Chapter 349: The Winter Gathering
Rivulets of melted snow pattered rhythmically against the stained-glass windows, sliding down the grit-textured panes like tiny, weeping diamonds.
Inside the Great Hall, Sean was busy preparing return gifts.
He was unaware that elsewhere in the castle, Professor McGonagall was standing by a high window, a faint smile on her face as she gazed at the grey, distant horizon; or that in the dungeons, the cauldron that usually simmered day and night had finally been allowed to go cold.
Anticipation is a curious thing—a unique kind of magic that exists in the space before joy actually arrives.
Sean tucked the Project Map into an elegantly wrapped box. Into another, he placed a thick set of notes detailing his recent research and refinements on Alchemical Rituals.
He spared a sympathetic look for Snowy—the poor owl had only just regained her strength, and now she was being sent out into the wind and snow once more to deliver the important returns.
Aside from his professional obligations, Sean found himself buried under a mountain of unexpected gifts. The majority were letters of thanks from the Hogwarts student body, often accompanied by small mince pies, Christmas cakes, or tins of nut brittle.
[Mr. Green, thank you for the notes!]
[Green's Notes will be my favorite books for the rest of my life!]
[Your History of Magic section on the Merlin era isn't finished yet—oh, I mean, Merry Christmas, Mr. Green!]
There were so many letters that Sean had to use two quills simultaneously just to keep up with the replies.
To the left of the towering Christmas tree, the rest of the group was whispering.
"A Professor? Which one do you reckon?" Hermione asked, looking at Justin. If anyone in their year had an inside track on the castle's secrets, it was him.
"I bet it isn't Snape," Ron muttered, pulling a face. "He'd sooner confiscate our copies of Quidditch Through the Ages than send a gift. Everyone knows he detests the game."
"Maybe," Justin said with a cryptic, gentle nod.
Harry and Ron didn't press him for answers, turning instead to their own parcels. Harry's smallest package had come from the Dursleys. To his utter shock, they had sent him a broomstick and a short note asking if he would like to remain at Hogwarts for the summer holidays.
"No way... I mean, I'd love to..." Harry stared at the note, then at the broom. His habitual summer irritability seemed to melt away like a snowflake on a warm palm. He stood there, dazed for a moment. The Dursleys clearly didn't know the difference between a magical racing broom and a garden variety, but the gesture was unmistakable: his aunt and uncle knew he loved to fly.
He shook himself out of his stupor and continued with the rest. Hagrid had sent a massive box of treacle fudge, which Harry decided to soften by the fire before attempting to eat. Ron had gifted him a copy of Flying with the Cannons, a book filled with trivia about his favorite Quidditch team. Hermione had bought him a luxurious eagle-feather quill.
Finally, Harry opened a squishy parcel: a brand-new, hand-knitted sweater from Mrs. Weasley and a large plum cake. As he propped up the Christmas card, a wave of guilt washed over him as he thought of the incident with the flying car.
But then, a second note fell out of the envelope:
[Dearest Harry, don't worry about the car. It found its own way home.
—Love, Molly]
In an instant, Harry felt as though the hearth fire had surged, banishing every trace of winter chill from his heart.
"Right then, Harry. Are you ready?" Justin asked suddenly.
"Yeah," Harry replied, grinning.
He turned to see Ron looking quite smug, while Hermione picked up a large, heavy parcel. Even Neville was standing up, clutching a gift-wrapped box to his chest.
The group exchanged a silent look and surrounded Sean.
Sean, still mid-sentence in a reply letter, looked up to see his friends watching him with mischievous eyes. "What is it?" he asked, his green eyes showing a rare spark of confusion.
"Sean, Merry Christmas! Did you think we'd forget your gift? Honestly, you dunderhead!" Hermione laughed, setting a beautifully wrapped box on the table.
"This is our second winter together, Sean. Merry Christmas," Justin said, beaming as he added an identical box to the pile.
Then came Harry, then Ron, then Neville...
The stack grew higher and higher until Neville couldn't reach the top. Justin had to nudge him before Neville remembered he was a wizard; he turned pink and used a Levitation Charm to place his gift at the peak.
Enchanted, warm snow drifted from the ceiling as the pile of gifts grew as tall as the Christmas tree itself.
The group settled around the fire, chatting loudly, their earlier "official" activity completed. Occasionally, a shout of joy would erupt—Ron had discovered that Sean had gifted him a deluxe, limited-edition Whimsical Wizard Chess set.
Then there was Neville. Under the group's encouragement, he consumed a biscuit and transformed into a large, portly orange cat, which began chasing its own tail around the sofas. Hermione and Justin were in hot pursuit, laughing as they tried to catch him.
"This is your fault, Ron!" Hermione gasped as she ran.
Ron was cheering on the "Neville-Cat" until the situation took a turn for the worse.
"Scabbers! No! Get—Neville—away—from him!" Ron shrieked in panic.
The orange cat was currently batting playfully at Scabbers. Ron lunged for the rat's tail with one hand while trying to scoop up Neville with the other, but he tripped over the corner of Harry's table. A large plum pudding wobbled dangerously.
"OWW!" Ron yelled, clutching his stubbed toe.
It was a truly joyous Christmas.
Sean watched his friends, his green eyes slightly unfocused as he looked at the gifts they had given him.
Five hand-knitted sweaters. Hermione had included a matching scarf, while Justin had added a pair of sturdy gloves.
"My mother always says—" Justin's voice drifted from a letter tucked into his gift. "—That the most important thing is this: when the snow flies, the best news in the world usually falls on the low ground, right where we can reach it."
Sean looked up. His friends were all watching him, their faces lit by the fire.
Justin was leading the group; Hermione was red-faced from the chase; Harry was holding the "Neville-Cat," trying to get him to release Scabbers' tail; and Ron was looking pathetic as he cradled his rat, though he managed a lopsided grin nonetheless.
"Cheese!"
Colin Creevey appeared out of nowhere. The first-year was quick as a Seeker, snapping a photograph before anyone could pose.
In the resulting picture, everyone would see something rare: Sean Green, his head tilted back, with a wide, genuine smile on his face.
Up at the High Table, Professor Dumbledore was leading the remaining students in his favorite Christmas carols. Hagrid had consumed several more mugs of eggnog, and his singing was becoming progressively more thunderous.
Percy Weasley hadn't noticed that Fred had charmed his Prefect badge to read "Dunderhead," and he was currently wandering around with an air of immense self-importance, asking everyone why they were giggling.
At the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy was loudly mocking Harry's new sweater, but whenever he looked toward Sean, he made pointed comments about how Sean's sweater looked "classic and tasteful"—even though both garments had been lovingly crafted by Molly Weasley.
This winter... it felt as though every happy memory they had shared was being tossed into the hearth, keeping the small group of friends warm as they savored them, one by one.
[End of Chapter 349]
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