In the corridor.
Sir Cadogan had been struggling to mount the pony in his portrait,
but unfortunately, despite countless years spent, he had never succeeded.
So there he was, riding and chattering endlessly to Sean about Quidditch.
At moments of excitement, he would slap the horse's rump, only to be kicked into a shrimp-like shape, flying a great distance.
Sean silently said a quick prayer for him, then opened his panel:
[Name: Sean Green]
[Title: Potions Novice]
[Slightly increased potion perception; slight enhancement to potion talent]
As expected, Sean nodded slightly and continued scrolling:
[Wizard Sean
Potion Talent: Green (Novice title applied; original talent White)
Note: ordinary wizards are Green]
[Advancement: Brew three beginner-level potions to unlock the Beginner-level potion mastery title]
Sean wasn't sure if it was psychological, but the moment his potion talent changed, he recalled his previous brewing attempts and suddenly many new ideas came to him,
ideas that had never appeared during earlier potion practice.
Sean thought that perhaps magic was such a wondrous thing—It flowed in a wizard's blood, granting miracles capable of altering reality.
A sufficiently talented wizard could even inherit faint, hidden knowledge through that bloodline.
Otherwise, it would be difficult to explain how the vague, sometimes muddled experience books of the magical world could teach young wizards anything.
Thinking this, Sean slowly raised his head.
Most of the portraits in the corridor were dozing,
and the slanting sunlight through the Gothic stained glass illuminated Sir Cadogan's babbling face.
No wonder the knight came to bother him—everyone else had nodded off.
"Sean!"
At that moment, Justin appeared in the lazy sunlight, seemingly out of nowhere, and casually placed what looked like a delicious English layered cake into Sean's hands.
"A new flavor… please help me taste it,"
his gray-blue eyes squinted.
"Oh, and one more thing—Gryffindor and Slytherin's flying lessons just started not long ago. Maybe we can go take a look?
Hermione and I spent a whole day studying techniques; I wonder if she's using them…"
…
It was now half past five in the afternoon.
Sean and Justin walked along a downhill lawn to a spot with a full view of the Quidditch pitch.
The view was excellent—not only could they see the young wizards in class, but also the shimmering Black Lake and the vast pumpkin patch in front of Hagrid's hut.
"Look, Hermione seems to be flying well.
Oh, and that black-haired Gryffindor—wait, who is that? How did he shoot so high in an instant?!"
Justin's eyes widened as he watched a chubby wizard rocket into the sky. He muttered, "Is this some special training?"
Clearly not.
Mr. Lombard circled high above for a while, then, with a terrified scream, his broom shot past a statue—but Mr. Lombard didn't.
His robes got caught on the statue's weapon, suspending him high in the air along with his own body.
As everyone held their breath, watching the shocking scene, Madam Hooch muttered a spell,
and Mr. Lombard screamed again—his robes tore under his own weight!
Then came the muffled shouts of "Ah," "Ooh," "Ow."
He crashed into torches and walls, finally hitting the ground with a heavy thud.
"Is he still alive?"
Justin's voice was worried.
"He'll be fine."
Sean whispered in reassurance. If he remembered correctly, falling from such a height only caused Neville to break his wrist.
This highlighted the physical prowess of wizards, far beyond ordinary humans. Sean even suspected that the brooms had no protective magic at all.
Wizards relied entirely on their own bodies, braving wind resistance and performing complex maneuvers at extreme speed.
In 1967, the Firebolt 1000 reached speeds of 100 miles per hour, and in the 1990s, the Nimbus 2000 with a white waxwood handle could reach 150 miles per hour,
while the Snitch chased athletes relentlessly.
With such terrifying kinetic energy colliding, Hogwarts' worst accidents were just one or two students cracking a jaw, and that was it.
Wizards were practically superhuman.
"All right."
Justin turned to look at Hermione with concern, silently praying she wouldn't take to the sky, while still finding time to slip two chocolate cookies to Sean.
Although flying was a dream for humans, after witnessing that scene, Sean reassessed the flying lesson and realized its danger was on par with Potions class.
It was hard to imagine that, after only a rough explanation from Madam Hooch, the young wizards were expected to fly themselves, without any demonstrations or test flights.
What was the difference between this and learning a few driving tips and then hitting the road?
Wizards were truly thick-skinned…
But Sean couldn't take that risk. If he fell from such a height, it wouldn't just be a few bruises here and there—he'd likely be smashed into pieces.
…
The flying lesson soon ended. After carefully observing Madam Hooch's techniques, Sean and Justin successfully reunited with Hermione, still visibly shaken.
"Feeling all right, Hermione?"
Justin handed her a cup of honey-lemon tea, steaming hot.
Sean glanced at him, slightly surprised.
Where had he pulled that out from?
"Not really…"
Hermione sipped the tea and relaxed slightly.
"I have to say, if you're sitting on a broom tomorrow, the most important thing is not to fall.
As for flying… did you see Neville?"
"You're right."
Justin nodded in agreement.
As they walked into the castle, Sean continued analyzing Madam Hooch's flying techniques.
Mastering broom riding was just as important, especially now that Sean had unlocked his Potion title.
He had already collected five scholarship fragments, leaving only Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Herbology wasn't difficult; it just required steady work.
That left only Defense Against the Dark Arts.
If Professor Quirrell wasn't reliable, there had to be another competent professor, right?
Sean thought Hogwarts had more than one teacher skilled in Dark Arts and counter-curses.
Upon entering the Great Hall, Hermione and Justin were discussing the thrilling flight from earlier, while Sean heard some distinct voices.
"Having your last meal, Potter? When are you taking the train back to the Muggle world?"
The question made Justin and Hermione frown almost simultaneously. They looked toward the Gryffindor long table.
"Now that you're back on solid ground, and your little friends are around, you've grown bolder."
They heard Harry say coldly.
"I'm always willing to duel with you one-on-one,"
Malfoy replied, "If you have no objections, then tonight—a wizard duel. Wands only—no contact. What's the matter? I guess you've never heard of wizard dueling before?"
"Of course he has."
Ron, standing nearby, suddenly turned and said,
"I'm his assistant. Who's your assistant?"
"Oh no—"
Hermione quickly puffed out her cheeks and replied, exasperated,
"How many points are they planning to dock from Gryffindor, anyway?"