It was a clear Thursday.
Professor McGonagall had vanished—she didn't appear at Hogwarts all day. She even missed her Transfiguration class, having swapped schedules with Professor Snape, which drew tragic groans from the students.
Snape wasn't in a good mood either. After a few Slytherins had rotten luck, he docked Gryffindor ten points—hard—for Harry misplacing an ingredient.
Harry and Ron were still griping when they reached the Hope Nook.
"I swear he waited for Professor McGonagall to be gone—Merlin's beard, I don't even know who to complain to! A prefect? Percy would just say, 'Why is Professor Snape only punishing you? Look to your own faults! And don't cause me trouble again!'"
As they complained, they found Sean waiting at the Hope Nook door—not a common sight.
Mr. Owl's questions were brutal for them, but for Sean, solving them was like eating or drinking.
"No! You! May not enter! Little wizard! Faithless little wizard!" Mr. Owl squawked.
Harry and Ron glanced over, and their grumbling faded into barely suppressed laughter. They didn't notice Hermione, who'd come with them, standing aside, frowning.
At first they didn't understand why. After Mr. Owl scolded them sharply a few times, they obediently waited:
"Little wizards! Foolish little wizards! Blockheads! Dunces! As stupid and laughable as Gryffindors! Unless you name a Gryffindor's stupidity now—wait your turn!"
Justin arrived as a savior with a plate of biscuits. He took one look at the line, smiled with confidence, and intoned,
"Allow me. If Godric Gryffindor still lived, he would be the giant squid in the Great Lake."
Mr. Owl flapped—and let them in.
Inside the room.
Sean had just firmed up his Ancient Runes and was packing to head to the dungeons to brew when the Weasleys blocked him in the corridor.
"What biscuit did you pick? Whatever it is, I'll bet you nailed it!" Fred said brightly.
"You're the Great Green!" George was excited too.
"Oh—there's no repaying you. When Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes opens for real, we'll have to cut you in!" Fred winked—his "moved" act was laid on thick.
"A bit—of course, two percent! How's that?" George chimed in.
Sean slipped past. If you got chatting with them, there was no telling when the topic would end.
"I'm guessing you're off to have the professor engrave the runes—wait, Fred!" George blurted, as if remembering something.
"I remember, George! Oh, Merlin's beard—we don't do advanced Transfiguration, so—" Fred dashed ahead to block Sean. "You'll have to switch…"
George tapped Sean's shoulder ingratiatingly.
Sometimes Sean couldn't fathom how the twins had such alchemical genius but hadn't learned advanced Transfiguration.
He flicked his wand; a jar popped open and a beetle inside turned, before their eyes, into an owl.
"Merlin's beard!" Fred gaped at George with a "we've struck gold" look.
"Great Green!" George mugged at Fred—and both made as if to bow.
They were a riot. On the way to the dungeons, by way of odd patter, they squeezed a half-finished batch of Owl Biscuits out of Sean. Then they gave him a strange look.
"If you need advanced Transfiguration in Ancient Runes—"
"Why not ask us?"
"We got O's in Ancient Runes!"
"We're naturals!"
They tossed Sean a book and dove into a portrait passage.
A Hundred Ways to Prank Ron.
Sean blinked.
…What?
"Wrong one!" They popped back, swapping the book lightning-fast.
Techniques of Ancient Runic Engraving.
Sean opened it in silence. The more he read, the brighter his eyes grew.
Alchemical prodigies indeed—the twins' runic chops were high, too.
This was exactly the piece he'd been missing. When he reached the dungeons, his step was noticeably lighter.
Snape caught the change—and felt an inexplicable irritation.
Time passed on the wings of owls. When Sean emerged from the dungeon, Sir Cadogan was waiting at the door. Unlike usual, he watched silently as Sean came out—then, scowling, mounted his pony.
That afternoon the sky burst into a torrential downpour.
Rain rolled across the sky outside Hogwarts like a cascade of boulders—like a tablecloth shaken from a high window, all the friction-sounds merging into a clamor as it fell. The hissing lines of rain dimmed every path; lightning flashed, and even the sky shuddered.
Sir Cadogan ran into the dungeon through the roar, shouting:
"Don't you see yet? You foolish fellow—being used to despair is ten thousand times worse than despair itself!"
As that night long ago, he charged into the dungeon again.
"Oh—my knight. He'll always throw himself in for others," Lady Violet murmured, at a loss.
"Well, Violet, I don't think this is right," the Fat Lady huffed, stamping her foot.
No one knew what happened inside. Only that when Sir Cadogan crawled out, bruised and battered, he wore a look that said, "Worth it."
Snape's black robes billowed without wind, a roaring storm cloud sweeping the corridor.
His destination: the spacious, beautiful circular Headmaster's office.
Silver instruments gleamed in ranks; beside them, the soot-black kettle burbled on.
Behind the grand oak desk sat a long-bearded wizard—Albus Dumbledore. His half-moon spectacles had slipped halfway down his nose; his bright blue eyes peered over the rims into the storm.
"Ah—Headmistress Dilys Derwent, the world is tragic and grand in that it offers us no truth—yet still, so much love.
Absurdity reigns; love redeems."
~~~
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