Sometimes Sean thought wizards were just barbarians in robes.
That notion came from a painting hanging beneath the stands—"'Swinging-Fist' Gunter is the Winner." It depicted an ancient German beater game, a famous scene: a cluster of wizards wielding sharpened brooms circled one wizard with a rope tied around his waist, towing behind him a large, inflated bladder. He had to drive off the attackers with magic and defend his bladder.
If that alone didn't prompt the thought, this did: the bladder was a dragon's. Which meant every match cost a dragon its… bladder.
Sean suspected wizards had made that up to boast of their prowess and dominance—like hunters mounting trophies. And yet wizards' fascination with "bladders" really was odd.
Under the north stand hung a painting of Ireland's once-popular Crested Barrel-Stilting, a common theme in Irish wizarding ballads. In it, the legendary wizard Fingal the Fearless, a purported champion, led players carrying a dómb (the ball) through a series of flaming barrels raised high on stilts. Whoever got the dómb through them all fastest—and didn't catch fire—won.
The "ball" there? A sheep's bladder.
On the west stand was backwards broom riding: players straddled their brooms backwards and, between hedges, whacked a bladder back and forth with the twig end. That bladder was pig's.
In all cases, the bladders were punctured—exploded—after play.
Sean was quietly glad those traditions hadn't survived. Imagine Quidditch now—with an added "post-explosion audience participation" phase.
The paintings receded as Sean arrived at the broom shed. It seemed charmed; raindrops crept down the roof but never fell inside.
"Madam Hooch." He approached the gray-haired witch, expectant.
"Mr. Green, punctuality is a fine habit," she said, and with a flick a broom hopped into her hand. "We've plenty to do. See those high posts? That's today's focus."
Sean lifted his hand; his broom leapt the same way. Side by side, they gazed up at the goalposts—two fliers in sync, the small one a miniature Hooch.
Soon they were airborne, arrowing toward the hoops.
"Since you can hover and fly cleanly, let's try fast pivots," Hooch called, her voice cutting through the wind—no doubt charmed. Under her lead, Sean worked hard around the posts. Her standard:
"At top speed, keep your turn within three feet of the post—at any angle."
A brutal target. It was only his third day on a broom.
But magic doesn't care about "fair." It cares about talent.
[You practiced Flying once at Adept standard. Proficiency +10]
[You practiced Flying once at Adept standard. Proficiency +10]
[You practiced Flying once at Expert standard. Proficiency +50]
…
The chimes kept coming. Guided by instinct, his motions grew crisp. He started seeking the most efficient, least tiring lines—by feel. The bond with the broom tightened; he could sense each thread of will-laced magic tugging the charms inside. That was the secret of true control.
Hooch's line rang back in his mind: wizards who truly fly command the broom. And perhaps that command wasn't only for flight.
Perhaps for potions too…
He thought of the uncanny current he felt in the cauldron while using the revised rite. Like riding a broom—maybe brewing also needed the wizard to steer the magic?
Just then he hit a limit on turning—because the broom was too old. Some charms were flickering; a composite charm misfired. With so many tangled enchantments, it was like a ball of spaghetti code. How was this thing even running? Magic was doing a lot of heavy lifting.
"Remarkable progress," said Hooch, naturally catching the hovering broom and guiding it to a separate rack. "Planning to fly back to the Ravenclaw Tower, are you?"
Sean looked up, surprised—then understood. He wasn't the only one who'd thought of it. Ravenclaw Tower was famously high; hearing the "endearments" students flung at the stairs at night was practically a house tradition.
"Every year plenty of Ravens practice extra on the pitch," Hooch said, "but very few win flight permits…"
Sean tensed with hope. She left it vague—granted only once every few years—and didn't say how.
As they left the pitch, Hooch crossed her arms and handed him a parchment. One look and Sean memorized it:
On Flight Permits for First-Year Hogwarts Students
Master ten common flying maneuvers;
Obtain permission from the Hogwarts Flying Instructor;
Pass the official flight test;
After passing, own a broom of at least Nimbus 1500 quality (updated 1990).
He tucked the parchment into his bag, snug against Advanced Potion-Making. With that, the path was clear—though one line weighed on him: Nimbus 1500 or better. That would be… hard.
~~~
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