Chapter 49: 49: Jazz Techniques

Soon, after making their arrangements, the opposing parties dispersed.

As Harry and Ron passed by, they were still whispering

"What's the deal with wizard dueling?" Harry asked. "And what did you mean about being my assistant?"

"Oh, if you die, the assistant steps in," Ron said nonchalantly. He then realized Harry's pale expression and added, "I mean, you know, people only die when they're having a formal duel with a real wizard. You and Malfoy can, at most, shoot sparks at each other."

"What if I wave my wand and nothing happens?"

"Then throw your wand away and punch him right in the nose," Ron said firmly.

"Good heavens!" Hermione's face was flushed with anger. "Do they have no idea how many points they'll lose?! I worked so hard to earn those points, and even though... even though we can't even match Ravenclaw, they're still going to lose points!"

With that, she stormed off in a fury. Her worried friend, Justin, immediately followed her. "Oh, Sean, we'll be right back... don't worry, I won't let Hermione be bullied."

Sean nodded.

In truth, he was currently more focused on the Yorkshire pudding in front of him. Justin could handle the arguments with Ron and the others; he was a full head taller than them, so Ron would have to be a bit more careful if he wanted to say anything hurtful.

At the same time, Sean knew that because of this midnight duel, Harry would encounter Fluffy for the first time, and his own adventures for this school year would officially begin.

But that had nothing to do with Sean. If anything, the biggest connection was that once Harry drove Voldemort away, the security of Hogwarts would be much higher. At least for this school year, Sean could focus on grinding his proficiency in peace.

...

As it was the final day before flying lessons, the enthusiasm of the Ravenclaws was practically soaring into the sky.

After politely bidding farewell to Madam Pince, Sean could still hear loud discussions about Quidditch echoing in the corridors. Before leaving, Madam Pince had still been looking through his notes with great interest. This lady, whom the young wizards both respected and feared, wasn't always irritable; or rather, it was the behavior of the young wizards that made her so. Anyone would be angry if they saw their carefully organized books turned into a mess or their clean desks covered in scribbles.

Thus, Sean would silently do a little something—casting a few cleaning charms was simple and didn't take much time.

Sean's History of Magic notes were already half-complete, and the erudite Madam Pince had given him many useful suggestions. Whenever Sean fell into confusion, this kind lady would inadvertently offer him certain books, saving him an immeasurable amount of time.

Closing the heavy oak doors of the library once again, the cool evening breeze made Sean's hair dance in the wind. At some point, Sir Cadogan had squeezed his way past the wizard in black robes in the portrait above his head.

"Oh—Sean Green!"

Sean ignored him.

"Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow you have your flying lesson, and yet you don't want to seek advice from Scotland's greatest Seeker today?"

As Sean walked with his head down, Sir Cadogan scurried through several portraits, stepping through the golden wheat fields of a beautiful lady in a straw hat one moment, and narrowly avoiding several monks the next.

"Sir, you are a figure from the time of King Arthur, and the first Quidditch World Cup was held in 1473..." Sean said helplessly.

"A little trick, and at least you're willing to talk to me, aren't you? Violet—three bottles of strong liquor!" Sir Cadogan bellowed, stretching his throat.

"Very well, Sir, you certainly have a way with words," Madam Violet, dressed in a long gown, said with a helpless smile, accepting her loss in the bet.

"Aha—even if it's only for the sake of the liquor, I must give you some advice."

Sean looked at the seemingly unreliable knight with suspicion. To his surprise, the knight jumped up directly, only to be kicked far away by a startled pony, but he scrambled back up quickly.

"I've watched five centuries of Quidditch, little Green! I know it even better than that lady who lectures!"

"Go on then," Sean said, instantly pulling out his notebook.

"Ahem, this is an exclusive secret. Aside from the young wizards I take a liking to, I won't tell a soul. The last one to receive this technique was called Potter, something like that... he was a talented fellow too..." Sir Cadogan said with a look of reminiscence.

"Let me tell you, when wizards invented flying broomsticks, it wasn't just because brooms were the only things that could fly. It was because wizards etched their spells onto the brooms. You aren't riding a broom; you are riding a spell. It is the spell that gives the broom the magic to fly. Once you realize this, you will understand—to control flight, you must control yourself."

It seemed to make a lot of sense, so Sean thanked him sincerely. "Thank you, Sir."

"Ahem—" Sir Cadogan's chin nearly reached the sky.

After Sean left, the knight muttered, "Little Green, don't go moving the monk portraits this time. Last time, Madam Violet chased me with a broom all day long..."

...

The fireplace in the Ravenclaw common room was always cozy. The young wizards habitually gathered around to discuss Quidditch.

Sean thought of Sir Cadogan's words. *Potter... talented...*

Whichever Potter it was, they seemed to possess an extraordinary talent for Quidditch. Harry, in particular, had relied on his flying skills to pass the obstacles on the fourth floor and had even navigated the dragon's obstacle during the Triwizard Tournament to claim the Golden Egg.

So, could he...

No, how could Sir Cadogan have seen that?

Friday.

The Hogwarts Quidditch pitch lay silently at the edge of the Forbidden Forest; it was a magically enchanted arena. On either side of the three-hundred-foot-long oval pitch stood three golden poles, with the goal area in the middle, looking much like a giant's tossing game.

There were many stories regarding these goals. They used to be hoops located at the top of the poles. Later, they were reformed into goals between two poles. The reason for the reform was simple: in the north, near Barnton, the wizards there would place those tiny, small hoops on the opponent's goalposts, making it impossible to score even a single grape. Yet, on their own end, they could even make those large willow-woven holes spin. The Department of Magical Sports suffered a major setback there, and the reform was subsequently enforced. At the time, angry protesters gathered in the Great Hall and threw a massive amount of hoops, forcing the Department's reform representatives to retreat step by step. Another interesting point was that these ensuing riots were instigated by meddling goblins.

...

Beneath the tall golden poles, the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students also entered the pitch.

"Sean, aren't those broomsticks too thin? Can you even ride those?" Sean heard Justin whisper.