It was time for the Hogwarts Express to depart, and witches and wizards lined up to leave the snow-draped castle.
In the distance, you could see a giant trudging through the snow, followed by a trail of smaller figures, their paths weaving dark, winding lines across the white landscape.
The view from Ravenclaw Tower was always spectacular, but Sean just stood there, staring at the horizon, lost in thought for a long while.
Tucking a thick, sturdy piece of parchment into their bag, Sean started preparing the last batch of cookies.
The Room of Requirement was quieter than usual. Justin and Hermione had just left, and Harry and Ron had been holed up in the library for days, researching something. So when Sean arrived, they found Neville practicing the Aguamenti charm.
The wooden table on the left side of the room spat out a stack of alchemy books. As Sean flipped through them, a loud splash interrupted.
Turning around, Sean saw Neville, soaked from head to toe after botching the Aguamenti charm. The noise was the sound of a massive water bubble hitting the floor.
Sean glanced at the wet pages of their notes and heard Neville's voice, trembling like he was on the verge of tears. "S-sorry, Sean…"
He looked like a drenched puppy, apologizing before even worrying about himself.
Outside, snow had piled up several feet high, and a chilly breeze swept in from the frozen lake, making Neville shiver.
With a flick of their wand, Sean closed the windows. As the fire in the hearth dried the books and Neville, Sean overheard him mumble, "Sean… if you want me to leave the Room, I'll go…"
Neville's teary eyes locked onto Sean, leaving them a bit baffled. What's all this about?
"You know, Neville, no one's kicking you out," Sean said matter-of-factly.
"But I… I ruined your book," Neville said, still shivering from the cold.
"It's just wet, Neville. It'll dry," Sean replied.
They had a hunch this was Harry or Ron's doing. Last time, Sean overheard them joking, "If you dare touch Sean's books, you'd better be tougher than ten trolls combined."
"Sean—it's my fault. Everyone knows I'm basically a Squib," Neville said, his round face full of guilt. He gripped his wand tightly, its surface marked with scratches, like it had seen battle.
"Sometimes, the problem isn't you," Sean said gently.
"W-what's the problem, then?" Neville asked, hiding his wand behind his back, as if that would make the conversation less about it.
But he knew. Everyone did. The wand chooses the wizard wasn't just Ollivander's sales pitch—it was a truth most British wizards believed.
Even his grandmother was furious that he still carried his father's wand.
"You've always known, Neville. It's tough, but maybe it's time to face it," Sean said, meeting Neville's eyes as they spoke softly, flipping the book to dry the other side.
Time passed, and the soggy book was nearly dry.
"Should I… get a new wand?" Neville asked, staring at Sean. He understood, but he still looked like he might cry.
He gazed at his wand, wondering if he weren't so clumsy, maybe…
"But… I want to keep it. Sometimes, especially at night, I want my dad to know I'm at Hogwarts… like he was." Neville's voice broke. "Sean—am I letting him down?"
Sean tilted their head. "Once you name a problem, it's already half-solved. Why would you have to give up that wand, Neville?"
"What do you mean?" Neville asked, confused.
"Choices are like this—two bad outcomes or two good ones. Otherwise, why call it a choice? The good news, Neville, is you've got two great options. And the even better news? It might not be a choice at all. You can keep your father's wand, right? I bet it's useful in its own way. Try this—Finite."
Sean waved their wand, and the table, which had been magically reshaping itself, froze.
Neville, still puzzled, mimicked Sean's spell on instinct. To his shock, it worked—mostly. The table didn't fully stop transforming, but compared to his usual struggles with even a simple Wingardium Leviosa, this was huge.
"Why… how?" Neville stood there, stunned.
"Because that's the wand of Frank Longbottom, legendary Auror, now carried by his son, Neville Longbottom. It's made for fighting and protecting," Sean said, as if they'd known all along.
"You can have two wands, Neville. When you need to fight or defend, that one's still your partner."
Sean rarely said so much at once. By the time they finished, Neville was sobbing.
Sean stepped toward the door, the cold Hogwarts breeze brushing their face, carrying the sweet scent of pumpkin.
Neville needed a new wand, sure, but Frank Longbottom's wand wasn't useless. In some ways, Neville was terrifyingly good with it.
In Defense Against the Dark Arts, he never faltered. He faced Boggarts flawlessly, every single time, with stunning results. In Dumbledore's Army, Neville outpaced ninety-nine percent of the group—disarming spells, stunning spells, even summoning a Patronus like it was nothing.
It explained his erratic magical talent and made his role in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries even more thrilling. Neville must've wondered why, facing a swarm of Death Eaters, his usually unreliable magic suddenly surged with power.
It was the will of Frank Longbottom, legendary Auror, alive in that wand.
"I… I'm too late!" Neville blurted, running out of the Room of Requirement. He'd made up his mind to buy a new wand, but the Hogwarts Express had already left. Even if he applied for a leave of absence now, there was no way he'd make it.
"Or maybe, just in time," Sean said.
A form appeared in their hand, and with a flick of their wrist, it unfurled. The text was clear:
Dear Mr. Green,
I believe I've agreed to help Longbottom file for a leave of absence. Get that boy back here quickly. I'm honored he has a friend like you. If you change your mind and want to spend Christmas with the Longbottoms, please let me know promptly.
—Yours faithfully, Augusta Longbottom
"Hurry up," Sean said with a wink, their voice fading into the snow-covered grounds of Hogwarts.
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