Neville had left for the holidays too—he was off to buy his very own wand.
When Hope Cottage was down to just Sean, he actually felt pretty relaxed. The winter sun poured in like it wanted to melt him, snowflakes drifting onto his carving knife as the panel chimed:
[You practiced rooster biscuit crafting to apprentice standards. Proficiency +1]
Good news kept rolling in this winter, and Sean had finally finished the last biscuit.
Once that final biscuit hit [Beginner], he'd unlock a new alchemy title.
Feeling wiped, Sean scarfed down two Mrs. Norris biscuits in one go. Blink—an empty cottage.
All that was left was a black cat tiptoeing awkwardly through the snow.
Its white paws sank in, then jerked up like it was shocked—too cold.
In this form, Sean didn't share his wizard-self's exhaustion. He couldn't even sense his magic, so how could he feel drained?
Christmas Eve was tomorrow, and one weird thought kept bubbling up in his head—something wild enough to ripple the lake.
Michael and Anthony's usual racket had died down for once. The jumping bean pod wasn't overwatered and looked perkier.
What lay ahead was a magical winter night. Gifts were already piled like a hill in the dorm, and the Christmas tree twinkled with shiny little ornaments.
An owl swooped in, a yellowed envelope in its beak.
Sean read it, scribbed a reply. The owl took off with his Galleons; the original letter went into a small wooden box.
The box was stuffed with letters—most signed by Justin. England had phones now, but the guy still loved this old-school vibe.
The newest letter, tucked inside and mailed from far-off London, read:
[Dear Green:
Even surrounded by danger and uncertainty, love anyway. It's brave and extraordinary.
—Roland Taylor]
…
Hogwarts felt quieter. Wizards who'd gone home got family time; the ones who stayed… got a feast.
Sean had planned to stuff his face, but when he woke up, the first thing he saw was another pile of presents at the foot of his bed.
So he started unwrapping.
First box: a tiny one holding dozens of photos.
There was the train compartment—first meeting the trio. Hermione's birthday, tears still in her eyes. Sunlight at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The chaos of the kitchens.
[To Sean Green:
My mom says:
Going all the way to a castle in the Scottish Highlands is like a journey.
And the point of a journey
is the unexpected meetings.
I always said I wanted to go far away.
Oh,
Sean,
you know what?
I made it.]
Wind whipped snow against the window. Sean tucked the letter away. Inside Hogwarts, winter no longer felt cold.
Second box: a confetti explosion that draped the entire Ravenclaw dorm in streamers. Sean didn't even need to guess who sent that.
Then the third, the fourth…
Gifts never felt like too many.
Great Hall.
Sean had never seen a Christmas feast this over-the-top.
A hundred fat roast turkeys, mountains of roast beef and boiled potatoes, platter after platter of chipolatas, bowls of buttery peas, and heaps of Christmas pudding. Thick gravy and cranberry sauce sat in stacks—every few steps down the table, wizard crackers waited in piles.
These weren't the sad Muggle crackers from the orphanage with cheap plastic toys and flimsy paper hats. These were Fred-and-George-level wizard crackers.
Sean pulled one. No cannon boom—just a flute-like whistle. Blue smoke swallowed the table as a mole-skin hat and a flock of live doves burst out.
At the staff table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed hat for a flowery bonnet. Flitwick had just told a joke; the headmaster was chuckling.
He glanced at Sean—sitting alone—and a few eager little witches perked up.
"Go on, Hannah! Remember? He wrote back. It's just a little thank-you!"
A girl with deep eyes poked Hannah Abbott, grinning.
"He writes everyone back, and… and, Sally-Anne, it's just because Mr. Longbottom brought the herbology guide. I… I want to thank him…"
Hannah's face was scarlet. Hufflepuffs adored Mr. Green—top to bottom.
He'd written Herbology Guide himself. Like his magical history notes: accurate, thorough, and fun.
Neville had stammered that they'd written it word-by-word in the greenhouses—free for anyone who helped out there.
The very first page said:
[To every wizard who loves nature. You don't have to work in the greenhouses. Talent isn't required. The moment you pick up a trowel, herbology truly begins.]
Thanks to that book, Green's reputation in Hufflepuff went from "super talented, kinda distant, a little scary" to "definitely a softie under the cool exterior."
"Go! Go!"
Pushed by Sally-Anne and the others, Hannah inched closer. Dumbledore's smile grew warmer.
Until—
"Merry Christmas, Sean! You won't believe what Harry got!"
Ron came barreling over from across the hall, plopped down beside Sean, and scared off a gaggle of little witches.
"Merry Christmas. Ron, you forgot… Mrs. Weasley's sweater…"
Harry looked sheepish, then instantly made Ron squirm.
"My mum insisted on sending you one. I mean, it's just… Merlin! You're wearing it!"
Sean knew what Ron meant. Mrs. Weasley had sent him a sky-blue sweater too.
"It's really warm. Mrs. Weasley's an amazing knitter."
Sean now owned seven sweaters—one for every day of the week.
"Merry Christmas!"
"Hey, look—Sean and Harry got Weasley sweaters too!"
Fred and George popped up, both in blue sweaters. One had a giant yellow "F," the other a giant yellow "G."