The corridor was hushed.
Sir Cadogan was roaming about looking for someone to duel; a nearby monk neatly avoided him.
With the click of leather boots on stone, a tall witch stopped before the painting, a trace of annoyance on her face.
"Perhaps your reputation for honesty and loyalty isn't always accurate?"
"Do not be hasty, madam,"
Sir Cadogan swept off his hat, then glanced to the window where a great owl was winging into the night.
"A knight never lies."
…
Next morning was bright and bitterly cold. The Great Hall smelled temptingly of grilled sausages; everyone was buzzing, eager for a brilliant Quidditch match.
"Hufflepuff's nothing to fear,"
Michael said excitedly—then spotted Justin nearby, looking dubious.
"Oh—pretend I didn't say that,"
Michael yelped, burying his face in pudding.
"You going to the match, Sean?"
Justin seized the opening.
At once, the whole Hope Room table turned to Sean.
They'd been doing nearly everything together for months—except Sean, who was always the exception. He drifted among professors; rumor had it he'd even sat in on an Alchemy class last week.
Merlin—sixth-year coursework.
So everyone felt something was… missing.
"Mm."
Unexpectedly, this time Sean nodded.
"Brilliant—"
Justin breathed, as a flurry of owls swept in again, all the excitement of the match tossed on those beating wings.
Watching how everyone chattered and leaned in, Sean began to sense what Quidditch meant to the young witches and wizards.
It was a bond, stringing shared, golden memories together.
Before long the Hall was nearly empty—nearly everyone had rushed to the pitch.
The staff benches were full too—Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, even Hagrid.
Huddled together, Harry and Ron were hashing out "strategy," planning to use this match to analyze the other two opponents' weaknesses;
Hermione snorted; they'd forgotten Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were literally present.
Ron smacked his forehead and ducked his head.
"We're really sorry…"
"Sorry for what? For discussing it to our faces?"
Justin, for once, cracked a joke.
"Yes—oh! No—"
Ron realized anything he said sounded wrong either way.
"Idiots,"
Hermione said dryly, edging away from the pair.
Two brawny, simple-minded idiots.
"Sean, what do you—Sean?"
Justin blurted, and discovered Sean had vanished.
"…Right. I think I get it,"
he muttered.
Inside the Ravenclaw locker room.
Watching from the field counts as watching too, doesn't it? Sean thought.
"I knew you'd come! Now Prefect Penelope won't devour me whole—"
Roger grabbed Sean's hand, pumping it madly.
"Lot, you can retire from Seeker now—let our strongest first-year take it!"
"I'd be delighted—come along, Mr. Green—"
Lot, Ravenclaw's captain, a seventh-year, was in his final season and dreaming of leaving Ravenclaw a Seeker heir. He'd dug up Cho Chang, then Roger Davis; now he thought he'd found someone even better.
"Gryffindor's always crowing they've got the best team—but lads, you know what? In my heart, you're the best team! Show them eagles belong higher than everyone else!"
Ravenclaw erupted in cheers.
On the pitch there was no wind, and the sky was a soft pearl—good visibility, no blinding sun.
Lee Jordan boomed into the mic, Professor McGonagall at his elbow.
"We have Ravenclaw's finalized lineup,"
he said, scanning a parchment.
"Their Beaters are gone from last year, but Lot's found two promising replacements—by all accounts they flew well as subs.
But Lot himself is stepping down—rare in your final year—Merlin's—!"
"Jordan!"
McGonagall snapped.
"Sorry, Professor. It's just—I didn't expect that name.
Let's see—Ravenclaw's new Seeker is the only student in years cleared for solo flight, who aced the flight test—author of the Green Notes (which I personally find most important)—anyway, Ravenclaw's new Seeker is—Mr. Sean Green!"
"You mean—"
McGonagall shot to her feet.
"Professor,"
Jordan said weakly—this was feeling awfully familiar.
Ravenclaw's locker room emptied. Players shouldered brooms, filed out into the dazzling sky.
They were met by thunderous cheers—and Sean could even hear singing under the roar of voices and whistles.
"Merlin! Sean!"
In the stands, Hermione and Justin scrambled over a flag.
"Ron, hurry!"
"I'm trying!"
Ron transfigured a scarf into a great banner—already at the limit of his transfiguration.
Three minutes later, a huge enchanted banner rippled: now a giant portrait of Sean, now the characters for "Victory."
Sean had never loved Quidditch, but watching Hermione and Justin wave, beaming; seeing Professor McGonagall nod to him, joy and pride plain in her eyes—and subtly pump a fist—he felt something warmer for Hogwarts settle in.
The one sour note—on the opposite stand, Professor Snape's gaze was black as a stormcloud.
"A stupid pastime for thick-limbed fools… Don't let me find out who lured a… destined Potions Master—hah—into this circus,"
he hissed. Slytherins edged discreetly away a few feet.
Only Dumbledore slid cheerfully closer, blue eyes twinkling.
"You must admit—he is rather like Minerva, isn't he…"
Snape shot him a murderous look. The long-bearded headmaster only chuckled and fell silent.