Chapter 2: The Scholarship
The night deepened. Outside, the roar of a lorry echoed as its tires rolled over the wet, slick pavement.
London was transforming, with the glittering towers of Canary Wharf rising in the east, but here, the streets of Sean's borough were still piled high with uncollected rubbish bags. The orphanage perpetually smelled of bleach, a scent that failed to mask the deeper odour of decay. The caregivers were worn out and exhausted, and the children moved with the constant, nervous energy of injured animals.
Curled beneath a cheap, synthetic fiber blanket, Sean was sound asleep.
Just moments before, he had tested the 'Green' tier of talent he had unlocked. After a few practice casts, he had only one thought:
What kind of miserable, impossible life was I living before this?
Suddenly, one out of every three attempts was a success. He could feel the magic in the words now, a faint thrum of understanding that had been absent before. He'd always assumed the incantation for the Scouring Charm was stressed as "Scour—g—ify," but a sudden spark of intuition suggested a different cadence: "S—cour—g—ify."
He tried it, and in a sublime moment of clarity, he achieved his first 'Adept' level cast.
A full ten points were added to his proficiency.
What had once been five days of painstaking labour, he had just achieved in five seconds. He was finally beginning to understand why they called it a world of magical talent.
Professor McGonagall was due to arrive for him in the morning. He hoped he could make a good enough impression to at least meet the minimum standard for the scholarship he so desperately needed. He had no idea what that standard was for a first-year, but he was determined to meet it.
He had to.
As long as he could keep learning, keep grinding, he was certain he could one day stand at the very pinnacle of the wizarding world. With these hopeful thoughts warming him against the chill, Sean drifted into a deep and peaceful sleep.
September 1st, 1991.
It was a momentous day. Sean was finally leaving the orphanage.
He efficiently packed his clothes. Only two undershirts and two pairs of trousers were still serviceable; the rest were either too large or too small, all third-hand donations. When he dragged his cheap suitcase to the door of his room, he was struck by how few possessions he actually had in the world.
"Sean! You'd better not come crawling back here when you can't pay your fees!" Matron Anna's voice screeched from down the hall. "You'll be in for it if you do!"
Sean felt a surge of adrenaline. For the first time, he didn't flinch.
"I wouldn't worry about me, Matron!" he shouted back, his voice clearer and stronger than he expected. "You should be more worried about getting sacked in the recent layoffs! Judging by your performance, I'd say it's a sure thing!"
Without waiting for a reply, Sean bolted for the front door, the sound of the Matron's shrill, furious curses chasing him down the corridor. He didn't understand most of the slang she was using, but he got the gist of it.
A wide, triumphant grin spread across his face. He'd finally done it—finally talked back to the woman whose negligence had been a key factor in the original Sean's death. In this world, no one else knew that boy had died. Sean was the only one who carried that memory, and this small act of rebellion felt like collecting the first bit of interest on a long-overdue debt.
He jogged to the peeling front door, where a faded, crooked nameplate read 'Hollysage Orphanage', shedding dust in the morning breeze.
Standing below it was Professor McGonagall.
With her square-rimmed glasses, dark hair pulled into a tight bun, and a deep green robe worn over a tartan blouse, she was the very picture of stern authority. Yet, as she watched the thin, small boy running towards her, the corner of her mouth tilted upwards in a faint smile.
"Professor McGonagall, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," Sean said, panting slightly. His body was still weak, and even a short run left him breathless. But he always ran to meet her.
He had done the same when she'd taken him to Diagon Alley. When she'd asked him why, the small boy had whispered in a voice so quiet she could barely hear it:
"You're supposed to run to meet the important people."
The stern professor, who possessed a certain feline grace herself, had said nothing, but the sentiment had completely melted her heart.
"You could have walked, Mr. Green," she said now, her voice much gentler than her severe expression. "We have plenty of time." She reached out and took his small hand in hers.
Suddenly, she noticed the little boy looking up at her with an intense, focused expression.
"S—cour—g—ify," he whispered.
With a precise flick of his wand, a speck of dust that had settled on Professor McGonagall's hair vanished.
"Dirty things… don't belong… on you, Professor," Sean managed to say between breaths. The small act of magic had made him even more winded, but his voice, though soft, was firm.
Professor McGonagall stared at him for a moment, surprise and pride warring in her eyes. "A perfectly cast Scouring Charm. When did you learn to do that, Mr. Green?" she asked, beginning to lead him down the street at a gentle pace.
"Just yesterday, Professor," Sean answered, his head bowed, his voice laced with a carefully practiced mix of shyness and insecurity.
"You have done very well, Mr. Green," she said with an encouraging smile, noticing his apparent lack of confidence. "It seems you might just earn that scholarship after all."
Sean remained silent, merely glancing up at her with wide, shining eyes before quickly looking away again.
Inside, he was popping champagne.
Knowing the Professor's strict but fair character, her saying that meant the scholarship was already halfway into his pocket. He felt a pang of guilt for playing the part of the pitiable orphan, but it was a matter of survival. To escape this dreadful place and have a chance to get healthy, he had no other choice.
Just as he'd hoped, Professor McGonagall brought up the scholarship herself.
"Headmaster Dumbledore has already approved the arrangement. If you can achieve a grade of 'Outstanding' in all seven of your core subjects within the first month of term, you will be awarded a scholarship of six hundred Galleons."
She delivered the news that made Sean's heart pound with a calm, even tone, watching the small boy beside her, perhaps waiting for a joyful smile.
Instead, Sean just lowered his head even further.
After a long moment, his voice came out as a near whisper. "...Thank you, Professor. I've read all about Hogwarts, and I know there aren't usually scholarships for first-year students. Thank you for… for going to all this trouble so that I can learn magic."
He fell silent after that, because those words, at least, were entirely true.
Professor McGonagall paused, momentarily taken aback. Then, her expression softened, mirroring the warmth that spread through her chest. "You have earned this opportunity, Mr. Green. You have no need to thank me for it."
She glanced down at him, and for the third time, her eyes met his as he was carefully sneaking a peek up at her.
"How long have you been practicing your spells?" she asked, a final question as they neared the bustling station.
"Thirteen hours, Professor," Sean answered honestly.
Her gaze flickered, a hint of concern in her eyes. "In total?"
"Every day."
At King's Cross Station, amidst the clamour of the crowd, Professor McGonagall pointed him towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten.
"The Hogwarts Express is just behind that platform. Don't be afraid, Mr. Green, just walk straight at it."
Her words echoed in his mind. Even knowing it was safe, Sean still felt a knot of fear as he looked at the solid brick wall. But then he remembered that the Professor might still be watching, so he gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and ran. He melted into the wall without a sound.
From the perspective of a certain elderly witch, the boy had run towards the barrier with absolute, unhesitating trust.
"The boy trusts you a great deal, Minerva."
An aged, familiar voice spoke from beside her. "Outstanding in all seven subjects is no simple task. Do you truly believe he can achieve it?" Albus Dumbledore asked, a cheerful twinkle in his eye.
"Albus," Professor McGonagall said, her gaze firm and unwavering, "if only one student in all of Hogwarts could accomplish it, I believe that student would be Sean."
She was still thinking about his answer. Thirteen hours. Every day. Even during her own most intense periods of study, she had never managed to maintain that kind of focus for two consecutive months, let alone a boy who hadn't even started school.
"Sean is a pitiable child," she said after a moment's reflection, "but he is also a clever and sensible one. He deserves that scholarship."