Good news: Sean was getting ready for Christmas, picking out gifts.
Bad news: Professor McGonagall had been missing for two days straight, and now Professor Snape was nowhere to be found either.
Sean figured McGonagall was probably tied up with that business, but Snape? Where had he gone?
For the first time, Sean showed up to the dungeons as planned, only to find no professor waiting.
Where was he?
Only Sir Cadogan lingered outside the dungeons, trying to mount his stubby pony, his face bruised and swollen. Sean had no idea when he'd gotten those injuries.
"Oh! Young Green—what a thrill! I bet this Christmas will bring some good news, eh?" Sir Cadogan said, puffing out his chest. "Better yet, I once convinced a foolish chap to repent in front of Gryffindor Tower. But now? Ha! At least he doesn't have to grovel at Ravenclaw Tower!"
With that, Sir Cadogan strutted off triumphantly.
Only the Fat Lady and Lady Violet knew what the knight was on about.
It was a stormy night, much like the one before, when a single word—"Mudblood"—had shattered the possibilities for two wizards.
Furious, just like that night, the knight had stormed into the dungeons, roaring to wake a numb soul.
Waiting and apologizing at Gryffindor Tower might've been one of the bravest things that broken soul ever did.
The Fat Lady, munching an apple, stuck out her foot and tripped the knight, still fuming. "It's just sad. How could he ever compare to our dear Minerva?"
Lady Violet, watching her rage, could only nod along. "Don't worry, my dear. Remember, he's someone the knight approved of…"
…
In many ways, the Ministry of Magic was a bit of a mess, especially when it came to Muggle-born wizard orphans.
After digging into it for a day, Minerva McGonagall learned the next morning that their rules were based on Muggle systems.
For wizard orphans born in the Muggle world with no known identity—especially Muggle-borns—they were handled by Muggle social services until the wizarding world found them.
Even after discovery, Muggle authorities still took charge. The Ministry only enforced the International Statute of Secrecy to keep the wizarding world hidden.
If the kid was lucky, they might find wizarding relatives. If not—like young Tom Riddle—they were sent to Hogwarts and told to stay put.
There were almost no cases of wizards adopting Muggle-born orphans.
In the trash-strewn streets of Croydon, Minerva McGonagall's usually stern gaze carried a heavy weight.
The head of Hollisay Orphanage was sweating buckets under the intense presence of this "professor."
Dressed in a deep green robe, her piercing eyes seemed to bore into your soul. The head sometimes felt like her memories were being rifled through.
"So, you're saying it's a lengthy process?" McGonagall asked, unease creeping into her voice.
"Of course, ma'am," the head replied. "We'd love for him to go with you today, but the application, trial period, and final adoption order take at least a month."
McGonagall left, unwilling to wait that long. If the Ministry didn't approve her proposal, a few harmless Confundus Charms would be her answer.
Snow piled up again at Hollisay Orphanage. The kids gathered around, huddling together. The fireplace, with barely a few logs burning, flared brightly the moment the green-robed figure left.
Pale-faced boys and girls crowded around it.
"Oh, it's my Christmas wish!" a little girl squealed.
"Santa came! He lit the fire!"
The orphanage head scoffed outside, oblivious to the hawk-nosed man with a grim expression who appeared before her. This time, her memories were being read.
And so, one figure heading to the Ministry became two.
The head stood there, dazed, wondering if she was seeing things…
By the fireplace, the kids were buzzing.
"It's Santa Claus!"
In a room that always smelled of disinfectant, stale air lingering, the appearance of a white-bearded old man was nothing short of miraculous.
"Oh—yes, of course," the long-bearded wizard said with a chuckle.
"Can you make our Christmas wishes come true?" a small boy asked, eyes sparkling.
"I… want some more firewood…"
"Santa" smiled. "A fine Christmas wish. It deserves to come true."
And just like that, logs appeared by the fireplace.
"Oh my gosh!"
"Amazing!"
Amid the kids' excited shouts, the white-bearded wizard's smile grew warmer.
His deep blue eyes gazed into the distance.
He shouldn't be here, really. But forgive an old man's curiosity—
It had been decades since he'd seen anything this interesting.
The excitement wasn't just at the orphanage.
With Christmas a week away, Hogwarts was getting louder and livelier by the day.
Rumors about the Christmas feast were flying, though Sean didn't buy most of them—like the one about Dumbledore buying eight hundred barrels of Butterbeer from Madam Rosmerta at the Three Broomsticks.
Some teachers, like Professor Flitwick, noticed the students' wandering attention and gave up on lessons.
On Wednesday, Flitwick let his class play games, spending most of the time chatting with Sean about the finer points of Charm theory.
Everyone from Hagrid's hut—hope's little cabin—dropped by to listen. Harry and Ron were shocked to learn Flitwick knew about the place.
Seeing everyone improving, Flitwick's eyes crinkled into a near-squinting smile.
Other teachers stuck to their duties.
Professor Binns, for example, was unstoppable. He trudged on through his notes about oddball wizards, unfazed. Students figured if death couldn't stop Binns from teaching, a little thing like Christmas wouldn't distract him either.
In the Great Hall that afternoon, Sean and the others heard the Butterbeer rumor again. Maybe because Dumbledore was so grand yet kind, people couldn't resist tying him to every wild story.
Sean was focused on finishing a Howler-making exercise that afternoon, wondering what his alchemy talent might be. He didn't pay the rumors much mind.
Ron, however, was red-faced with excitement. "I could down five Butterbeers!"
Leaving the hut, he realized he could fib a bit, and it felt great.
It was like playing Wizard's Chess with Hermione—she only ever lost at chess, and Harry and Ron agreed it was good for her.
When Hermione lost, she'd huff and storm off with her books. But when Sean lost, he was different. He'd say, "Ron, you're really good at this," all calm and kind.
It made Ron flush with pride.
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