"You two got names?" the conductor asked suddenly, cutting himself off.
Sean opened his mouth, but Harry gave him a sharp little head-shake.
A thousand thoughts were screaming through Harry's head at once. They'd just thrown serious magic around in front of Muggles. That kind of stunt could get them kicked out of Hogwarts on the spot. The only strange part was that the Ministry hadn't already Apparated in and dragged them away.
Was Sean's "grandfather's wand" really that special? One different stick and suddenly the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery didn't matter?
Harry wasn't about to test it. Staying anonymous felt like the smartest move right now.
"I'm Neville," Harry said quickly. "Neville Longbottom." He shot Sean a hard wink.
"Alright, and right now I'm Justin," Sean answered without missing a beat. "Justin Finch-Fletchley."
"What d'you mean, 'right now'?" Stan pressed, not letting it drop.
"Means we changed 'em, mate. You hard of hearing or something?" Harry snapped, then scrambled up the steps onto the bus before Stan could ask anything else.
Up close, Stan Shunpike didn't look much older than them—eighteen or nineteen at most—with big sticking-out ears and a face full of spots.
"So—this bus," Harry rushed on, desperate to change the subject, "you said it can go anywhere?"
"That's right," Stan said proudly. "Anywhere on land. Can't do underwater, though. By the way—"
His face turned suspicious again. "It was you who flagged us down, yeah? That Justin bloke stuck his wand out, didn't he?"
"Yeah, that was Justin…" Harry jabbed Sean in the ribs. The black-haired wizard had already sat down and pulled out a book, apparently not paying attention.
When Stan's suspicion grew, Harry jumped in again. "So how much to London?"
"Eleven Sickles," Stan said, all business. "Fourteen gets you chocolate, fifteen gets you a hot-water bottle and a toothbrush—color of your choice."
Harry rummaged in his trunk, yanked out his money pouch, and shoved a handful of silver coins into Stan's hand.
He was about to tell Sean he'd covered both fares when another dozen silver Sickles floated smoothly through the air.
"Cheers—here's your chocolate—"
Stan looked left and right, trying to spot the wand. His eyes finally landed on the quiet kid already reading.
The second Sean glanced up, the chocolate bar drifted straight into his hands.
"Wandless magic—I've never even heard of that! I knew the professors were holding out on us!"
Stan was practically yelling.
"Yeah," Harry said with a proud little grin, "that's Sean for you."
"Wait—you just said Sean?" Stan whipped around. "Sean Green? The Mr. Green? The one who wrote all seven volumes of Green's Notes? Green's Notes: History of Magic, History of Magical Careers, Green's Notes: Standard Spellcasting—that Mr. Green?"
"Uh… yeah, that's him," Harry muttered, relieved the fake-name thing had been forgotten.
"Mr. Green! Merlin's beard, it's an honor! I had no idea you were so young!"
Stan practically sprinted back into the bus. Harry watched him go, then heaved his trunk up the steps, Hedwig's cage balanced on top.
Inside there were no seats—just six or seven brass-framed beds lined up along the curtained windows. A candle burned on a little bracket beside each one, casting warm light across the wooden panels.
Near the back, a tiny wizard in a nightcap muttered in his sleep, "Not now, thanks—I'm pickling some slugs," then rolled over.
Harry wasn't sure where to sit, so he headed toward Stan—who was still talking nonstop—and Sean, who was listening with quiet interest.
"You standardized every wand movement and pronunciation! You have no idea how many weird variations people used to use. Your notes actually ran side-by-side comparison tests—proper controlled experiments, right? That's exactly what you wrote!"
Stan was vibrating with excitement.
"Excuse me—"
Harry tried to sit.
"Don't interrupt. You take that bed," Stan said, waving him off without looking.
Harry sighed and obeyed.
"Ah, yes—controlled experiments! I still remember. You even broke down the proficiency levels. Between us, I've already mastered ten spells at Proficient level! Never managed that at Hogwarts…
You can't imagine what it means for a thick-headed wizard who barely scraped by and ended up as a bus conductor to make that kind of progress in just six months. That's why I decided to apply at Green's Bookshop. Heard the manager there is a really decent bloke…"
Stan's eyes were getting misty.
"I don't know how to thank you… No one ever taught me any of this. I thought the wizarding world only cared about the naturally talented ones."
Sean actually looked a little startled by the raw emotion.
"Do you remember the dedication on the first page of Green's Notes: Standard Spellcasting?" he asked gently.
"How could I forget?" Stan's voice cracked. "This book is dedicated to every witch and wizard who carries magic in their heart. The doors of magic open for anyone who truly believes."
"If someone like you is reading those notes," Sean said softly, "then I'd say the book found its proper home."
Stan's eyes went full misty.
"Yep," Harry chuckled from his bed, shoving his trunk underneath, "Sean's always like that."
"Hello there, lad. I'm the driver, Ernie Prang," the elderly wizard behind the wheel said, nodding through thick glasses.
"Drive on, Ernie," Stan said, wiping his eyes as he dropped into the seat beside the driver.
There was another deafening BANG, and Harry suddenly found himself flat on his back on the bed.