Chapter 107: The Sweater
Was it so difficult to buy a sweater?
When the weather had first turned cold, Sean had asked the Weasley twins for help. They had agreed to sneak out to Hogsmeade and buy him some warmer clothes – a scarf, jumpers, shirts, and boots.
Their expedition, however, had been spectacularly unsuccessful. They were caught before they even left the castle.
Sean recalled the hushed negotiation in the corridor corner:
"Sweaters? Oh, easy," Fred had said, winking.
"But since you came to us," George had added, giving Fred a subtle look.
"You'll need to know our rates!"
"Five Sickles per item!" George had declared, watching Sean's reaction.
"Done," Sean had replied instantly.
"Wait, no, no… Six Sickles!" George scrambled.
"Done," Sean said, shaking his hand.
Fred had yanked his hand back as if electrocuted. "Seven!"
"Done."
"Eight! No, nine… Merlin's beard!" George looked utterly defeated.
"Three Galleons," Fred finally cut in, naming a flat rate. "Scarf, jumper, shirts, gloves, and boots. All-inclusive. We're only making one Sickle profit, not a single Knut more!"
"I trust you," Sean had said simply.
"Two Galleons!" George blurted out, his voice weak. "Just… please, stop agreeing. I've never met a client like you. Most of them…"
"Assume we're trying to fleece them for ten Galleons!" Fred finished.
"But only end up paying ten Knuts!" George added, looking at Sean with baffled respect. "Go on, before we change our minds…"
Sean had nodded. As the twins walked away, he'd overheard Fred whisper, "How much did we actually make?"
"Two Sickles," George had replied, winking. They'd high-fived.
Then, a sharp meow had echoed down the corridor. The two figures, halfway into a secret passage, had bolted.
"Why is Mrs. Norris here at nine o'clock?! Fred!"
"How should I know?!"
Fred had tossed a decoy detonator, but it was too late.
Sean, who had been waiting nearby to give Mrs. Norris her nightly dried fish, had sighed in disappointment and left. The next time he saw the twins, they were serving detention in the dungeons with Snape. They were stuck there for five days, despite promising Sean they'd sneak out for an hour to buy his clothes.
They were only released, according to Fred, because they'd given up several other Gryffindors.
"Oh, they were our brothers in arms, of course—" George had said mournfully.
"But you paid extra!" Fred had finished with a grin.
It fit Sean's impression of the twins perfectly. He did briefly wonder if they'd sell him out for the right price.
(Flashback: The Dungeon)
"Tell me—why were you sneaking out?" Snape's voice had been like the icy wind outside.
Fred and George, scrubbing cauldrons, had shivered.
"We were just… testing a secret passage, Professor," Fred had said bravely.
"A long-lost one, we heard," George had added, nodding seriously.
Snape had merely sneered. "Perhaps two weeks of scrubbing the hospital wing bedpans…"
"We were buying sweaters, Professor!" George had cried, his face crumbling.
"We needed warmer sweaters, Professor," Fred had added, looking earnest.
Snape had stared at them for a long, silent moment, then simply told them to get out.
In the Great Hall, the enchanted ceiling was a pale, clear grey-blue. The scent of warm toast mingled with the damp morning air. Suddenly, a great rushing of wings filled the hall as hundreds of owls swooped in, a tide of brown, grey, and white, dropping the post. A Howler erupted at the far end of the hall. Sean, Hermione, Neville, and Justin instinctively covered their ears.
Justin gazed out the window. The storm had finally broken, leaving the trees bare. A silver-grey owl landed proudly in front of him, dropping a thick, heavy package. He glanced nervously at Sean, who was busy demolishing an apple pie, and let out a sigh of relief. Inside the package was a thick, hand-knitted jumper and gloves, along with a photograph of four young wizards huddled together, shivering, but all looking towards the small boy in the center, whose green eyes seemed to glow in the firelight.
On the back was a note:
My Dearest Justin,
I've heard so many stories. I imagine his eyes are smaller than the lake, but just as deep. I imagine such eyes do not cry. Perhaps standing before him is like standing by the shore, shrouded in a fine, persistent mist.
Cherish your friends.
—Always proud of you, Lillian
Justin silently put the letter away, his gaze falling on Sean, just as a speckled owl landed by Hermione. She, too, glanced at Sean, then quickly gathered her things and hurried from the hall.
Sean finally looked up from his pie, a fork halfway to his mouth. Are Justin and Hermione acting... weirder than usual?
In the hidden classroom, the fireplace roared fiercely. Sean entered, clutching The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 and one of Flitwick's notebooks. He instinctively moved toward the hearth, a gust of cold air chasing him through the door.
On his usual seat, a gold-trimmed envelope sat atop a neatly wrapped parcel. He paused, then opened the envelope.
Can't believe it's autumn already.
The trees are starting to look bare.
The good thing about autumn is,
You get to wear warm, nice jumpers.
Stay warm, Sean.
—Your loyal friend, Justin Finch-Fletchley
Outside the window, an owl soared past, carrying away the last of autumn's chill.
(End of Chapter)
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