Sometimes, Sean couldn't help but think wizards were just barbarians in long robes.
What sparked that thought was the painting hanging under the stands—
"The 'Brutal Hand' Gant Is the Winner."
It depicted an ancient German game called Stiltball, a pretty famous piece of art.
In the scene, a bunch of wizards clutched sharpened brooms, circling another wizard with a rope tied around his waist. Trailing from the rope was a big, inflated "bladder."
This wizard had to use every ounce of magic to fend off the attackers and keep the "bladder" from getting punctured.
If that was all, it might not have struck Sean as so wild.
But the jaw-dropper? That "bladder" was from a dragon.
Meaning, every match cost one fire-breathing beast its... well, bladder.
Sean figured it was probably just a tall tale wizards cooked up to flex their power and remind the magical world who was boss.
Kind of like how some hunters hang animal heads on their walls.
Wizards sure had a weird obsession with bladders, though.
Under the north stands hung a painting of Ireland's once-thriving Stiltbucket game,
a staple in tons of Irish wizarding folk songs.
The legendary wizard "Fearless" Fingal was said to be a Stiltbucket champ in the picture.
Competitors zipped through a series of flaming wooden buckets propped up high on stilts, carrying a "Dom" or a ball.
The winner was the one who got their Dom through all the buckets fastest without catching fire.
And yeah, the ball? A sheep's bladder.
Then there was the west stands' upside-down broom racing painting.
Athletes rode brooms backward, whacking a bladder back and forth between hedges with the broom's twig end. Hit it, score a point.
Pig bladder that time.
No doubt, all these bladders popped spectacularly once the game was over.
Sean quietly thanked the stars for modern audiences—if that tradition had stuck around, Quidditch matches might be even more "thrilling" these days.
With the added bonus of post-explosion crowd participation.
The paintings faded into the distance as Sean reached the broom shed.
It looked like some special charm was at work there—
raindrops slid slowly down the roof but never splashed inside.
"Madam Hooch."
Sean walked up to the gray-haired woman, buzzing with anticipation.
"Mr. Green, punctuality is a fine habit,"
Madam Hooch waved her hand, and a broom leaped into her grip.
"We've got a full agenda today. See those tall poles? That's our focus."
Sean raised his hand too, and a broom jumped to him just the same. He and Madam Hooch headed toward the Quidditch goalposts together,
their synced moves making him look like a pint-sized version of her.
Before long, the two wizards—one big, one small—hovered near the hoops.
"Since you can hover and fly steadily now, why not try some quick turns?"
Madam Hooch's voice cut through the whistling wind crystal clear, probably thanks to some charm.
Under her guidance, Sean looped around the poles plenty of times,
with her laying down the challenge:
"Even at top speed, your turn around the pole shouldn't drift more than three feet, and hit every angle."
Tough ask, no question.
This was only Sean's third day on a broom.
But magic doesn't play fair.
It just rewards talent.
[You've practiced flying at novice level: Proficiency +10]
[You've practiced flying at novice level: Proficiency +10]
[You've practiced flying at expert level: Proficiency +50]
...
Sean heard the panel's chimes non-stop, his moves sharpening under some gut instinct,
as he instinctively hunted for the most efficient, low-effort positions.
At the same time, his connection to the broom grew stronger—he could almost sense every thread of his willful magic pulsing through it.
That was the real trick to mastering a flying broom.
Sean couldn't help recalling Madam Hooch's words:
A true flying wizard commands the broom.
And that command? It might not just apply to flying.
Maybe to potions too...
Sean thought back to the weird magic he'd felt in the cauldron during that improved ritual—
just like taming a broom, maybe brewing needed a wizard to steer the magic?
Lost in that idea, he hit a wall with his turns.
Blame the broom—it was beat-up, with some charms glitching, or whole combo spells acting wonky.
Plus all its tangled layers of effects...
Reminded him of some programmer's spaghetti code from his old life.
No clue how the thing even stayed airborne...
Magic really was too all-encompassing.
"Impressive progress!"
Madam Hooch took Sean's broom, guiding the hovering stick to a solo spot,
"You're planning to fly back to the Ravenclaw Tower, right?"
Sean looked up, surprised, then it clicked.
Plenty of wizards had that idea, and everyone knew how sky-high the Ravenclaw Tower was.
It even tanked Ravenclaws' fitness from all the stair-climbing—
spin through the tower stairs at night, and you'd catch a chorus of young wizards "affectionately" griping about it.
"Lots of Ravenclaw first-years sneak extra practice at the Quidditch pitch every year,
but only a rare few ever snag flying permission..."
Madam Hooch went on, and Sean felt a twinge of nerves.
Too bad she only hinted at how scarce the permission was—maybe once every few years—
without spilling how to actually get it.
As he left the pitch, Madam Hooch crossed her arms and handed him a parchment.
Sean memorized it at a glance:
"On Flying Permission for First-Year Hogwarts Wizards"
—Master at least ten common flying maneuvers;
—Get clearance from the Hogwarts Flying Instructor;
—Pass a flying exam;
—After passing, own a broom of at least Nimbus 1500 quality (1990 update).
Sean tucked the parchment into his bag, right next to his Advanced Potion-Making.
Now the goal was crystal clear, but it weighed on him a bit—
that Nimbus 1500 requirement? Near impossible.