Chapter 319: Lupin
Green's Bookstore was situated not far from the Three Broomsticks. From where they stood, one could catch glimpses of the massive holly tree standing guard at the shop's entrance, its branches draped in festive ribbons.
Justin peered toward the bookstore for a moment before looking at Sean, who seemed lost in thought. He came to a halt and turned his attention to the warm, inviting glow of the pub in front of them.
It was a cozy little inn with a chalkboard sign standing by the door:
Serving: Butterbeer (House Special), Gillywater, Mulled Mead, Red Wine, Cherry Syrup, and Soda.
"How about we head into the Three Broomsticks for a Butterbeer? I've been dying to try it," Justin suggested. There were only ten minutes left until the grand opening.
"Sure," Sean replied.
The two of them walked toward the pub. Outside, the winter wind bit at their skin, threatening to turn their fingers numb; inside, it was a different world entirely. The air was thick with heat, tobacco smoke, and the rowdy chatter of a crowded room.
A stylish woman with graceful curves was busy behind the bar, attending to a group of boisterous wizards.
"That must be Madam Rosmerta," Justin whispered. "I did some research on the local crowd before we signed the lease. I'll head to the bar and grab three mugs."
He moved off into the crowd.
Sean squeezed through to the back of the pub. Tucked between a window and a large, decorated holly tree was a small, vacant table near the hearth. Sitting there already was a man with prematurely greying hair and tattered robes. He looked gaunt, sallow, and utterly exhausted.
"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" Sean asked.
"Please, feel free," the man replied, his voice raspy and tired.
He took a slow sip of his Butterbeer, pausing after every swallow to stare out the window. His gaze was fixed on the distance—specifically, on the recruitment poster plastered on the front of Green's Bookstore.
The compensation Justin had offered wasn't low by any means. A weekly salary of fifteen Galleons for general staff was quite generous. For a wizard struggling to make ends meet, ten Galleons a week was usually enough to survive. Offering fifteen just for shop help made the advertisement incredibly enticing.
Then there was the Manager's position: thirty-five Galleons a week, room and board included, plus a performance bonus.
"Are you thinking of applying for the Manager position?" Sean asked.
"I'm hardly qualified," the man replied with a faint, self-deprecating smile. He seemed surprised that his longing had been so obvious that even a student could read it.
"I think you should apply," Sean said after a moment's thought.
The man let out a dry, surprised chuckle. This boy had sharp eyes, though he carried himself with the quiet air of someone who didn't waste words.
Five minutes later, Justin returned, balancing three foaming mugs of hot Butterbeer.
"Happy Halloween!" Justin said with a grin, sliding a mug across the table. "Sir, I don't suppose I could buy you a round?"
The man's face was half-hidden beneath his hood, but Sean could tell he was taken aback.
"Happy Halloween," the man finally said, accepting the drink.
Sean took a tentative sip. It was a marvelous concoction, a liquid warmth that seemed to seep into every inch of his body.
Outside, the snow swirled in the wind. Suddenly, a cold draft ruffled Sean's hair as the front door swung open. Sean glanced over the rim of his mug and immediately ducked his head.
"Move," he whispered.
In an instant, he vanished from sight.
Justin didn't ask questions; he immediately cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself. A second later, Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick swept into the pub amidst a flurry of snow, followed by Hagrid, who looked uncharacteristically somber.
Lupin took a slow sip of his beer, his eyes narrowing. He hadn't seen anything this interesting in years—two seemingly well-behaved Hogwarts students clearly breaking school rules and using high-level concealment charms.
"Filius, have you heard the latest developments?" McGonagall asked as they reached the bar.
Madam Rosmerta's voice rang out: "A small Gillywater for you, Minerva?"
"Thank you," McGonagall said, taking the glass.
"And four pints of Mulled Mead?"
"Much obliged, Rosmerta," Hagrid grunted.
"And a Gillywater with ice, cherry syrup, and a slice of lemon for the Professor?"
"Indeed!" Professor Flitwick squeaked, smacking his lips. "The little ones have been quite rattled by those rumors lately, you know. Penelope has come to me several times asking for clarification."
Because Hagrid was standing right there, Flitwick didn't explicitly state what the rumors were about.
"Is there any truth to them?" McGonagall asked. She seemed to be addressing Flitwick, but her eyes were locked onto Hagrid.
Hagrid kept his head down, focused entirely on his mead. He looked like a man desperately trying to appear normal. However, both McGonagall and Flitwick noticed the same thing—Hagrid's current behavior was the exact opposite of his natural temperament.
"I'm afraid there is," Flitwick said, his voice knowing. He watched as Hagrid gave a visible flinch.
"Then we have a problem," McGonagall noted. At her words, Hagrid seemed to relax slightly.
"Unless, of course, the problem has already been dealt with?" Flitwick added in his high-pitched voice.
Hagrid stiffened again, his hand trembling.
His reactions were too easy to read. When the truth was spoken, he grew tense; when a false lead was mentioned, he relaxed. It was entirely subconscious; the poor man had no idea he was giving everything away.
"I—I just remembered... I need to go buy... something..." Hagrid stammered, his words trailing off into a mumble as he turned and hurried out of the pub.
Sean watched from the shadows. Hagrid looked furious with himself. He stepped right into a muddy puddle, splashing his boots, but he didn't even notice. He was a man with a rough exterior but a sensitive soul. His intellect was just developed enough to realize when he'd made a mistake, leaving him in a perpetual state of guilt.
As Hagrid trudged along, he came to a stop in front of Green's Bookstore.
Justin was inside assigning tasks and organizing the signed copies of the notes, but Sean was standing by the door. He looked at the recruitment signs, then at the Three Broomsticks in the distance, and finally at the dejected half-giant standing before him.
"Happy Halloween, Hagrid. It's good to see you," Sean said softly. His voice seemed to drift through the falling snow and settle directly in Hagrid's mind.
"Sean?!" Hagrid looked at him, bewildered.
"Sean..." His face crumbled instantly.
"I heard. It's alright," Sean said. He flicked his wand, and the mud vanished from Hagrid's boots.
Hagrid's lips worked, but no sound came out. He could never keep a secret; he was always causing trouble. First, he'd let slip how to get past Fluffy, nearly getting Harry killed, and now he'd leaked the truth about the Basilisk.
"It's fine," Sean repeated.
The truth was bound to come out eventually. Once the news reports hit the stands, keeping it a secret at Hogwarts would be impossible anyway. Sean had already planned for this.
A weak, silver sun shone over the grounds of Hogsmeade. The village was a picture of winter, with thick layers of snow blanketing the pine branches. Sean saw a figure approaching from the distance.
He turned to the gamekeeper and said gently, "Cheer up, Hagrid. You were just helping me get the word out a little early."
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