Green's Bookshop was just a short way from the Three Broomsticks; from here you could vaguely see the huge holly tree at the door, ribbons dangling from its branches.
Justin glanced at the shop from afar, then looked over at the dazed Sean and stopped walking, turning instead to study the pub in front of them.
It was a small tavern glowing with warm light. A noticeboard by the door read:
[Butterbeer (house special), lemonade, hot mulled mead, red wine, cherry syrup and soda…]
"How about we go into the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer? I've wanted to try one for ages,"
he suggested. There were still ten minutes before opening time.
"Okay,"
Sean answered, and the two of them headed for the pub.
Outside, the wind was so cold it nearly froze their fingers; inside, it was the complete opposite.
The place was packed and noisy, hot and hazy with smoke.
A striking, curvy witch was working behind the bar, smiling as she tended to a rowdy knot of wizards.
"That must be Madam Rosmerta, right?"
Justin said. "I did a bit of homework on the locals before opening… I'll go grab three butterbeers at the bar."
He slipped away naturally.
Sean squeezed his way to the back, finding a tiny empty table next to the window and a handsome holly tree, tucked by the fireplace.
There was already someone at that table: a wizard with greying hair, shabby robes, and a face that looked worn, pale, and exhausted.
"Sorry—mind if I sit here?"
Sean asked.
"Go ahead,"
the tired wizard replied.
He was sipping butterbeer in slow intervals, pausing between each drink, then letting his weary gaze drift toward the window.
Out there, Green's Bookshop still had a Help Wanted notice pinned to the door.
Justin's offered pay wasn't low at all: fifteen Galleons a week—quite decent.
A witch or wizard could scrape by on ten Galleons a week. Earning fifteen just for doing odd jobs in a bookshop made the job extremely attractive.
And the manager's package was even better—thirty-five Galleons a week, room and board included, plus bonuses.
"Thinking about applying as manager?"
Sean asked.
"I'm not fit for it,"
the tired wizard said with a small, self-mocking smile. He hadn't expected his mood to be so obvious that even a schoolboy could see through it.
"You should."
Sean thought for a moment, then said it simply.
The wizard gave a quiet, surprised laugh. This boy's eyes missed nothing, but he still sounded like he wasn't used to talking much.
Five minutes later, Justin returned, carrying three big foaming tankards of hot butterbeer.
"Happy Halloween!"
he grinned, raising his drink. "Sir, may I have the honor of buying you one?"
Half of the wizard's face remained hidden under his hood, but Sean could tell he was startled.
"Happy Halloween,"
he said at last, accepting the tankard.
Sean tried a cautious sip. It was a strange and wonderful drink, making every inch of him feel warm from the inside out.
Outside, snow and wind raged, and a sudden draft ruffled Sean's hair.
The door of the Three Broomsticks swung open. Sean glanced over the rim of his mug—and quickly ducked his head.
"Go. Now."
he said quietly.
In the next instant, he vanished.
Justin had no idea why, but he hurriedly cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself. Right after, he saw Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick step in on a swirl of wind and snow, followed by Hagrid, whose expression didn't look good at all.
Lupin took another slow sip of butterbeer, eyes half-closed.
It had been a long time since he'd seen something this amusing: two apparently well-behaved Hogwarts students, clearly breaking school rules—
"Filius, have you heard what's been going on lately?"
McGonagall asked up at the bar.
A woman's voice called, "One small violet water—"
"Mine,"
said McGonagall, accepting the glass.
"Four tankards of mead!"
"Thanks, Rosmerta,"
Hagrid said.
"One cherry-syrup and soda with ice and umbrella straws—"
"Mmm!"
Professor Flitwick smacked his lips. "The little ones have been quite spooked by that rumor, you know—the one you've heard. Penelope's been to me several times about it."
Because Hagrid was there, he didn't say exactly what it was.
"Is it true?"
McGonagall asked. She was ostensibly questioning Flitwick, but her eyes never left Hagrid.
Hagrid kept his head down, nursing his mead, face showing no obvious change.
But McGonagall and Flitwick could read the signs. This was not Hagrid's usual mood at all.
"I'm afraid it might be,"
Flitwick said quietly. They saw Hagrid's shoulders jolt.
"Then this is trouble,"
McGonagall murmured.
"At least… maybe the trouble's already been dealt with?"
Flitwick said in his high, piping voice.
Hagrid tensed again.
His reactions were almost comically easy to read: he stiffened whenever they hit something true, and relaxed whenever the conversation strayed from reality.
Worst of all, it was all subconscious—he had no idea he was doing it.
"I… I'll… just go get… er… something—"
Hagrid stammered, then hurried off. No one quite caught what he'd said.
Sean watched quietly. Hagrid looked furious with himself, stepping straight into puddles so that mud splattered his boots—and not caring in the slightest.
He was rough on the outside but delicate on the inside. His intelligence was stuck precisely at the point where he could realize he'd done something wrong—somewhere between "rarely makes mistakes" and "too clueless to notice."
His wandering steps carried him right up to Green's Bookshop.
Justin was inside at the back, handing out work assignments and stacking Sean's signed books. Sean himself stood by the door, looking at the Help Wanted notice nearby, the Three Broomsticks a little further away, and Hagrid at that in-between distance.
"Happy Halloween,"
Sean said softly.
"It's good to see you here."
"Sean?!"
Hagrid stared at him, utterly blank for a second.
"Sean."
His face crumpled.
"I heard. It's all right."
Sean flicked his wand; the mud on Hagrid's boots vanished.
Hagrid's lips moved soundlessly. He could never keep a secret, always caused trouble.
Last time he'd got drunk and let slip how to get past the three-headed dog, he'd nearly got Harry killed. This time he'd let out the whole story about the basilisk.
"It's all right,"
Sean added.
This would come out eventually. Once the articles were published, trying to hide the truth inside Hogwarts would be nearly impossible.
Sean had already prepared for that.
A pale silver sun shone weakly across the grounds; Hogsmeade was draped in white, layers of snow piled thickly on the pine branches. Sean saw a figure walking toward them through the light.
He lowered his voice.
"Cheer up, Hagrid. All you did was say a few things for me a little early."
~~~
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