Chapter 55: Quidditch Invitation
After circling the pitch a few times, Sean still felt hesitant. He hovered cautiously before Madam Hooch. "Madam Hooch, may I fly a little higher?"
"For mischievous little wizards, my answer would be no. But…" Madam Hooch held out her hand, and another old broomstick zoomed into her grasp. "Well? What are you waiting for?"
The wind whistled past Sean's ears as he ascended to ten feet. From this height, he could clearly see every Bludger-inflicted dent in the turf below. The southwest corner stands, a known haunt of the Golden Snitch, were just off to his right, their gilded railings gleaming softly in the morning light. Below, he saw a few students peering up from the manicured lawns, pointing and murmuring in awe at the sight of a first-year flying under the instructor's personal supervision.
With Madam Hooch's permission, Sean embraced the exhilarating freedom, urging the broomstick higher. It trembled slightly under his command but obeyed. As he climbed past fifty feet, the full panorama of Hogwarts unfolded before him: the castle spires piercing the morning mist, the Black Lake shimmering like dark glass, and the Forbidden Forest stretching out like a vast,墨green sea.
[You have practiced Flying once to the Adept standard. Proficiency +10]
[You have practiced Flying once to the Expert standard. Proficiency +50]
...
[A new Title in the field of Flying has been unlocked.]
Madam Hooch followed at a leisurely pace below. Perhaps it had been too long since she'd left the professional Quidditch circuit; she seemed to have forgotten the astonishing natural talent some players possessed. She showed no concern as Sean climbed higher, instead calling out practical tips and techniques with cheerful enthusiasm.
Under her guidance, Sean felt the lingering exhaustion from his Charms practice melt away. He gazed out at the distant horizon, his green eyes deepening in thought.
Magic originated within the wizard, but descriptions of its nature were often vague. The only certainty was that a wizard's magical capacity, or power level, grew with age and experience. But when a wizard was exhausted, unable to cast spells, was their magic truly depleted? If so, where did the extra power come from during moments of intense emotion or heightened mental focus?
As he soared over the grounds, an answer began to form. Just as a normal person couldn't consciously access their full muscular strength, perhaps wizards couldn't fully tap into their innate magical reserves. Could the act of flying, the constant, subconscious channeling of magic to maintain balance and control, slowly awaken those dormant reserves? The process might be slow, but the implications were significant.
Of course, he reasoned, everyday spellcasting, Transfiguration, even Potion-brewing likely had a similar effect, just at different rates.
In a room high in one of the towers, a hand paused mid-stroke over a stack of essays. Minerva McGonagall felt a faint breeze stir the papers on her desk. She looked up, her stern eyes automatically scanning the grounds below, and saw him – a small figure on a broomstick, flying with impossible grace, robes whipping in the wind like the wings of a bird.
"Quidditch…" A rare smile touched Professor McGonagall's lips. She started to look back down at her work, then froze. Her head snapped back up. She strode to the window, peering intently, disbelievingly. Yes, it was unmistakable. Not just a first-year, but Green. That frail little seed she had brought from the orphanage… what in Merlin's name was he doing soaring through the sky?
"Thank you, Madam Hooch." His limbs aching with a pleasant fatigue, Sean landed smoothly back on the grass. He was drenched in sweat but had deliberately conserved enough energy for one last spell. With a quick Scouring Charm, he cleaned the borrowed broomstick before handing it back to the equally smooth-landing instructor.
"Ever considered playing Quidditch?" Madam Hooch asked, nodding in approval. Disciplined, controlled, and exceptionally talented – it had been a long time since she'd seen a first-year with such natural aptitude.
Sean blinked, his mind flashing back to passages from Quidditch Through the Ages: [The first Quidditch World Cup, held in 1473, recorded numerous fouls, including: attempting to transfigure an opposing Chaser into a polecat; attempting to decapitate the Keeper with a broadsword; and releasing one hundred blood-sucking vampire bats from beneath the Transylvanian Captain's robes.]
Sean shook his head silently.
"Not even if you'd make a brilliant Seeker?" Madam Hooch pressed, surprised.
[The position of Seeker holds considerable glamour, as they are traditionally the most accomplished flyers on the pitch. Consequently, 'Take out the Seeker' is the first rule in Brutus Scrimgeour's 'The Beaters' Bible.']
Sean shook his head more vigorously. What kind of terrifying Bible is that?
"I think you could easily make the national team. Many teams have excellent mascots and…" Madam Hooch trailed off.
[The Banchory Bangers famously attempted to capture a Hebridean Black dragon to serve as their team mascot.]
Sean was now shaking his head so hard his vision blurred. Compared to a Hebridean Black, he felt like the mascot. Let the dragon play Seeker, he thought grimly.
He made a hasty escape from the Quidditch pitch, his mind already racing ahead, eager to test his new theories about magical stamina, completely missing the thoughtful gaze of a certain tall witch in emerald-green robes watching him from a high window.
In the hidden practice room, Hermione and Justin were huddled together, whispering animatedly. It seemed that once a topic captured universal interest, ending the discussion became nearly impossible.
Sean focused on practicing the Water-Making Spell. Two spells mastered to the Novice level…
"…Eight… nine… one extra cast!" Sean murmured, excitement bubbling within him. He couldn't be sure if the increase in his magical stamina was permanent, but it was undeniably significant. He hadn't found any mention of such an effect in any of the books he'd read. Then again, he reminded himself rigorously, I've barely scratched the surface of the library.
He checked his Panel again:
[Water-Making Spell: Apprentice (45/300)]
Slow but steady progress.
[Title: Novice Flyer]
[Effect: Slightly increases perception of broomstick magic. Significantly improves Flying talent.]
Significantly improves? He looked down, curious.
[Wizard: Sean Green]
[Flying Talent: Gold (Legendary)]
No change? Perhaps the 'significant improvement' was based on the average standard. Or maybe his talent had improved, but not enough to break past the Legendary tier?
While waiting for his magical energy to recover, Sean opened Advanced Potion-Making. Learning to fly was a practical necessity for navigating Ravenclaw Tower; mastering Charms was crucial for the scholarship. But Potion-making… that was for the long game. That was for earning Galleons. Sufficient funds would provide far greater support for his magical studies than any scholarship could.
As an orphaned first-year, his options were limited. But after hearing Snape's cryptic words and giving it considerable thought, Sean had set his sights on a specific goal.