Neville clearly hadn't expected anyone to wait quietly for over ten minutes. When he cautiously turned his head, he saw Sean's calm face staring back at him.
His expression, already on the verge of tears, nearly crumbled into full-on sobbing.
Sean sat down gently, casually transfiguring the book in his hand into a blue cushion.
His studies in Transfiguration and Charms had once again taken top priority.
His interdiate Transfiguration skills were still lacking. If he could reach "expert" level, he figured he'd be able to turn a desk completely into a wild boar.
As for Charms, Transfiguration made up for his lack of offensive spells.
Though, at the mont, his strongest attack seed to be the Dark Magic repelling spell, not Transfiguration.
Still, Sean wasn't keen on using it lightly—his arsenal of buffs was already impressive enough.
But not using it didn't an he couldn't learn it. You could never have too many spells tucked away for ergencies.
When it ca to defense, he was still a bit lacking, so he'd chosen a near-universal defensive charm: Finite.
In the books, this spell was classified as a defensive charm, complenting protective spells like Protego.
In his second year, Professor Snape had demonstrated it at the Hogwarts Dueling Club, using it to end a spell clash between Harry and Malfoy.
In Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Hermione used Finite to stop a bewitched Bludger from chasing Harry.
Compared to Protego, it was clearly less complex but just as practical, making it an excellent choice.
"You taught the Levitation Charm, and I still failed," Neville's low voice broke the silence. Maybe because Sean had guided him through the charm multiple tis or because Sean had never mocked him, Neville spoke more than usual. "They say I'm timid and clumsy, and they're right. I forget things all the ti. I can barely do anything right."
Sean listened quietly. The oak staircase creaked faintly underfoot, like the snores of a sleeping giant.
A magical lantern hung above, casting a honey-gold glow that softened as the night deepened, warmly enveloping the small corner of the world they occupied.
Neville was curled up on the wide steps at the landing, murmuring softly, while Sean listened in silence.
"Your Levitation Charm didn't work—" Sean began.
Neville shrank back, as if bracing for the inevitable disgust or mockery.
"—so, want to practice it again?"
Sean's voice was gentle. In the soft light, Neville couldn't quite make out his face, especially as sothing glistening trailed down his own cheeks.
Inside the room, anwhile…
"Alright, alright, just a little longer," Justin said, pacing anxiously.
He'd been watching since Sean's first encounter with Mr. Longbottom.
Justin was certain Neville was a kind Gryffindor, not the coward the Slytherins made him out to be.
When Malfoy stole Neville's Rembrall only for Harry to retrieve it, Neville, prompted by Harry, had even stood up to Malfoy with a retort:
"You're just a coward!" Malfoy had sneered.
"Oh, Harry says I'm not a coward—you are," Neville shot back.
From that mont, Justin knew Neville had courage buried inside him. He just needed soone to help bring it out.
Justin had thought that soone would be Harry, but Neville seed to keep turning to Sean.
"Maybe you guys should co inside to practice?" Justin suggested.
Sean heard a thud as Justin leaned against the doorfra, holding a platter of fried at and a pile of pudding.
Hermione sniffed and nodded. "It's cold outside, Sean. If you catch a cold again—"
Another Gryffindor joined the classroom. These days, Sean's most common sight was Hermione frantically tutoring Neville.
Justin, anwhile, seed to have taken up residence in the kitchens. Occasionally, he'd snag so magical plants from the greenhouses and whip up bizarre dishes.
Like his "Hundred-Flavor Pudding," as he called it—a dessert with six random pudding flavors.
Hermione rolled her eyes at Justin but didn't hesitate to eat two servings.
On Saturday morning, Sean was sitting on the lawn with Professor McGonagall's notes, the Black Lake to the south of the castle shimring like a still mirror. He knew Hogwarts' drainage system emptied into it.
The lake was ho to the giant squid, Grindylows, and a colony of rpeople.
So even thought the giant squid was a Gryffindor, though Sean wasn't sure if that was true.
A black dot appeared in the clear blue sky, growing closer. Sean stood up.
"Madam Hooch," he greeted.
"Good morning, young man!" Madam Hooch dismounted her broom with grace, stirring a breeze that rippled the lush grass.
"The flying test is tomorrow afternoon. Don't forget to grab your broom. If you want, sleep with it—so Quidditch players practically treat their brooms like spouses." She wasn't joking. There'd even been a wizard in Italy who tried to marry his broom, though, unsurprisingly, his request was denied.
Still, a witch or wizard more familiar with their broom had a clear advantage in flight.
"Got it, Madam," Sean replied.
With a wave of his wand, he turned the cushion on the grass back into a book, and the scattered quills and parchnt were neatly gathered into his bag with a Summoning Charm.
October was getting chilly. Sweating and not changing clothes quickly could easily lead to a cold for young wizards.
Having learned his lesson from past sniffles, Sean followed Madam Hooch's directions to the changing rooms.
Passing the Gryffindor changing room, he saw a eting in progress.
The Gryffindor Quidditch team captain, Wood, was holding a large diagram of a Quidditch pitch, covered in colorful lines, arrows, and Xs.
He tapped his wand on the board, and the arrows wriggled like caterpillars.
He was loudly explaining tactics to the team. Their training would start after the young witches' and wizards' flying test tomorrow, and he ended with a rallying cry:
"We'll crush Slytherin! Hufflepuff's no threat, and with Potter, Ravenclaw doesn't stand a chance! This year, the Quidditch Cup will have our na on it, because we've got the best team ever!"
Talk about a Quidditch fanatic.
Wanting nothing to do with Quidditch, Sean quickly left the changing room and retrieved his Nimbus 2000 from Madam Hooch's storage.
In his mind, he was already picturing a glorious future where he'd fly into the Ravenclaw Tower instead of climbing all those stairs.
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