Chapter 166: Special Permission
The Hogwarts Express was due to depart. Students filed out of the snow-covered castle in long lines.
From a distance, Hagrid could be seen leading a trail of small figures across the snow, a dark, winding line against the white.
The view from Ravenclaw Tower was magnificent, but Sean simply gazed at the horizon, lost in thought.
He placed the thick, resilient parchment into his bag and began making the final type of biscuit.
The Room of Hope was quieter now. Justin and Hermione had just left. Harry and Ron had been in the library for days, searching for something. So, when Sean arrived at the room, he found only Neville practicing the Water-Making Spell.
A wooden table spat out the first row of Alchemy books on the left. Just as Sean was examining them, a loud splash echoed behind him.
He turned to see Neville, drenched from head to toe. He had cast Aguamenti directly onto himself. The noise had been the sound of a large volume of water hitting the floor.
Sean looked at the dampened corner of his notebook and heard Neville's tearful, stuttering voice:
"I… I'm sorry, Sean…"
He was soaked like a drowned rat, yet his first instinct was to apologize.
Outside, snow had piled up several feet deep. A cold draft from the frozen lake made Neville shiver.
Sean waved his wand, shutting the window. As the fire dried the books and Neville, Sean heard Neville whisper:
"Sean… if you want to kick me out of the room, I'll go…"
Neville looked at Sean with tear-filled eyes, leaving Sean somewhat baffled. What is he talking about?
"You know no one can kick you out, Neville," Sean stated simply.
"But I… ruined your books." Neville was shivering.
"They're just wet, Neville. They'll dry." Sean realized this must be another one of Harry or Ron's rumors. He'd heard them saying: If you dare touch Sean's books, you'd better be tougher than ten trolls combined.
"Sean—it's my fault. Everyone knows I'm practically a Squib."
Neville's round face was full of self-blame. He gripped his wand tightly—a wand that bore marks of battle.
"I think, sometimes, the problem isn't with you," Sean said.
"W… what is the problem?"
Neville put the wand behind his back, as if hiding it would make the conversation unrelated to it. But he knew. "The wand chooses the wizard"—it wasn't just Mr. Ollivander's catchphrase; almost every wizard in Britain accepted it as truth.
Even his gran was angry that he insisted on using his father's wand.
"You understand, Neville. I know it's hard, but maybe it's time to face it, isn't it?"
Sean gazed into Neville's eyes, speaking softly as he turned a page of his drying book.
Time passed in silence. The damp book was nearly dry.
"Should I… get a new wand?"
Neville stared blankly at Sean. How could he not understand? But he still felt like crying. He looked at the wand in his hand, thinking that if he wasn't so clumsy, maybe...
"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 tilted his head.
"When a problem is spoken aloud, it is half solved. Neville, why must you part with the wand?"
"What… does that mean?" Neville was confused.
"Choice is usually between two bad outcomes, or two good outcomes. Otherwise, why call it a choice? The joy is, Neville, you face two good choices. Even better, perhaps it isn't a choice at all.
"You can keep your father's wand, can't you? I suspect it will be useful in certain situations. Try this—Finite."
Sean waved his wand, freezing a self-transfiguring wooden table.
Neville, still processing, instinctively mimicked Sean's spell. To his shock, he succeeded on the first try. Although he didn't completely stop the table's transformation, it was a vast improvement over failing a simple Levitation Charm.
"Why… is this?" Neville stood there, dumbfounded.
"Because it is the wand of the legendary Auror Frank Longbottom, now inherited by his son, Neville Longbottom. It was born for battle and protection," Sean said, anticipating this outcome.
"You can have two wands, Neville. When you need to attack or defend, it will still be your partner."
Sean rarely spoke so much. When he finished, Neville was sobbing.
Sean walked to the door. The cold Hogwarts wind hit his face, but he could smell the sweet scent of pumpkin.
Neville needed a wand, true, but Frank Longbottom's wand wasn't useless.
With his father's wand, Neville performed terrifyingly well in certain areas. In practical Defence Against the Dark Arts, he never faltered. Against a Boggart? Success every time, with spectacular results.
In the D.A. meetings, Neville learned faster than ninety-nine percent of the members, firing off Disarming and Stunning Spells, and even conjuring a Patronus.
This perspective explained Neville's fluctuating magical talent and made his role in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries even more compelling. Neville must have been surprised himself—facing a swarm of Death Eaters, his usual clumsiness vanished, replaced by the surging power of the wand.
Because the wand held the will of the legendary Auror, Frank Longbottom.
"I… I'm too late!"
After a long while, Neville ran out of the Room of Hope. He had decided to buy himself a wand, but the Hogwarts Express had already left. Even if he applied for leave now, he could never catch it.
"Or perhaps, just in time."
A permission form appeared in Sean's hand. He flicked his wrist, and the parchment unrolled, clearly stating:
Dear Mr. Green,
I believe I have agreed to help Longbottom submit a leave application. Let that boy come home quickly.
I am honored that he has a friend like you. If you change your mind about spending Christmas with the Longbottoms, please contact me immediately.
—Yours faithfully, Augusta Longbottom
"Hurry now."
Sean winked, his voice fading into the snow-covered castle of Hogwarts.
(End of Chapter)
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