Chapter 315: The Deathday Party
Rain lashed against the windows, and the curtains billowed backward in a sudden draft.
Justin Finch-Fletchley stepped forward to shut the window, restoring the quiet warmth of the Room of Hope.
"Sorry, Harry, I don't think I can make it after all. Look at this Pumpkin King; I'm planning on carving a miniature common room inside of it." Justin offered an apologetic shrug.
"Oh... right. No problem," Harry said, his voice tinged with disappointment. He really shouldn't have agreed to Nick's invitation so quickly.
"I—I can't go either..." Neville stammered his refusal next.
Harry slumped into his chair, staring at his boots with a crestfallen expression.
"Well..." Ron looked between Harry and his own half-finished homework, caught in a dilemma. His eyes eventually landed on Sean, who let out a soft sigh.
"You gave him your word, Harry?" Sean asked.
"Yeah. I suppose I could tell Sir Nicholas that something else came up..." Harry muttered.
"A promise made is a debt unpaid," Hermione reminded him with a stern, authoritative look. "You said you'd attend the Deathday Party, Harry. You can't back out now."
"I suppose... yeah," Harry said slowly.
Hermione, seeing his miserable face, added more gently, "What I mean is..."
"What she means is that we're a team, right?" Justin interrupted, putting down his hammer and nails after successfully carving a small window into the side of the massive pumpkin. He turned back to the group. "Since Harry promised to go, we should all go together. But next time, Harry, mate—maybe ask us before signing us up for a night in a damp dungeon?" He looked at Sean. "Don't you agree, Sean?"
Sean nodded slightly in agreement.
Harry lifted his head and saw his friends looking at him with small, supportive smiles. For no particular reason, he remembered something Justin's mother had told him:
"Friendship is always a sweet responsibility, never an opportunity."
In the days that had passed, while time continued to erode the sharper edges of memory, their friendship had become like stones in a river—the flow of events only serving to wash them cleaner and polish them brighter.
With the storm howling outside, Harry couldn't imagine anything luckier than being surrounded by these people.
"We won't stay the whole time," Justin added, pulling a tray of roasted pumpkin seeds from his enchanted oven. Sean's eyes instinctively drifted toward the smell of food. "We'll put in an appearance and then head up to the Great Hall. We might still catch the end of the real feast."
By late afternoon, the shadows were lengthening. The Gryffindor Quidditch team returned from the pitch, and Harry was once again caked in mud.
The moment he stepped into the room, a broomstick appeared out of nowhere, hovering at his heels and sweeping up every clump of mud he dropped. Once Harry had changed into clean clothes, the broom zoomed off into a storage cupboard.
"A Cleaning Broom?" Harry marveled. It looked identical to the one Sean had in his workshop.
Harry let out a heavy sigh. Even without wind or rain, the training session had been miserable. Fred and George had been scouting the Slytherin team and had seen their new brooms—Nimbus 2001s—in action. They reported that the Slytherin players were now nothing more than seven blurry, pale-green streaks, zipping through the air like jet planes.
It was a constant source of stress for Harry; he desperately didn't want to lose to Malfoy.
Fortunately, the next event on the calendar distracted him. In two days—the day after Halloween—they were all going to Hagrid's hut. Sean was going too, and he planned to escort Hagrid back to the castle afterward. The prospect made Harry's steps feel much lighter.
As Harry returned to the Room of Hope, he found everyone debating the etiquette of talking to ghosts.
Sean, as usual, was staring out the window. Harry assumed he was pondering profound magical theories—perhaps how to transfigure a wizard into a dragon or turn a table into a giant.
In reality, Sean was wondering: If the essence of magic is belief, what is the current state of my own conviction?
Watching Tila the Bowtruckle climb over ancient tomes in the wooden cabinet, Sean's thoughts drifted. Rita Skeeter and her circus of journalists were due at Hogwarts soon. To clear his name, Hagrid had even offered to take Veritaserum for the interview. His testimony would be an ironclad piece of evidence.
Veritaserum... Sean thought. It forces a wizard to speak their absolute truth. If I took a single drop, perhaps I would finally know the depth of my own belief.
He had a small supply of the Truth Potion in his Gringotts vault—bottles Snape had deposited to help fill the once-empty chamber. Now, they seemed to have a unique purpose.
I need to find a way to retrieve them, Sean decided. He quickly began drafting a plan.
The Day Before Halloween.
Rita Skeeter arrived at Hogwarts, accompanied by several eager-looking photographers. They had all been invited by the Fairy Tale Workshop, which, in a legal sense, was now a joint venture between Hogwarts and Uagadou.
Under pressure from an "international entity"—the prestigious African school—the journalists were prepared to use every ounce of their literary flair to dig up the most explosive story possible. As long as the content was juicy enough, they were more than happy to bypass the Ministry of Magic's typical censors; after all, they weren't all British publications.
That afternoon, Sean was cornered in the corridor.
"Great Green! Can you believe it?" Fred shouted, sounding more dramatic than usual. "The second location! That's right—the second Weasley & Green's Wizard Wheezes is about to open!"
"It's all thanks to you, partner!" George added, his eyebrows dancing.
"Whatever you have planned for the day after tomorrow, toss it in the bin!" Fred said with a wink. "You know the way in."
"One o'clock sharp. Be there or be a Hufflepuff!"
The twins vanished before Sean could even get a word in. They had been planning this expansion for months, but they had only just finalized the date. It worked out perfectly; Sean could easily make a detour.
Outside the Room of Hope.
Sean was the first to arrive. A moment later, Justin appeared, carrying a small, magically insulated box designed to keep food at a constant temperature.
"Morning," Sean said. Through the frosted glass of the box, he could already smell the aroma of sizzling, tender beef.
"Morning," Justin replied, opening the door to the room. "By the way, do you remember the project for Green's Bookstore?"
"Opening soon?" Sean asked, slightly surprised.
Green's Notes had become so popular they were rivaling wizard chess in sales. Justin had found it impossible to manage the orders alone, so he had hired help and eventually outsourced the printing. It was only natural that they would eventually want a physical storefront.
"Third-years and up get to go to Hogsmeade," Justin said with a warm smile. "It's a brilliant village. I finally managed to negotiate a lease on a prime spot. The grand opening... is the day after tomorrow."
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