Chapter 48: Flying Lesson Assessment
In the corridor, Sir Cadogan was still valiantly attempting to mount the painted pony, a feat he had failed to accomplish for centuries. As Sean passed, the knight, while simultaneously trying to stay astride the restless steed, launched into a lengthy monologue about Quidditch. He became so animated that he slapped the pony's flank, whereupon it promptly kicked him into a perfect arc, sending him flying across the painted landscape.
Sean offered a silent prayer for the knight's painted dignity and opened his Panel.
[Name: Sean Green]
[Title: Potions Dabbler]
[Effect: Slightly increases your affinity for Potions. Slightly improves your raw talent in Potions.]
Expected, but welcome. He read on.
[Wizard: Sean Green]
[Potions Talent: Green (Average)]
Boosted by Title: Potions Dabbler. Original Talent Grade was White.
[Next Tier: Potions Novice (Requires three Novice-level Potions)]
Whether it was psychological or not, the moment his talent shifted, Sean felt a cascade of new insights about his previous brewing attempts – ideas and connections that had simply not occurred to him before. Magic, he mused, truly was a wondrous inheritance, flowing through the bloodlines, bestowing not just power, but sometimes, even faint echoes of ancestral knowledge. How else could the vague, experience-based texts of the wizarding world possibly teach anything?
He looked up. Most of the portraits along the corridor were dozing. The late afternoon sun slanted through the stained-glass windows, illuminating Sir Cadogan's still-babbling face. No wonder the knight was bothering him; everyone else was asleep.
"Sean!"
Justin appeared as if from nowhere, bathed in the lazy golden light. He pressed a slice of delicious-looking English trifle into Sean's hand.
"New recipe… please try it," he said, his grey-blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, and the Gryffindor and Slytherin flying lesson just started. Maybe we could go watch? Hermione and I spent all yesterday studying techniques, I wonder if she's using any of them…"
It was half-past five. Sean and Justin walked down the grassy slope towards the Quidditch pitch, finding a spot with a good view. They could see the first-years clearly, as well as the shimmering surface of the Black Lake and Hagrid's pumpkin patch in the distance.
"Look, Hermione seems to be doing alright," Justin observed. "And that dark-haired Gryffindor is also—wait, who's that? How did he fly up so high all of a sudden?!"
Justin stared, wide-eyed, as a plump boy shot skyward like a rogue firework. "Is this some kind of special training?" he muttered.
Clearly, it was not.
Neville Longbottom spun precariously at a great height, then, with a terrified shriek, his broomstick shot off towards a statue. The broom zipped past; Neville did not. His robes snagged on the statue's spear, leaving him dangling high above the ground.
Everyone below held their breath as Madam Hooch began casting levitation charms. But before she could reach him, Neville let out another terrified yell – his robes were tearing under his weight! With a sickening series of thuds – oof, crack, thwump – he bounced off a torch sconce, hit the castle wall, and landed in a crumpled heap on the grass.
"Is he… alive?" Justin whispered, his voice full of concern.
"He'll be fine," Sean reassured him quietly. If memory served, Neville had only broken his wrist from that fall. It spoke volumes about the inherent resilience of wizards. Sean suspected broomsticks offered little to no protective enchantments; wizards relied solely on their enhanced physiology to withstand wind resistance and perform high-speed maneuvers.
The Nimbus 1000, released in 1967, could reach speeds of 100 miles per hour. The Firebolt, introduced in the 1990s, boasted a top speed of 150 mph. And the Bludgers used in Quidditch moved even faster. Yet, despite the potential for catastrophic collisions, the most severe Quidditch injuries typically amounted to a broken jaw or a few cracked ribs. Wizards were practically superhuman.
"Right," Justin said, turning his worried gaze back to Hermione, silently praying she wouldn't attempt any aerial acrobatics. He then, seemingly without thinking, pressed two chocolate chip cookies into Sean's hand.
Though flight had always been a human dream, witnessing Neville's near-disaster forced Sean to re-evaluate the inherent dangers of Flying class. It seemed almost as hazardous as Potions. It was incredible that students were expected to mount a broom and take off after only a brief lecture, with no demonstrations or practice runs. It was like handing someone car keys after a five-minute talk about driving theory. Wizards truly were tough…
But Sean wasn't. A fall like Neville's wouldn't just leave him black and blue; it would likely leave him in several pieces.
The flying lesson eventually ended. After carefully observing Madam Hooch's technique, Sean and Justin met up with a slightly shaken Hermione.
"Are you alright, Hermione?" Justin asked, handing her a steaming mug of honey-lemon tea he'd somehow procured. Sean glanced at him, mildly surprised. Where did he get that?
"Not really," Hermione admitted, taking a grateful sip. "I have to say, if you two get on a broom tomorrow, the most important thing is not falling off. As for actually flying… did you see Neville?"
"Point taken," Justin agreed solemnly.
As they walked back towards the castle, Sean mentally reviewed Madam Hooch's instructions. Learning to fly was important, especially now that he had unlocked the Potions title. He had collected five pieces of the scholarship puzzle. Only Herbology and Defence Against the Dark Arts remained. Herbology was straightforward progress. That left only Defence.
If Professor Quirrell is unreliable, Sean thought, surely there are other professors who are? Hogwarts had more than one expert in the Dark Arts and their counter-curses.
Back in the Great Hall, Hermione and Justin were animatedly discussing the near-disaster of the flying lesson, while Sean overheard a different, more hostile conversation.
"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?"
Both Justin and Hermione frowned, looking towards the Gryffindor table.
"You're braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," Harry retorted coolly.
"I'd take you on anytime on my own," Malfoy sneered. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only – no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"
"Of course he has," Ron interrupted, turning around. "I'm his second. Who's yours?"
"Oh, honestly—" Hermione groaned, rolling her eyes. "How many points are they trying to lose for Gryffindor?"