Two boys on broomsticks hovered quite high above a green field, illuminated by the morning sun creeping out from behind the hills. Behind them was Hogwarts; ahead lay the Quidditch stadium with its tall stands and towers. If one squinted, figures in red uniforms could be seen darting about on brooms over the stadium pitch, but that was the Gryffindors having their fun. Here, however, the two observers watched as, below them at breakneck speeds, four of their teammates chased a fifth, executing incredible maneuvers in an attempt to hit him with a beam of blue light from the gloves on their hands.
They tried unsuccessfully, for this boy was performing absolutely insane, and more importantly, incredibly sharp and unexpected maneuvers.
The Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain, who was also the Seeker, a Prefect, and generally a fine young man who had racked up enough "achievents" for his age to rival Dumbledore (scaled for age, of course), hung motionless in the air alongside his teammate, the Keeper. They watched intently, scrutinizing every detail of Hector's maneuvers.
"Does he even look where he's going?" Herbert, the Keeper, marveled. "Does he have eyes in the back of his head? And on his heels? And on his..."
"He just feels it," Cedric replied with a smile. "I do that too. Just not as precisely or on such a scale."
Hector pulled off another stunt, dodging the beams again and again. Suddenly, he accelerated, yanked his broom upward into a vertical climb, and spun a full hundred and eighty degrees very quickly, executing a split-S in the process.
"Whoa!" Herbert wobbled on his broom in surprise. "Imlmann?"
Hector simply "dropped" through the air, stopping almost instantly, while the others, having lost sight of him, flew past. They lost a couple of seconds turning around and trying to spot Hector, but he had already vanished into the bushes.
"Sun," Cedric replied with a smile. "He masked his disappearance with the low sun."
"Huh? Oh!"
The four on brooms scattered in different directions, searching for the last "survivor" in their ga of tag, but to no avail.
"You know, Cedric..." Herbert rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Oh, don't start..."
"Co on! It's obvious!" Herbert looked at the Prefect-Captain-Seeker indignantly, pointing down toward Hector's presud location. "The Cleansweep is only holding him back."
"I'm not blind," Cedric's face grew serious, a rare occurrence. "I can see perfectly well that he knows exactly what he wants to do, and he does it. Excellent reaction ti, route planning, instant reassessnt of the situation. And yes, the Cleansweep is like an anchor around his neck."
"Seee?" Herbert raised a finger didactically to the sky.
"And you, as always, are suggesting slipping him sothing from your father's departnt?"
"Why not? He gets crates of brooms sent for certification and expertise, and he's free to do whatever he wants with them, except sell them or engage in other comrcial activities. However..."
"Advertising..." Cedric shook his head reproachfully.
"Yes! And yes again!" Herbert was clearly riding his favorite hobby horse, drifting closer to the captain. "The Swedes sent us a batch of brand new Sleipnirs. Very peculiar brooms with an ambitious na."
"And what's so special about them?"
"It'll be just right for Hector," Herbert nodded confidently, trying to spot the rookie, who was hiding sowhere from the others. Hiding in mid-air, no less. "You can see he doesn't give a damn about standard flight norms; he spins around the shaft however he wants."
"Ew, don't make it sound dirty."
"I can't help it! You see how he plays with the broom's thrust vectors! He doesn't care when, where, or how he applies impulse, even without changing his body position."
"I see, I see. I do that myself, but not like that... Not like that..." Cedric twirled his hand in the air, demonstrating "not like that."
"Exactly! And you know that for most brooms, the total impulse power, max thrust, and other paraters are split into vectors in various proportions. Cleansweeps are more or less universal, but weak and slow to respond, and the acceleration impulse is dull. Cots are better, with a stronger forward acceleration impulse..."
"I know broom specs, Herbert. I know them perfectly well."
"Yeah, right. Do you know the Firebolt's specs? Not the store catalog ones, but the real ones?"
Cedric was extrely interested in this information; even he had succumbed to childish enthusiasm and run to Diagon Alley a couple of tis to stare at the miracle displayed in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies.
"I see you don't," Herbert smirked.
"...there he is, get him!" ca the shout from the team mbers who had spotted Hector.
"Anyway, the Firebolt is a tricky thing. You know why it's so fast?"
"Just say it, don't drag it out."
"Unlike the others, it can shift reserved power from the front hemisphere to the rear. Get it?"
"Hmm, that makes sense. Only front to back?"
"Well, I assu Spudmore rightly decided no one would be racing broom-handle-first."
The boys seed to imagine such a picture simultaneously, causing grins to appear on their faces.
"Anyway, the Swedes either sto..."
"Herbert!"
"Stole the idea, basically, or sothing else, but the Sleipnir can redirect all its power and impulse to a single vector, spread it across a hemisphere, or even pit vectors against each other."
"Cool, sure, but who needs that? Test pilots described the Firebolt as a death machine because you need to clearly understand the concept of braking, or be able to pull an Imlmann turn without changing altitude and apply braking with main thrust."
. . .
"Autobrake..."
"Automarketing," Cedric dismissed. "Killing yourself on a Firebolt is as easy as spitting. You either engage it yourself, or it recognizes an obstacle. But if the obstacle is too soft, the system doesn't see it. It doesn't see water either. Ever fallen into water from a height? No? I don't recomnd it. Not much better than the ground."
"Yeah, and the Sleipnir lacks automatic correction systems entirely, which allowed them to boost impulse and response speed to absurd levels."
"I get it. You want the new Chaser dead."
"No, I don't! Look," Herbert nodded toward another chase after the boy. A fruitless chase. "He controls not just every maneuver—every instant of flight. Through my father, I can arrange a deal with the Swedes..."
"Your father will arrange it with the Swedes," Cedric nodded, earning a reproachful look from his comrade. "Alright, alright, you will arrange it, fine."
"Yeah. I'll arrange an advertising campaign. Basically, they provide our player with a broom on which he wins matches, not as a Seeker, but as a Chaser! On goal difference! Bonuses for the team, so cash for Hector, and he gets to keep the broom. Provided he secures the victory in at least a couple of gas this season."
Cedric fell into thought, watching as Hector once again left everyone in the dust—but this ti not by hiding. Instead, he spun around the other players at super-close range, preventing them from aiming with their gloves, or interrupting the beam by hiding behind other players.
"Why don't you take a Sleipnir for yourself?" Cedric smirked. "As a Keeper, a broom with good impulse in any direction would be very useful."
"Nah, mate. Those born to crawl only fly downwards. I don't have the brains to control so many factors at once; I tried," Herbert waved it off. "I just can't overco my instincts in that regard. Maybe in five years, and with the desire to be specifically the best Keeper..."
"Fine. But before you organize contracts, get the broom here for a test flight. If Hector grasps its essence and agrees, then we'll talk to him. If not—sorry."
"Sigh, I'm doing it for the team..."
"We aren't 'Gryffs'; we don't play just for the sake of victory."
Cedric drew his wand and touched the tip to his throat.
"Enough!" the captain's voice bood across the field.
The bewildered mbers of the Hufflepuff team began flying toward him. Cedric looked them over—they looked pleased and not particularly tired, even though they had been chasing each other and swapping roles for nearly an hour and a half. Hector, however, looked the worst of all.
"Alright, landing at the changing rooms."
In a ragged wedge, the Hufflepuff team flew to the building doors and dismounted. Hector swayed, and Cedric, attentive and anticipating this, imdiately supported the boy by the elbow.
"You okay?"
The team's new Chaser looked just as pleased as everyone else, if not more so, but his face and uniform were drenched in sweat, and a slight pallor betrayed phenonal exhaustion.
"I'm fine. Just... not used to moving so actively. And the G-forces on the maneuvers."
"You held up great!" Herbert slapped the boy on the back, earning mild disapproval from Cedric. "But you need to work on your physical conditioning, yeah. Matches can last all day."
"Let's go already," Cedric literally pulled Hector into the changing room, and the others followed. "Wouldn't want to miss breakfast."
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