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HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 80
🕑 Added 2025-11-13 21:31:49 +0000 UTCChapter 80: I Have Friends
"No letters coming in, no one to contact, not even knowing his own birthday..."
At the long table, Justin spoke in a low voice to Hermione.
The first shafts of sunlight were already pouring through the soaring stained glass, laying mottled light across the long House tables. The air smelled of toast, fried bacon, and pumpkin juice, but the noise almost drowned it all out.
A few second-years near Shawn were arguing hotly about a wand movement, gesturing so wildly they nearly knocked over the jam.
A burst of cheers rose from the Hufflepuffs as a round-faced boy pulled a Cauldron Cake from a parcel, and the Never Go Hungry club of little Badgers practically pounced.
Over at the Gryffindor table, a crowd gathered around their Quidditch captain, showing off a new broom care kit, chattering without pause.
Suddenly, a thrumming, like a hundred tiny drums, rushed in from afar.
"Owls!"
Someone shouted it.
The din spiked and then settled into a humming mix of expectancy and nerves.
Dozens of owls poured into the Great Hall like a gray tide, swooping in through the high windows and wheeling beneath the enchanted ceiling.
Letters, parcels, and magazines fell like rain.
"It is the reply," Hermione said, sweeping up the post from home. Owl letters arrive as they are sent, but they never take too long to arrive.
The post was rarely clogged, as the owls kept their daily schedule and prevented any great backlog.
In the history of Hogwarts, there had been one chaos of owls all at once. Back in Gilderoy Lockhart’s schooldays, out of sheer vanity, he had sent himself eight hundred Valentine cards, and the post had exploded.
"It is the reply," Justin echoed, tucking his own letters away, voice low. He looked at the boy beside him, whose quill never stopped scratching lines across a notebook, even with an ice pack on his head and steam still trickling from his ears after Pepperup. It did not slow his studying at all.
Up at the staff table, more than one set of eyes wore the same look.
Justin’s gaze fell, fingers unconsciously twisting the edge of his robe.
In that low pressure, he spoke.
"Scottish winters are bitter. I have never seen his winter cloak."
"What I mean is... those losses shaped him, did they not?" Hermione’s words were about cloaks, and not about them at all. She tried to correct herself, only to meet those tired green eyes and that pale face. It left her staring for a long time.
"No, Hermione," Justin said, turning his head so the light hid his expression. "I think in those cold winters, he did not need to be strong. He needed to be safe."
...
When Mr Owl said the words, Justin felt his blood nearly boil.
"No one to contact... that is nonsense. Ha. There is a wizard who is desperate to speak with him."
"Mr Owl, you mean—"
"I do not lower myself to paltry lies."
"Merlin. Merlin’s owl."
"I am the Lady Ravenclaw’s owl."
"Oh. Sorry. Sorry, Mr Owl."
Justin’s mind shorted out.
Of course. A boy as gifted as Shawn could not possibly have been cast aside. There had to be a special reason he had ended up alone.
He would not doubt Mr Owl. That curious creature had been around when Hogwarts was founded, and the little tales of Gryffindor it tossed off were the funniest stories Justin had ever heard.
If it said a wizard wished to contact Shawn, then one surely did, and in all likelihood it was...
Justin, good heavens, what a thing you have done.
Liliana Finch-Fletchley would be so proud.
"Mr Owl, please—"
"I have only one question."
"A hundred if you like."
"Is an owl an eagle?"
"Of course."
"Then it is in my wings. Go to your friend."
Mr Owl flapped, and Justin had never imagined that an owl could glow.
...
"Shawn. Shawn. You have to come," Justin said, bursting into the classroom.
Shawn was bent over The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection and his notes, thinking through the lessons that were coming fast now.
The Knockback Jinx. Flipendo. A type of Dark magic.
Among the four broad spell classes—Charm, Curse, Jinx, and Hex—the jinx marks the mildest category of the Dark Arts. Flipendo belonged there. Annoying but amusing. That said, it made Professor Flitwick doubly cautious. He had given Shawn a notebook, most of it a list of the Dark Arts’ side effects, and the very first line on the cover read:
Caution and restraint are the first essentials in studying the Dark Arts.
"Shawn, come with me, quickly," Justin said, barely able to keep the urgent smile from his face. He and Hermione had smothered Shawn with so much care since his illness that Shawn could hardly keep a straight face. He had shut his eyes to rest for two seconds and found himself under a blanket with the lights turned off.
"All right," he said softly. Whatever this was, he nodded.
The fireplace roared. Behind the surging flames were three faces, each with a different look.
Justin and Hermione were too tense to breathe. Shawn only looked puzzled.
They had called him here to warm their hands together?
Well, that was not so bad.
"Yes, Hermione. Family. Real family," Justin murmured. Hermione drew herself taut as a string, cheeks flushed. Whether it was heat or nerves, who could say?
A swirl of powder spun into being in the flames.
Justin and Hermione stopped even breathing. Shawn found himself looking forward to.
A stern face appeared.
"How can it be... how can it be..."
Justin stood speechless.
"Mr Owl, what on earth did you do..."
"Professor."
"Professor."
"Professor McGonagall."
Shawn was not disappointed. He had never seen a professor in a fireplace before.
Smaller by a fraction, the professor was a marvel.
McGonagall let her eyes flick once around the room. She knew it for the owl’s work at a glance.
She answered briefly, twice, and then met a pair of curious, utterly sincere eyes.
Her own went wholly soft.
"Mr Shawn Green."
...
"Although I am surprised to see such a gentle Professor McGonagall, which is lovely in its way, this is not what I wanted," Justin muttered, frustrated.
Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "Everyone knows Professor McGonagall thinks highly of Shawn. It is perfectly normal for her to want to reach him. There is only one fool in the room."
Shawn was shutting the fireplace when Justin’s low voice reached him.
"I am sorry, Shawn. I thought..."
"Justin, there is nothing to be sorry for. You have done enough. Thank you," Shawn said, picking up Professor Flitwick’s notebook. "What I have lost does not matter. What matters is what I still have. For example, friends."
"Friendship. It is the two hearts that shake each other," Justin heard his mother say again, and this time it struck him so hard it felt as if his heart might break.
