Chapter 88: Secrets
It seemed the Gryffindors weren't the only ones practicing early. Sean spotted a group of Hufflepuffs laughing and chatting as they entered the Quidditch pitch far below. He noticed they carried broomsticks and books. One particularly cheerful-looking boy held a copy of The Beaters' Bible – infamous for Rule #1: Take out the Seeker. Another, leaning casually on his broom, was pointing to something in He Flew Like a Madman, explaining the Porskoff Ploy – where two Chasers box in the Keeper, leaving a goal wide open for the third Chaser. The group erupted in laughter.
Sean wasn't sure if Quidditch simply brought out the latent savagery in Hufflepuffs, or if wizards were just inherently brutal. Either way, he decided to give the Quidditch players a wide berth and headed back towards the castle.
Early morning. The Quidditch pitch was shrouded in a thin, pearlescent mist. The stands were empty, save for a few early-rising owls preening on the highest rafters. Dewdrops clung to the golden goalposts, occasionally falling with a soft plink onto the damp grass, momentarily forming tiny mushroom shapes.
Sean wrapped his thick Ravenclaw scarf tighter, tucking his copy of Intermediate Transfiguration into his bag. The polished mahogany handle of his Nimbus 2000 glowed a faint golden-red in the weak sunlight. He listened to the wind sighing across the pitch, a sound both lonely and peaceful. From the Owlery, distant hoots echoed, and a single owl winged its way lazily towards the castle.
He turned and walked back towards Hogwarts. High above, in a room warmed by a fiercely burning fire, Minerva McGonagall watched him go, the usual severity in her eyes softened into something deep and complex. He truly needs the rest, she thought. He deserves it.
"Little wizard! Let me ask you a question!"
The owl portrait flapped its wings, fixing its gaze on Sean as he approached from the Great Hall. Though Sean knew the owl would likely let him pass regardless, he always made a point of answering its riddles. Today, however… He glanced at Neville, who was shivering beside him in the drafty corridor, and sighed.
"Sean… it's too hard… I'll never figure it out…" Neville mumbled, clearly unaware of the portrait's lenient tendencies, looking close to tears again.
"Drink this." Sean silently handed Neville the steaming mug of pumpkin juice he'd just fetched. "I assume Justin told you about this place? Why don't you go inside, Neville?"
The warmth of the juice seemed to calm Neville's shivering slightly. "It's… impolite… I don't want to… intrude…" he stammered.
He'll get used to it, Sean thought, just like Justin did.
"A difficult question! A secret question! Little wizard! Clever little wizard! Why do both Hogwarts and the nearby village contain the word 'hog' in their names?" The owl, though consistently stumped by Sean, never lost its enthusiasm for quizzing him. "Excessive wit is treasure beyond measure! Forget this, and Ravenclaw's doors will run away!" it had once declared.
"Hogwarts was founded around the tenth century," Sean answered patiently. "At that time, wild boars were considered sacred animals, favoured by the nobility of the Western kingdoms for the hunt. They also symbolized spiritual power and Druidic priesthood."
This time, the owl didn't argue. It gave its customary stiff bow, and the sky-blue door materialized. Neville stared, dumbfounded. He distinctly remembered this owl screeching, flapping, and attempting to claw visitors.
"Morning, Sean," Justin greeted him, watering a potted Dirigible Plum. Since Neville had joined their group, bringing several of his own plants, Justin had acquired a few from Professor Sprout as well. The Dirigible Plums, resembling small orange radishes, floated upside-down from their bush. Sean recalled Xenophilius Lovegood believed they enhanced one's ability to accept the extraordinary.
The fireplace crackled merrily, chasing away the corridor's chill. Neville gratefully sank onto one of the soft wooden chairs near the hearth, letting the warmth seep into his bones.
"What's that, Sean?" Justin asked, spotting the long, wrapped object Sean was carrying. A few straight twigs poked out from one end.
"It's obviously a broomstick," Hermione stated, looking up briefly from her book.
"Wicked," Justin breathed, then casually turned back to his plant. Only after Sean was engrossed in his copy of Transfiguration Reversals did Justin sneak closer, peering curiously at the broomstick.
"Treacle tart?" Justin offered, producing a small plate of the golden pastry seemingly from nowhere. It was a staple in the Great Hall, usually served warm with clotted cream or custard.
"Oh, oh, thank you," Neville stammered, accepting a piece. He was arranging pots on the large wooden table – pots of various shapes and sizes filled with intriguing plants. A pot of Moly curled its pale new leaves in one corner, while nearby, several Dittany seedlings trembled restlessly under a magical glass cloche.
"You're curious about Sean's broom too, right?" Justin whispered conspiratorially.
"Y-yes…" Neville admitted shyly.
When Sean looked up again, he saw Neville and Justin carefully peeling back a corner of the wrapping paper. Hermione hovered behind them, looking torn between curiosity and disapproval, her expression shifting to flustered panic when she met Sean's green eyes. Sean simply looked away.
"Whoa—it's a Nimbus 2000! Merlin!" Justin and Neville gasped in unison, staring at the golden lettering gleaming on the handle. "Excellent work, Neville," Justin added approvingly.
A faint flush of pride touched Neville's shy face. Excellent. For once, he hadn't messed something up.
"A Nimbus 2000?" Hermione whispered, momentarily stunned.
"And the flight test!" Justin murmured, reading the notice tucked into the wrapping. "It's tomorrow afternoon… Sean never told us… Right, Hermione, treacle tart?"
"You were… wait, where did you get that?" Hermione asked, momentarily distracted from her surprise.
"Oh, this?" Justin grinned. "That's exactly what I was about to tell you both. About some… magical little helpers."
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