Sean understood the importance of this matter.
A broomstick, often called a wizard's companion on the Quidditch pitch, was crucial.
For a first-year just learning to fly, an outdated or low-quality broom wasn't just a hindrance—it could be downright dangerous.
The craftsmanship of broomsticks determined their potential.
High-end models like the Nimbus 2000 came with unique braking systems and costly patented braking charms, allowing for rapid starts and stops. Their intricate alchemical engineering even supported full 360-degree turns.
As for Sean's broom? If he tried pulling off a maneuver like that, it'd probably fall apart midair. The Comet Trading Company's manual made that clear enough:
"As you can see, this is a training broom. For thirty Galleons, what more do you expect?"
Sean couldn't argue with the logic of Randolph Keitch and Basil Horton, the company's founders.
To most young wizards, this wasn't a big deal. A Nimbus 1500 wasn't outrageously priced, and Diagon Alley's Quality Quidditch Supplies offered delivery to Hogwarts.
One letter, and most parents would happily oblige.
But for Sean… if someone sent him a letter, it'd be a miracle.
This meant his plan to fly into Ravenclaw Tower would have to wait until he could leave school grounds.
At noon, the Quidditch pitch was bathed in almost indulgent sunlight, the sky a pristine, flawless blue with wisps of clouds like carelessly smeared white paint.
Sean hesitated before asking his final question as he prepared to leave. "Madam Hooch, if I can't leave school, then…"
"Oh, Mr. Green, I don't think that'll be an issue for you," Madam Hooch interrupted, handing him a towel to wipe off water droplets from the shed's roof.
"Keep training, Mr. Green. That's the least of your worries."
With that, she strode off with her broom, leaving a puzzled Sean standing there.
In the corridor, a portrait of a knight was chugging a flagon of strong liquor, his cheeks flushed from the drink.
"Remember to support ilham20!" the portrait slurred.
His oversized sword rested across his knees, which were stained with grass.
Clearly drunk, he bellowed, "Hogwarts' past headmasters… oh, Violet, you should know, Phineas Nigellus Black was a wicked, pompous fool! Armando Dippet couldn't spot talent if it hit him in the face! Dumbledore's decent enough, but a knight's honor forbids me from lying—he's a…"
Sean was floored by the knight's reckless outburst.
Was Sir Cadogan, sloshed out of his mind, really that bold?
It wasn't just him—wizards seemed to have a peculiar streak of recklessness.
"Sir, if you finish that sentence, I reckon you and the sun might not both see tomorrow," Sean warned kindly.
"Oh… young Green…" Sir Cadogan seemed to sober slightly, though his face was still red. His voice dropped. "I mean, Dumbledore's a headmaster who… satisfies all wizards."
"Really, Sir Cadogan?" asked Lady Violet, dressed in a flowing white gown, blinking skeptically.
Ignoring the noisy portraits, Sean quietly moved a painting of a drunken monk he'd hung there two days ago.
Sir Cadogan had given him plenty of flying tips, and it'd be a shame if his gratitude got the knight's centuries-long existence ended.
It'd be like the punchline to a bad joke.
The castle was becoming more familiar by the day. Sean could probably walk to the Great Hall blindfolded.
Even before entering, the corridor was filled with the sweet, tempting aroma of roasted pumpkin.
Today's menu featured pork chops and Hungarian goulash, plus a variety of puddings. Sean didn't need to guess who'd tweaked the recipes.
Then, the mail arrived.
Over a hundred owls swooped into the Great Hall, startling some younger students.
The owls circled the tables until they found their owners, dropping letters or packages onto their laps.
These deliveries sparked curiosity among the students.
Sean never got mail, but he didn't mind offering food to the weary messengers—most students, engrossed in their letters, ignored them.
A few owls landed near him. Sean quietly cut a small piece of toast and watched the intelligent creatures eat.
After a while, the snowy owls flew back to the Owlery to rest with the school's other birds.
This scene didn't go unnoticed.
"Animals always find the kind ones, don't they, Minerva? Sometimes they choose better than wizards," said a wizard with long silver hair and a beard, his half-moon glasses framing eyes full of warmth and humor.
It was as if he were talking about more than just the owls.
The tall witch at the staff table stayed silent, watching the young wizards excitedly share their letters' contents—even a box of candies sparked a frenzy.
Take Seamus, for instance. If his friends hadn't saved him a few pieces, he might've burst into tears.
Surrounded by owls, Sean quietly observed, the bustle around him feeling distant.
After leaving the Great Hall, Sean faced a new spell: the Summoning Charm, or Accio.
One of the oldest spells in wizarding society, it dated back centuries.
Its explanations were dense and convoluted, blending the insights of countless spellmasters.
Instead of clarifying, they made it feel like wading through a maze of words.
It reminded Sean of Hermione's long-winded explanations in class.
But Sean excelled at sifting through the clutter to find what worked. For him, it was half the effort for twice the result.
In the classroom, he pulled a quill from his bag to practice.
But… he must've missed something.
"Focus, picture the item's properties… *Accio Quill!*"
The quill trembled slightly but didn't budge.
"The wand motion—you need to lift your palm upward," a voice interrupted.
Hermione pushed open the door, arms full of books.
"*Accio Quill!*" she said, waving her wand.
The quill still didn't move.
Now both of them were stumped.
They flipped through their books until Justin burst in.
"Hey, Sean, Hermione… are you practicing on a quill lollipop?"