Soon, the few rivals dispersed after making their arrangements.
When Harry and Ron passed by, they were still speaking in low voices:
"What's this wizard duel all about?"
Harry asked,
"And what do you mean by being my assistant?"
"Oh, if you die, the assistant takes over."
Ron said casually, then, noticing Harry's pale face, added, "Of course, that's only when you duel a real wizard properly. You and Malfoy are at most just shooting sparks at each other."
"What if I wave my wand and nothing happens?"
"Then throw the wand and punch him in the nose."
Ron's voice was firm and resolute.
"Oh my!"
Hermione's face had already turned red with anger.
"Do they even know how many points they're going to deduct?! I worked so hard to earn all those points, and yet… they still want to dock them from Gryffindor!"
She stormed off, furious, and Justin immediately followed, worried:
"Oh, Sean, we'll be back soon… don't worry, with me around, Hermione won't be bullied."
Sean nodded, though at the moment, he was more focused on the Yorkshire pudding in front of him.
Justin could handle the quarrels with Ron and the others—he was a head taller than them, which meant Ron would have to think twice before saying anything hurtful.
At the same time, Sean knew that, because of tonight's midnight duel, Harry would encounter the three-headed dog for the first time, and his own adventures this school year would officially begin.
But that didn't concern Sean much. What mattered most was that once Harry drove Voldemort away, Hogwarts would be far safer, allowing Sean to focus on improving his skills for the rest of the year.
…
On the last day before flying lessons, the enthusiasm of the Ravenclaws was practically soaring.
After politely saying goodbye to Madam Pince, Sean could still hear loud discussions about Quidditch echoing through the corridor.
Before leaving, Madam Pince had been thoroughly flipping through his notes with interest.
The young wizards both respected and feared her, but she wasn't always irritable—or rather, it was the students' behavior that sometimes made her so.
Anyone would be angry if their carefully organized books were thrown into chaos, or their cleaned desk was scribbled on.
So Sean would quietly do a little magic, casting a few simple cleaning spells, which didn't take much time.
Sean's History of Magic notes were already half-complete, and the erudite Madam Pince had given him plenty of useful advice.
Whenever he was confused, the kind lady would casually hand him a book, saving him who knows how much time.
Once again, he closed the heavy oak doors of the library.
The cool evening breeze made Sean's hair dance in the wind. Somehow, Sir Cadogan had squeezed past the black-robed wizard in one of the paintings:
"Oh—Seing Green!"
Sean ignored him.
"Tomorrow—yes, tomorrow is your flying lesson, and today, don't you want to seek some advice from Scotland's greatest Seeker?"
Sean kept his head down and hurried along. Sir Cadogan flitted through the paintings, sometimes stepping across the golden wheat fields of a beautiful lady wearing a straw hat, other times narrowly avoiding a group of monks.
"Sir, you are from the time of King Arthur, and the first Quidditch World Cup was held in 1473…"
Sean said helplessly.
"Just a little tip—at least you're talking to me, aren't you? Violet—three bottles of spirits!"
Sir Cadogan stretched his throat and shouted.
"All right, Sir, you really do have a way about you."
Mrs. Violet, dressed in a long gown, smiled helplessly; she was willing to honor her bet.
"Ah-ha—just for the sake of the spirits, I suppose I'll give you some advice."
Sean eyed the seemingly unreliable knight with a hint of suspicion.
Unexpectedly, the knight leapt up, only to be kicked far away by the startled pony—but he quickly scrambled to his feet again:
"I've watched Quidditch for five centuries, young Green. I know it even better than that lady who gives the lectures!"
"As you say,"
Sean immediately took out his notebook.
"Hmm—this is an exclusive secret. I won't tell a single soul except the young wizards I favor.
The last one I shared this with… what was his name? Potter, yes. That was a talented fellow too…"
Sir Cadogan's face softened with nostalgia.
"Let me tell you, when wizards invented flying broomsticks, it wasn't because only brooms could fly. It was because the wizard inscribed their magic onto the broom. You're not controlling the broom—you're controlling the spell. It's the spell that gives the broom its flying power. Once you realize this, you'll understand—control yourself, and you can control your flight."
It seemed to make sense, and Sean sincerely thanked him:
"Thank you."
"Hmm—"
Sir Cadogan's chin nearly reached the ceiling.
After Sean left, the knight muttered:
"Little Green, this time don't move the monk paintings around. Last time, Mrs. Violet chased me all day with a broom…"
…
The Ravenclaw common room's fireplace was always cozy.
The young wizards habitually sat around, talking about Quidditch.
Sean remembered Sir Cadogan's words: Potter… talented…
No matter which Potter it was, they all seemed to have extraordinary natural skill at Quidditch.
Harry, in particular, had relied on his flying skill to pass the fourth-floor challenge, navigate the dragons in the Triwizard Tournament, and seize the Golden Egg.
So… could it be that he himself…
No, wait—how could Sir Cadogan even tell?
Friday came, and Hogwarts' Quidditch pitch lay quietly at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a magically enchanted arena.
The three-hundred-foot-long oval field had three golden posts on either side; the middle was the scoring zone, resembling a giant throwing game.
There were also many stories about these goalposts.
Originally, it had been a single hoop atop a post. Later, it was reformed into a goal between two posts.
The reason for the reform was simple. In the north near Barnton, wizards would place tiny hoops atop the opposing team's goalposts—you couldn't even fit a grape inside.
But on their own side, they could even make the woven willow hoops spin.
The Department of Magical Sports suffered a major failure there, so the reform was forcibly implemented.
At the time, angry protesters in the hall threw piles of hoops, forcing the reform representatives to retreat step by step.
Another interesting detail: these ensuing riots were stirred up by mischievous pixies.
…
Beneath the towering golden posts, the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students also entered the field.
"Sean, this broom is way too thin, isn't it? Can we really ride it?"
Sean heard Justin whisper the question.