Chapter 546: Whose Signature?
The Transfiguration Classroom.
A few mice, intended as the day's practice subjects, squeaked softly in their
cages.
Neville Longbottom slowly raised his hand. "Professor... I'm sorry, but I—"
Neville began, his voice stumbling over the words. He twisted the hem of his
robes nervously, casting a panicked look to his side.
"Go on, Neville," Sean whispered from the neighboring desk.
Neville had been frantic for days because he couldn't find his Hogsmeade
permission slip. Sean knew the truth: his grandmother, Madam Augusta Longbottom,
had sent it directly to Professor McGonagall. She was a practical woman; she
knew her grandson had been the victim of far too many Memory Charms and didn't
trust him not to lose it.
But Neville hadn't been told that.
"My grandmother... she said she'd send it to you... Professor..." Neville kept
his eyes fixed on Sean, not daring to look at McGonagall's stern face.
"Yes, your grandmother sent your form directly to me, Longbottom," McGonagall
said. Her sharp features softened slightly as she looked at him. "She noted that
next time, however, you'll be expected to handle the postage yourself."
"Oh... right. I will..." Neville flushed a deep red and lowered his hand.
As he looked down, he saw Hermione giving him a secret "thumbs up" and Ron
grinning at him in relief. Sean offered a small, encouraging nod. The wave of
panic that had been drowning Neville for three days vanished instantly. He felt
his face heating up, but he couldn't stop the silly grin from spreading across
his lips.
"About time," Hermione huffed. She had been exhausted watching Neville stress
over the missing form, yet too nervous to ask the Professor about it. They'd
spent half the night before trying to get Neville to use his Magic Hand Mirror
to call home and check.
"My mother always says that taking responsibility for oneself is the first step
toward adulthood," Justin's voice drifted out of the Hand Mirror tucked into
Sean's pocket.
Due to Sean's clever design, the mirror's audio was keyed only to specific
users. A few students were quietly using them in class—moving with extreme
caution to avoid detection. Professor McGonagall, for her part, seemed to be
turning a blind eye. Compared to the usual constant whispering and note-passing,
the occasional muffled sentence from a mirror was a vast improvement in
classroom discipline.
"Right then. The rest of you, bring your forms up," McGonagall commanded.
The Ravenclaws gathered their things and began to file out of the room, while
the Gryffindors eagerly formed a long queue at the Professor's desk. They were a
cacophony of excitement, debating which shops to visit first.
Curiously, in the middle of a line of red-and-gold scarves, a single
blue-and-bronze scarf stood out.
"You're giving yours to Professor McGonagall too?" Hermione whispered, leaning
in toward Sean.
"Sean! Did you... did you transfer to Gryffindor? Can you actually do that?!"
Ron's eyes went wide, his face lighting up with a sudden, manic hope.
"There has never—in the history of this school—been a case of a House transfer,
Ron," Hermione snapped, rolling her eyes.
Ron ignored her, already lost in a fantasy. If Sean were a Gryffindor? Merlin's
beard! We'd never lose the House Cup again!
"But—Professor—please! You know I really want to go!" a pleading voice rang out
from the front of the line. A tall, broad-shouldered student was leaning over
McGonagall's desk, looking desperate. He had hurried into the room just as the
bell rang, looking disheveled and frantic.
"If you just say I can go—" the student begged.
"I will say no such thing," McGonagall replied flatly. She stood up and began
organizing her lecture notes into a drawer. "The form is quite clear: it must be
signed by a parent or legal guardian. If you wish to visit the village, obtain
the proper endorsement and return it to me then."
She fixed the boy with a cold, unrelenting stare. He slunk away, looking like he
was about to burst into tears.
As the boy left, Hermione's attention snapped back to the parchment in Sean's
hand. She noticed a letter attached to the back of it.
Dear Mr. Green,
Please note that the new term begins on September 1st...
No, not that part. Hermione's eyes scanned further down.
...The Hogwarts Express will depart at eleven o'clock from Platform 9¾. If you
intend to spend the final week of summer at the farm, please contact me
directly...
The farm? Hermione's mind raced. Why was Sean going to a farm? And why was he in
direct contact with Professor McGonagall about his summer holidays? A dozen
clues flashed through her mind, but she couldn't quite connect the dots.
...I am pleased to inform you, dear Mr. Green, that third-years are permitted to
visit Hogsmeade. Please bring the enclosed permission form to...
Hermione squinted, her focus narrowing. She was desperate to see the name at the
bottom of the page. Unfortunately, Sean's fingers were clamped firmly over the
signature line.
"To who...?"
Hermione heard a voice behind her. She turned to find Ron looking equally
shocked and troubled. They shared a brief look, and for a second, their "cold
war" was forgotten, replaced by mutual bewilderment.
"What are you doing?" they both hissed at the same time.
Sean, feeling the eyes on the back of his head, turned around. He saw the two of
them glaring at each other—or at him—and offered a small, questioning tilt of
his head.
"Did you see...?" Hermione whispered to Ron, covering his mouth before he could
blurt anything out.
"I didn't see anything! The back of the form... there's no signature!" Ron
whispered back, throwing his hands up in confusion.
"No signature?!" Hermione froze.
"Yeah... blimey, I didn't think McGonagall had it in her to play favorites.
Letting Sean go with an unsigned form?" Ron muttered.
Hermione stared at him, then let out a sigh of pure exasperation. "Ron, you're a
dunderhead. Why else would Sean hand it to her instead of Professor Flitwick?"
"You mean... because Flitwick isn't the Deputy Headmaster? He can't overrule a
missing signature?" Ron's eyes lit up. "Aha! Rank has its privileges!"
Hermione blinked, then gave a slow, uncertain nod. Is that really it?
At the front of the line, McGonagall tucked Sean's form into her folder. "Off
you go then," she said softly.
Sean nodded and stepped aside.
"And Sean..." McGonagall paused, leaning in slightly. Hermione had never seen
the Professor look so... human. She quickly nudged Ron, signaling him to pay
attention. "Do stay safe. If anything—anything at all—happens, you contact us
immediately. Do you understand?"
She seemed to be thinking of the fugitive, Black, who had recently attempted a
break-in. Her brow was furrowed with a protective worry.
"I understand, Professor," Sean said.
McGonagall nodded with satisfaction. She collected the final forms from Hermione
and Ron, then walked out of the classroom with Sean at her side.
The rest of the students filed out, leaving only Ron and Hermione standing in
the empty room. They stood together, lost in thought, the previous weeks of
bickering forgotten in the face of a much larger mystery.
"I've got it!" Ron shouted, sitting bolt upright.
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