The Great Hall, at the staff table.
Dumbledore's silver beard shimmered in the candlelight, and when an owl dropped a bag of sweets onto a Gryffindor's head, his eyes behind the half-moon spectacles twinkled with delight.
As he blinked happily, the student beside him—already excellent in Transfiguration—had vanished,
and his smile deepened.
The greatest white wizard of the century clasped his hands together, fingers interlaced, murmuring:
'Oh, quite good, isn't it?
People will eventually find that, at Hogwarts, those in need of help always receive it…'
The clamor in the hall had nothing to do with Sean at that moment.
He held the letter, walking down the empty corridor, noticing the armor glinting in the light. The lively owl perched on his shoulder, cooing and pointing down a path he had walked countless times.
He didn't notice that the painting of Madame Wheatfield behind him was already crowded with people.
The golden wheat rippled under the sun like a sea kissed by sunlight, and among the waves, figures holding a few blue cornflowers whispered and murmured:
'Sir, I'm so excited, the child nearly twisted his sharp eyebrows into a duck egg today.'
Mrs. Violet pinched the corner of her skirt, watching the young wizard pass with the owl. For a moment, she even felt as if she couldn't breathe.
'Mrs. Violet, oh, please help me, my injured hand can't reach my eyes.'
Sir Cadogan had put down his pony, his eyes sparkling.
'You all saw the letter?! I can hardly believe it… you know? I've been observing Little Green for fifty years!'
The Fat Lady pressed her hand to her chest, only to be quietly interrupted by Sir Cadogan:
'Alright, alright, my dear lady, see that big cat off, the knight's attention should only be on Little Green.'
…
'Professor?'
Sean knocked on the wooden door.
He was a little nervous.
He wasn't afraid of Professor Snape, nor did he hold prejudice against Professor Quirrell—though the two-headed man was admittedly a bit eccentric.
But only Professor McGonagall, he would never forget the owl that crashed through the window—yes, this very one perched on his shoulder, and he would never forget her help.
The orphanage beds always smelled musty, and the constant sense of imminent death was hard to endure, yet it made Sean remember the days the professor had led him out all the more.
He pushed open the door.
The Transfiguration office was always filled with a faint scent of sandalwood and parchment.
The flames in the fireplace danced wildly, and beside it, a long object was tightly wrapped.
Professor McGonagall's dark green robes swayed, a few strands of silver glinting yellow in the firelight. Her eyes unusually softened, and her voice was calm and steady:
'Mr. Green, come here.'
Sean obediently trotted over, unaware of the deeper worry in her gaze.
She flicked her wand lightly, and the long object flew onto the table in front of Sean:
'Open it and see, Mr. Green.'
He held his breath, his mind momentarily dazed.
On the wooden desk, the carefully unwrapped package revealed a magnificent broom:
sleek, glossy, made of redwood, its long tail bound neatly with straight branches.
'Nimbus 2000'—the words gleamed in gold along the top of the handle.
'I'm not sure I fully understand, Professor.'
Faced with such a temptation, Sean felt neither excitement nor joy; he only asked carefully, in a low voice.
After all, he wasn't a Gryffindor, nor a chosen savior,
and three months ago, he had been just a struggling orphan at Hollis Orphanage, waiting for his body to recover enough to escape.
He knew Professor McGonagall's stern demeanor hid a kind heart, but did he deserve such overwhelming kindness?
The Nimbus 2000 wasn't some shabby broom; in Diagon Alley, it cost over six hundred Galleons.
'By King Arthur!'
In the painting frame of the Transfiguration classroom, Sir Cadogan nearly tapped Sean's head.
Then the Fat Lady grabbed him:
'Sir, my dear Sir, how could you ruin this moment—'
In the fireplace's glow, Minerva McGonagall slowly moved the broom aside, and the warmth in her eyes erased Sean's confusion.
'Come here, child.'
Sean suddenly felt embraced.
He smelled a comforting fragrance, while an unexpected warmth and gentle reassurance wrapped around him.
He saw Professor McGonagall's emerald star-studded brooch glint, and heard her softly say:
'Mr. Green, no magic study today. Tell me about your days at Hogwarts, will you?'
…
In the corridor, a knight strode across the golden wheatfield with two ladies,
all three faces beaming.
'Those stern faces can, from time to time, erupt in astonishing warmth—truly worth the journey—'
The Fat Lady wiped her eyes.
'Hmph—'
Sir Cadogan's mustache twitched, and he muttered:
'Coward, coward, even happiness leaves him flustered.'
His voice gradually lowered.
Sean carried the broom to the Quidditch pitch; it had been enchanted, making it effortless to lift.
'Come on, Mr. Green,'
Madam Hooch was arranging brooms; she spotted the shiny new broom immediately and nodded with satisfaction,
'A fine new broom, get used to it. Today we'll simulate a test session.'
Sean nodded, mounted the broom,
and only then did he understand Madam Hooch's subtle hints.
Without even cautiously asking for permission, he took off into the air; his usual carefulness seemed to dissipate a little.
Madam Hooch's hawk-like eyes watched him, a trace of relief in them.
The test was demanding: weaving through hoops, dodging poles, evading magically enchanted golf balls—all to be completed within half an hour.
Madam Hooch applied nearly the strictest standards:
'Mr. Green, turn! Pull up! Stay focused, adjust your posture. Only sufficient skill will help you avoid the flying hazards that frequently occur at Hogwarts!'
…
In the room with the roaring fireplace, the tall witch watched the pitch, while an elderly voice spoke beside her.
'Minerva, it seems it's been a long time since you've cared for a child like this.'
The kindly wizard with a long white beard looked at the painting in the room. His deep blue eyes held mischief, then shifted to a teasing tone.
McGonagall's robes still bore traces of wrinkles; her voice was strict yet gentle.
These two qualities are unexpectedly intertwined.
She looked at him as if at a seed, yet also as a sprout finally breaking through the soil.
'You don't understand, Albus. He smiled at me and said so much, and I feel I've waited a very long time for this.'