note. The elegant script seemed to waver and distort until he tilted it just right, revealing words that looked like a drunken scrawl made legible.
My Dear Mr. Green,
Minerva informed me of your request. I am both gratified and deeply moved by your passion for knowledge. Honeydukes' Sherbet Lemons may delight the tongue, but it is an unquenchable thirst for learning that truly illuminates the wizarding world.
Regarding your desire to remain at Hogwarts over the summer holidays, I have given it careful consideration. I am pleased to inform you, Mr. Green, that permission may be granted, provided the following conditions are met:
You must maintain your current excellent academic standing. This will be the primary criterion.
You require letters of recommendation from at least three of your current professors (including your Head of House), attesting not only to your talent but also to your sense of responsibility and collegiality.
You must undertake at least one significant contribution to the school community: whether assisting Madam Pince in the library or tending the magical plants in the greenhouses, I wish to see how you translate your gifts into actions that benefit others. Greatness in the magical world is inextricably linked with responsibility.
Furthermore, should you choose to stay, you are welcome to join me for tea in my office each Saturday morning.
Finally, whatever comes to pass, please remember: the hearths of Hogwarts will always hold a warm flame for you.
Sean clutched the letter, stunned. He had only mentioned his hope of staying to Professor McGonagall in passing. He hadn't expected her to advocate for him, let alone for Dumbledore to grant permission. Hogwarts, which notoriously disallowed students from remaining over the summer, had opened its doors for him. Even Tom Riddle, the brilliant, favoured student of his time, had been denied this privilege.
The fire in the common room hearth seemed to burn brighter.
High in his office tower, as the last rays of sunset painted the clouds in streaks of fire, Albus Dumbledore gently stroked Fawkes's scarlet feathers. Through the tall window, he could almost see the small, determined figure of the young wizard in the common room below.
Ah… a new beginning. A… correct beginning.
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