"Excellent, Mr. Green! A few more circles—up! Drive your broom up!"
Madam Hooch's hawk-sharp eyes locked onto Sean. Even as she steadied a tumbling first-year back onto the grass, she called out with rare enthusiasm:
"Keep your body leaned forward, lift your legs slightly back, and—head up!"
Sean skimmed the sky like a shooting star. He wasn't especially fast, but his lines were smooth and sure—like a Quidditch player who'd drilled for years. The little badgers still fumbling on the ground tilted their heads, watching the nimble "eagle" above—then glared at their own stubborn brooms in dismay.
Flying ended quickly. Sean touched down, pale. His strength hit its limit fast, but whenever it did, a trickle of warmth rose in his body—enough to let him savor this hard-won freedom.
He glanced at his panel—and blinked:
[Name: Sean Green]
[Title: Trainee Flyer]
[Slightly increases perception of broom magic; slightly improves flying talent]
[Wizard Sean — Flying Talent: Gold. Note: average wizard is Green]
[Advance: Novice-level Flying unlocks the Flying domain's Novice title]
[Assessment: You are a one-in-ten-thousand flying prodigy. In your hands a broom is as biddable as a puppy. With your formidable will, you are destined to be the Quidditch player of the century.]
Gold… the golden legend?!
He held his breath.
Wait—"formidable will"… what does that mean?
"All right, off the pitch, everyone! And the reckless ones—remember this lesson!" Madam Hooch swept the class with her gaze. Heads bobbed meekly. Seeing her skewed robes and mussed hair, more than a few flushed with shame at their own antics.
"Mr. Green—stay a moment."
Sean, still lost in thought, nodded on instinct.
"Oh, child…" Once the crowd had gone, Hooch strode over. "You have a lot of questions, don't you?"
"Yes, Madam Hooch. I want to know—does will determine flying talent?"
"Clever little eagle—yes. Most wizards merely ride brooms. But a few…" She lifted a hand and a broom leapt into her grip. "A few command them."
…
Even after he left the pitch, Hooch's brisk words echoed in his head:
"If you watch Quidditch players closely, you'll find most are big-framed. Some say only the big can make the team. Not quite. When a wizard is pushed—stimulated—his magic grows livelier. Most of the time that liveliness is positive—it improves the body."
She'd said it with a hint of meaning, then clapped his shoulder and left.
What's more thrilling than flying on a broom? Sean thought. Like how playing basketball makes you taller. One more task for the list: practice flying—even if only to get stronger.
…
Flying and Quidditch fuel endless talk among first-years—and today they had a new "prodigy" to discuss.
"Sean, they're calling you a Quidditch player in reserve," Justin said, laughing at himself. "But you'd never even touched the wizarding world before. Oh, I suppose Ernie fell on his head and forgot."
In Charms, Michael had somehow slipped into the seat on Sean's right. "Sean, if I apprenticed myself to you, would you teach me flying? Mas—"
"The broom is driven by charms. Once you sense those charms in the broom, you can guide them with a thread of magic…" Sean cut short Michael's attempt at an honorific and laid out his view.
Michael and the circle of eavesdroppers lasted through the second sentence—then went glassy-eyed, as if he were speaking Aramaic. Michael, Justin, and Terry did come prepared to take notes. The others gave up in defeat at "guide the turning charm with weaker-than-weak magic; touch the braking charm with slightly-stronger-than-weak magic…"
Only Michael kept scribbling, muttering, "Sensing charms… guiding minute magic… sounds like some mysterious alchemy…"
Sean's words trailed off—not only because Professor Flitwick had entered, but because a rush of thoughts hit him. If awakening magic sharpens the body, does a weak body blunt the awakening—or the welling—of magic? Is that why spells are hard, brewing is hard—his baseline magic too low? As little Barty Crouch once said: the Killing Curse needs massive magical power to anchor it… "You weaklings might give me a nosebleed."
Maybe that was Sean—below the normal bandwidth of magic. Hence the need for efficient form and towering focus. His talent sits below the mean because his magical throughput is low; even strong will won't make spells flow easily.
What about Transfiguration? Will is a core component—and in Transfiguration, which most reflects will, it rules. There, raw magical power can't overrule it. And Flying? Barely needs magical strength—only guidance.
Knowing his strengths sharpened his plans and opened new paths.
"All right, all right—I know flying is exciting," said Professor Flitwick. He had a gift: when he spoke, every first-year—Slytherins included—sat up and listened.
"If you haven't forgotten your Levitation technique, why not make the feather in front of you float—like a broom—and turn twice?"
Before he'd finished, Justin swished his wand and spoke the spell. The feather in front of him rose fast and spun in graceful circles, as if to make up for his jitters on the broom.
"Mr. Finch-Fletchley—splendid progress!" Flitwick's high voice rang out.