"We've never seen that Green kid at practice…"
Wood had been pacing back and forth across the wet ground, mud caking his boots and him not caring in the least.
"He's got to be Ravenclaw's secret weapon—just like you are for us, Harry. You've got to help the team figure this out. Only you can do it… If we go, we'll tip them off. Those Ravenclaws won't let us learn the truth—they're brilliant schemers. Just like how we always split up after leaving the pitch, they're definitely trying to keep this under wraps!"
Wood's assignment left Harry thoroughly vexed.
So he went to find Ron.
"Green's notes—oh, no, you mean that Ravenclaw, Green?" In the Great Hall, Ron was scribbling nonstop on a sheet of parchment, sometimes scratching his head, sometimes chewing his quill.
Harry totally understood. It was the weekend again and they'd barely started their homework. If they didn't finish, who knew about the other professors, but Snape would toss them out of the castle for sure.
Great—one more thing for Harry to worry about.
"Yeah, Ron. What kind of person do you think he is?" Harry asked quietly.
"What else could he be!" Ron slapped his quill down on the table with a thwap, wearing a "trust me, I know" expression.
"Alright, alright—you know Percy, yeah? People like that—always acting superior, thinking they're better than everyone, bossing folks around…" Ron said with conviction. "Remember Platform Nine and Three-Quarters? Mum told you to watch out for Peeves, and he goes, 'It's the Bloody Baron, not Peeves, Mother. Honestly, you're so ignorant.'"
He mimicked Percy's tone—pretty funny, really.
But Harry couldn't laugh. He protested, uncertain, "But Sean Green isn't… like a prefect, is he?"
"Honestly, Harry, how can you think that?" Ron spread his hands. "If he weren't, he wouldn't be hanging around with Hermione…"
Something seemed to occur to him, and Ron practically ground his teeth. "Remember? 'So you think that's a reward for breaking school rules'?" I'd say he's a nightmare—just like Hermione!"
Harry fell silent for a long time.
Until Neville, shuffling past, blurted a few halting words:
"Sean… he's not like… what you're saying…"
"Oh, come off it, Neville. I suppose they're just pitying you—like Hermione…" Ron realized halfway through he'd put his foot in it. He knew the homework must've scrambled his brains to say something that mean.
"S-s-sorry, Neville. I didn't mean that," he stammered.
Only after Neville forgave him did he finally exhale.
"Sean is different." Just saying Sean's name seemed to stiffen Neville's spine. He repeated, firmer, "Sean said: if you want to understand someone, don't listen to rumors—go talk to them yourself. Like… me…"
Neville's face went scarlet when he finished—those were Sean's words of comfort to him, and he'd never imagined he'd one day say them out loud, bravely, himself.
"Well said, Neville!" Justin walked up, his admiration turning Neville beet-red. "Standing up for your friends is a kind of courage too."
Justin whispered to Neville, sincere as ever, "You did great—oh, evening, Harry."
"Evening—" Harry replied, a bit sheepish; he and Ron had just been badmouthing someone.
Justin skipped over Ron. He knew that if a person can't choose his life—can't hold onto hope and honesty—he'll only grow narrower and narrower. Like that red-haired wizard.
Just then—
Sean, books in his arms, left the Hall. There was still an hour before he had to head to the dungeons; he planned to practice Finite in an empty classroom.
He pulled out a timetable—Professor Flitwick had happily written out times so Sean could find him during breaks. Of course, the professor often wrecked his own schedule—say, getting tipsy at the Three Broomsticks and mixing up the time—so Sean would practice on his own until he returned.
Passing a corner hearth, Sean saw Justin, Harry, Ron, and Neville talking. Ron went a bit wide-eyed when their gazes met; Harry didn't look much better.
Sean didn't think anything of it and walked straight out of the Hall.
"We're doomed, doomed…" Ron gaped, dazed. His hair was a mess; the homework fog in his head cleared in a snap. "Green must've heard us, right? Merlin, I don't know a thing and look what I said!"
His eyes went completely gray with dread. He could already see a line scrawled across the Green Notes: "RON AND DOGS KEEP OUT."
Justin, seeing Ron clutching his hair, was a little surprised. This Gryffindor didn't seem bad—just… reckless.
Harry wasn't much better off. He instinctively took Ron's words as the two of them being in the wrong together.
The fire crackled. Harry and Ron exchanged a look, as if screwing up their courage.
"Neville's right… We've probably messed up again. Justin, can you tell me how to find Sean?"
He looked at Justin, a lion flickering in his eyes.
"Sean will be on the second-floor corridor at six," Justin said. "If you and… Mr. Weasley want to apologize, that's when to catch him."
Only after Harry and Ron hurried off did Justin let himself chuckle. He figured Sean would be utterly baffled when the time came.
…
Evening.
Colored light from the stained glass slid across Sean's face as he glanced out: a giant was passing outside the castle with a lantern—one much bigger than Sean's own.
By a gleaming suit of armor, Harry and Ron were waiting anxiously.
Maybe Ron was right—maybe Sean was full of himself? If so, he'd just snort and walk away. Or maybe he'd lecture them like Hermione?
Harry thought, If he actually draws his wand, I'm done for. I can't beat a troll, and I definitely can't punch out a werewolf.
But what happened wasn't what Harry expected at all—
"You mean you badmouthed me behind my back without me knowing, and now you want to apologize?"