December's chill always made wizards linger a bit longer by the fire.
Sean sat at a table close to the hearth in the Hogwarts library. He quietly gathered the books scattered across the desk, filling out a crumpled borrowing form before Madam Pince could shoo him away with her feather duster. With a casual flick of his wand, Runes, A Detailed Study of Old Norse, and Annotations on Anglo-Saxon Futhorc stacked themselves neatly and followed him out.
Before leaving, he tidied a few nearby bookshelves, though it barely dented Madam Pince's workload. The library was massive—thousands of shelves, hundreds of aisles. Without magic, even Pince, who knew the place like the back of her hand, couldn't keep it organized in a day.
No wonder the library closed at eight sharp.
"See you, Madam Pince," Sean called.
His stack of books hid his face, but a small notebook floated above them. Sean had a habit of jotting down tidbits from magical history—details that, with a bit of thought, revealed unique insights about magic. For example:
[Alberta Toothill, a witch, won the All-England Wizarding Dueling Championship in 1430 at age 39. She defeated the favorite, Samson Wiblin, with a single Blasting Curse.]
Connecting the dots, you'd realize that before Alberta, wizards favored grand, time-consuming spells—like conjuring a hill out of thin air. It was Alberta, along with another witch skilled in Expelliarmus, who showed the power of simple, efficient magic. That shift helped birth the modern standard spells used today.
Madam Pince loved these tidbits. Her vast knowledge let her spin fascinating theories from them. In return, she'd save Sean a spot near the fire, a seat other students avoided out of respect—or fear. But Sean would plop down with his books, unfazed.
At Halloween, she'd gifted him a beautifully bound copy of Studies in Modern Witchcraft Development, filled with her own handwritten notes.
Sometimes, Sean and Pince seemed more like pen pals than student and librarian. They spoke little but wrote volumes when annotating wizarding history.
Riding his broom back to Ravenclaw Tower, his scarf trailed behind him in the wind. As he landed on the tower's roof, Hogwarts Castle loomed deep and mysterious in the night.
A magical lantern always glowed at the tower's window, lit just for him.
"Cool," Michael said, grabbing the lantern as Sean stepped inside, his voice tinged with envy.
Lately, Michael had noticed Sean's broom was a Nimbus 2000. Every now and then, he'd borrow it to marvel at its craftsmanship. Though Sean offered to let him ride it, Michael, usually carefree, just grinned and waved it off.
"Oh, Sean, not many know this, but I do," he said. "That broom's special. It's yours, and it should stay that way."
A low hum broke Sean's thoughts. He glanced at the window—the snow was coming down hard tonight, blanketing the castle in a soft rustle.
He set aside the rune array book he'd been puzzling over. Next to it sat a plate of biscuits, etched with runic patterns. They were part of an advanced Transfiguration project, but Sean hadn't nailed the spell yet.
"Biscuits?" Michael said, sliding over from another table. "Sean, I'm shocked—you're not sharing? I'm hurt."
Seeing no objection, Michael grabbed one and popped it in his mouth. Within seconds, wings sprouted from his back, and fur covered his face.
Anthony, who'd just walked in, helped Sean wrestle Michael, who was now flapping toward the window, eager to soar outside.
Panting, Sean scribbled on a piece of parchment:
[Failed Owl Biscuit:
Cause of Failure: Incorrect rune array.
Effect: Partial owl transformation, with some loss of rational thought.]
Michael, back to normal but still dazed, leaned out the window. "Help!" he wailed, though he was safely inside.
"Quit yelling," Anthony said, gripping his right arm while Sean held the left. "Eat another one. Maybe next time you'll crash and learn."
"Why?" Michael asked, instantly calming down as they pulled him back inside.
Anthony smirked. "Ketteridge was the first to discover Gillyweed's properties and got a Chocolate Frog Card for it. Maybe you'll be the first wizard to turn into an owl and die of stupidity—I'll buy your card."
With that, Anthony slipped out, pausing to whisper to Sean, "I don't know what you're working on, but maybe the failed stuff could be fun. Like prank candies."
Sean pondered this as Michael, face flushed, chased after Anthony. The room fell quiet, letting Sean focus on his owl biscuits.
The problem was his limited grasp of runes. He could sense where the magic went wrong but didn't know how to fix it. He jotted down the issue, planning to ask Professor Trelawney on Monday.
Late into the night, a weary owl crashed into his window with a loud thud. Sean rushed to bring it inside.
The owl was striking, with silver-white feathers dusted with snow. Sean's wand tip sparked, and two fire salamanders appeared, curling around the bird to melt the snow.
From the owl's parcel, Sean pulled out a tattered, heavily patched coat, stitched and restitched multiple times.
His gaze faltered. He thought of kind old Mrs. Milan Taylor.
But no matter how he searched, the parcel held only the coat. Then, in the cuff's hem, he found five pounds and a letter:
[No matter what challenges lie ahead, child, you once said five pounds was enough to survive. Keep this, and may you always have the courage of those five pounds.]
On the back, the return address was a street in London, lined with uncollected garbage bags outside an orphanage.
In that orphanage, a weathered woman sat by a window, her brow alternating between calm and furrowed. The children there were used to being abandoned, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.
"For God's sake…" she muttered.
Meanwhile, in Ravenclaw Tower, the owl had taken a liking to Sean, playing happily with the fire salamanders.
Sean knew he'd have to wait a bit longer to enter Hagrid's Hut tomorrow. He could already hear Mr. Owl's indignant squawk: "No way, you faithless little wizard! Stay out!"
The wind roared in from London, and hope, like grass seeds buried under greenhouse snow, grew wild and fierce.
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