Nearly all of Gryffindor had gathered at their table—Harry and Ron included.
There they sat, spearing anything stab-able with their forks—bread, flatbreads, mushrooms—while sketching out ways to improve the odds of their plan. Hard to carry out, sure, but talking about it was fun.
Ron had also begun teaching Harry wizard chess. It's exactly like Muggle chess, except the pieces are alive—so it feels more like commanding an army.
Ron's set was old and battered; all his things were hand-me-downs, and the chess set had been his grandfather's. Age didn't matter; Ron knew those pieces so well they obeyed him without trouble.
Harry was using Seamus Finnigan's spare set; those pieces didn't trust him at all. He wasn't very good yet, and they all talked at once, confusing him:
"Don't send me there! Can't you see your knight? Send him. He can be sacrificed."
"The knight won't do."
Harry rubbed his brow and forced the squabbling bishop out onto the board.
Around them lay Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, Who's Who in Contemporary Magic, Major Modern Magical Discoveries, Studies in Recent Wizardry—it looked as if they were searching for someone.
Unsurprisingly, Harry lost. When he and Ron looked at each other, they knew they were back to the vexing question.
"I'm sure there's a test," Ron said firmly. "Remember the Blindfolded Passage Club? The one Fred and the others secretly set up—'Castle Explorers' in public, but really it was for nicking the secret passages.
"Their test was charging into a wall with your eyes shut. No one knew if there was a passage behind any given wall. Everyone who's done it says it's terrifying."
Harry remembered. Outside the locker room, the twins had winked at a first-year and said: "Yes—if you don't shut your eyes and charge, you'll never know there's a secret passage behind it."
Resolve flashed in Harry's eyes. "We'll pass the test!"
He thought: what could be worse than unfinished homework? Professor McGonagall had thrashed their Transfiguration essays, and Professor Snape had docked them five points, cold as ice. Keep this up and Gryffindor's points would vanish.
They shared a look and saw the same resolve.
"What are they up to?" Hermione had only just recovered when she saw Harry and Ron marching toward them in "stirring" fashion. They reached the Hall doors, then slipped behind a suit of armor to wait.
By the doors, the four House hourglasses stood quietly. After a roller-coaster swing, Ravenclaw's had settled into first place again. Even Ron had sighed in despair: if they didn't win the Quidditch Cup, they'd never catch Ravenclaw. Then he brightened: "At least Slytherin won't either."
The food dwindled; even the puddings were gone.
Sean, carrying The Fifth Element: An Inquiry, was heading from the Hall to the Hope Nook when he spotted the two skulking figures.
"Harry? Ron?" They'd turned up often enough that Sean's voice was gentle.
"Oh! Sean! We—we want to take the test. Whatever the group is, we—" Harry jumped at the unexpected voice. By the time he realized what he'd said, Ron's face already spelled despair.
"Mm. I agree. Ron, and you, Harry. But you need to ask the others what they think." Sean studied them and instantly understood what they were after. He didn't mind; if the Hope Nook agreed, neither would he. Besides, having Harry and Ron keeping an eye out for the Dark One's movements wouldn't hurt.
"Ah—you mean, uh… there's no test? Like, running into a wall?" Ron stammered, giddy with surprise. He veered back to the scenario they'd rehearsed, and the words began to flow.
"Run into a wall?" Sean's brow lifted.
"Oh! Ron means—we'll go ask them now!" Harry clapped a hand over Ron's mouth and hustled him off.
"…Ron, why would we run into a wall?" Harry sighed. He'd never seen anyone eager to do it.
"Oh—oh—" Ron flushed, mortified and a bit shaken. Why had he blurted all that out? "We go stupid around Sean," Harry said—and they both cracked up.
Next morning—Wednesday.
Dawn in the Hope Nook.
Sean sat by the hearth, organizing his notes. He'd added a lot to Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. When he put the stacks into the entry cabinet, the charmed mirror scolded: "Neat—clean! But damnably mismatched!"
Sean glanced down at himself: scarf, sweater, gloves, robes, and the new hat—each from a different source. Fair point. He returned to the fire and opened his alchemy texts; he'd see Professor Tayra that afternoon.
A hubbub rose outside.
"Mr. Finch-Fletchley—do we really not have to do anything?" Harry's voice.
"Oh—right—ah, we don't mind…" Ron's voice.
"What do you think this place is, a man-eater?" Hermione, exasperated and amused at once.
"Of course not. The important thing is—remember one thing: Mr. Owl," Justin called warmly.
Only then did Harry and Ron notice the owl with gold spectacles on the wall.
"It's brilliant…" Ron whispered to Harry, voice trembling with excitement.
"Little wizards! More foolish little wizards! Answer my question!" Mr. Owl shot them a glance—no wing-flapping this time.
"A talking portrait of an owl?!" Ron jumped so hard he nearly fell.