The tense standoff ended quickly, and the group dispersed after reaching an agreement.
As Harry and Ron passed by, they were still whispering to each other.
"What's a wizard's duel, anyway?" Harry asked.
"And what's this about being your second? What does that mean?"
"Oh, if you die, your second steps in to take your place," Ron said casually. Noticing Harry's pale face, he quickly backtracked. "But, you know, people only die in proper duels with real wizards. You and Malfoy? You'll probably just end up shooting sparks at each other."
"What if I wave my wand and nothing happens?" Harry asked, his voice tinged with worry.
"Then toss your wand aside and punch him square in the nose," Ron replied firmly.
"Goodness!" Hermione's face flushed with anger. "Do they have any idea how many house points they're risking?! I worked so hard to earn those points, and we're still behind Ravenclaw! And now they're going to lose us more?!"
With that, she stormed off, fuming. Justin, concerned, hurried after her. "Oh, Sean, we'll be right back… Don't worry, I'll make sure Hermione doesn't get into trouble."
Sean nodded, though his attention was more focused on the Yorkshire pudding in front of him.
He knew that because of this midnight duel, Harry would soon encounter the three-headed dog for the first time, kicking off his adventures for the year.
But that had little to do with Sean. If anything, the biggest connection was that once Harry drove Voldemort away, Hogwarts would be a much safer place.
At least for this school year, Sean could focus on grinding his proficiency in peace.
---
The day before Flying Lessons was set to begin, the Ravenclaws' excitement was practically soaring.
As Sean politely bid farewell to Madam Pince, he could still hear the loud chatter about Quidditch echoing through the corridors.
Madam Pince, as she left, was still engrossed in flipping through Sean's notes. The librarian, whom the younger students both respected and feared, wasn't always as irritable as they claimed.
Or rather, it was the students' behavior that made her irritable. Who wouldn't be upset seeing meticulously organized books thrown into chaos or a freshly cleaned desk scribbled on?
So Sean quietly took it upon himself to help out, casting a few Cleaning Charms here and there. It was simple and didn't take much time.
Sean's History of Magic notes were already halfway complete, thanks in part to Madam Pince's scholarly advice. Whenever Sean hit a wall, the kind librarian would subtly slip him a helpful book or two, saving him countless hours.
Once again, he closed the library's heavy oak doors behind him.
A cool evening breeze ruffled Sean's hair, and out of nowhere, Sir Cadogan's portrait shoved aside the black-robed wizard in the frame above.
"Oh—Sean Green! Seen Green!" Cadogan bellowed.
Sean ignored him.
"Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow you've got Flying Lessons! And yet here you are, not even asking for tips from Scotland's greatest Chaser?"
Sean kept walking, head down, but Sir Cadogan darted from one portrait to the next, hopping through a golden wheat field belonging to a straw-hatted lady and narrowly dodging a group of monks.
"Sir, you're from the time of King Arthur, and the first Quidditch World Cup wasn't until 1473…" Sean said with a sigh.
"A little trick, eh? At least you're talking to me now, aren't you? Violet—three bottles of firewhisky!" Cadogan crowed triumphantly.
"Alright, Sir, you've got me there," Violet, in her flowing gown, said with a resigned laugh, conceding the bet.
"Aha! Even if it's just for the firewhisky, I'll give you some advice," Cadogan declared.
Sean eyed the seemingly unreliable knight with skepticism.
To his surprise, Cadogan leaped up, only to be sent flying by a startled pony. Undeterred, he scrambled back to his feet. "I've watched five centuries of Quidditch, young Green. I know it better than that professor of yours!"
"Go on, then," Sean said, pulling out his notebook instantly.
"Ahem, this is an exclusive secret, mind you. I only share it with witches and wizards I take a liking to. The last one I told was some lad named Potter—a talented one, he was…"
Cadogan's voice took on a nostalgic tone.
"Let me tell you this: when wizards invented flying broomsticks, it wasn't because brooms were the only things that could fly. No, no! Wizards enchanted those brooms with spells. You're not controlling a broom—you're controlling the magic. The magic gives the broom its flight. Once you realize that, you'll understand: control yourself, and you control the flight."
It sounded surprisingly profound. Sean nodded sincerely. "Thank you, Sir."
"Ahem!" Cadogan's chin tilted skyward with pride.
As Sean walked away, he heard the knight mutter, "Young Green, don't you dare move the monks' portrait again. Last time, Violet chased me with a broom for a whole day…"
---
The Ravenclaw common room's fireplace glowed warmly as always.
The young witches and wizards gathered around, as usual, debating Quidditch with fervor.
Sean's thoughts drifted back to Sir Cadogan's words. Potter… talented…
Whether it was James or Harry Potter, it seemed anyone with that name had a natural gift for Quidditch. Harry, after all, had used his flying skills to navigate the fourth-floor traps and outmaneuver a dragon to snatch the golden egg in the Triwizard Tournament.
Could Sean possibly…?
No, wait—how could Cadogan even tell?
---
Friday.
The Hogwarts Quidditch pitch lay quietly at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a magical arena steeped in history. The oval field, three hundred feet long, was flanked by three golden goalposts on either side, marking the scoring zones. They looked like something out of a giant's bowling game.
The goalposts had their own stories.
Once, they'd been single hoops perched atop the posts. That changed after a reform, prompted by the wizards of Barnton in the North. Those crafty folks had placed tiny hoops—so small you could barely fit a grape through—on their opponents' posts. Meanwhile, their own goals were massive, wicker-woven hoops that could practically spin.
The Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Games and Sports had made a right mess of things, and the reform was forced through. At the time, angry protesters gathered in the Ministry's atrium, hurling hoops at the reform representatives, who were forced to retreat step by step.
Here's a fun tidbit: those riots were stirred up by troublemaking goblins.
---
Beneath the towering golden goalposts, the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff first-years stepped onto the field.
"Sean, these brooms look awfully thin. Can we really ride them?" Justin whispered, eyeing the broomsticks nervously.