"Excellent work, Mr. Green!" Madam Hooch strode toward Sean, her posture brisk, a sharp edge to her smile even as she planted her hands on her hips. "You've mastered plenty of flying techniques—hovering, turning, looping—all the basics. But today, we're going to try sothing different."
A breeze swept through the Quidditch pitch, bending the grass to one side. Sean wobbled as he dismounted his broom, only to be steadied by Madam Hooch's firm grip.
"Not bad. Take a breather, then you'll face it."
With a flick of her wand, a wooden fra floated out from the broom shed, filled with golf balls.
Sean watched as Madam Hooch tossed one upward. The ball, enchanted with so spell, rocketed high and fast, hovering briefly in the air.
The tall witch who'd been beside him vanished in a blink, leaving Sean to quietly pull a potion bottle from his bag. He chugged it down with a few gulps—it tasted like fruit juice, nothing like the sticky, bitter strengthening potions described in books.
Snape's potions were, as expected, perfectly crafted. Disobeying his recipes would be like facing a Boggart tailored just for Sean: a catastrophic potion explosion.
Snape would probably just sneer and mutter, "Riddikulus."
Madam Hooch noticed the scene, her eyebrow arching as if she'd spotted sothing remarkable, giving the young wizard an extra glance.
Sean's flying proficiency had reached:
[Flying Skills: Beginner Level (190/270)]
[Advanced: Skilled Level Flying Techniques, unlocks Skilled Flyer title]
Sean figured the new title was just days away.
In the air, the golf balls mimicked a toned-down version of a Bludger.
Enchanted with a spell, they'd drift slowly to the ground if not caught, like sinking through water. Sean's task was to snatch them midair.
It was tough, but not that tough.
The wind roared in his ears as he streaked across the sky like a falcon, pushing his broom to its limits. The old thing groaned as if it might fall apart, but Sean stayed calm.
It wasn't just the broom hitting its limits.
"Remarkable talent!" Madam Hooch called out, watching as Sean deftly grabbed a golf ball, gliding through the clouds against the deep blue sky.
In just three tries, he'd gone from fumbling to catching them with ease.
"Mr. Green, you're destined to be a star Seeker," she said, her gaze lingering on him, a mix of emotions in her eyes.
Why didn't such a talented kid love Quidditch?
[Nearly seventy percent of early Quidditch fouls ca from Seekers, with all sorts of dirty tricks: 'Setting Fire to an Opponent's Broom Tail,' 'Bludgeoning an Opponent's Broom,' 'Axe Attack on an Opponent'—re appetizers.]
Lines from Quidditch Through the Ages flashed through Sean's mind. If there were a rattle nearby, it'd be his head shaking.
"Next week, I'll conduct your flying test," Madam Hooch said, hands on her hips, sounding resigned. "First-years only get one shot at it, so bring a new broom. As for that Cot 160… it belongs in the shed."
She walked off, leaving Sean puzzled and a bit worried.
Where was he supposed to find a Nimbus 1500?
In the afternoon classroom, not a single Ravenclaw dared speak.
It was Transfiguration.
Professor McGonagall's eyes drifted to Sean for the third ti, unnoticed by him as he focused intently, waving his wand. A rat transford into a snuffbox, then back again.
He kept going until his face paled, and he flipped open Interdiate Transfiguration.
The book, borrowed from the Hogwarts library for two Galleons, differed from A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration only in its cover—a green bead in the center instead of red.
It detailed transformations like turning a teapot into a tortoise, emphasizing whether the tortoise's tail stead or its shell bore wicker patterns, or morphing a slipper into a rabbit, focusing on the completeness of the rabbit's ears.
These transformations all centered on turning inanimate objects into living ones.
McGonagall's response to Sean's questions confird his suspicions.
"Basic Transfiguration involves changing one inanimate object into another," she explained. "Interdiate Transfiguration shifts between animate and inanimate objects. Advanced Transfiguration, however, transforms one living thing into another—like a tortoise into a rabbit."
She seed pleased with Sean's curiosity about the essence of magic. "Mr. Green, rember: the more advanced the transformation, the greater the power required. Don't attempt it carelessly."
She handed him a set of notes.
Sean read them carefully, then began practicing, his eyes fixed on a teapot as he visualized a tortoise's traits per McGonagall's guidance.
Transfiguration was a dangerous branch of magic, safest to practice under a professor's watch. If Sean accidentally turned himself into a badger, McGonagall could reverse it quickly.
In the books, a young wizard once turned a friend into a badger by mistake. Without a swift counter-curse, they might've stayed a badger forever.
The office fireplace crackled, the Quidditch pitch roared outside, and wizard chess pieces in the corridor shouted "Aha!" or "Get lost!" as students played.
Inside, Sean practiced until he was drained. In his hand, a dark green tortoise crawled, steam puffing from its tail.
The panel chid repeatedly:
[You practiced an in-depth Interdiate Transfiguration at Apprentice level, Proficiency 50]
Sean figured "in-depth" referred to turning inanimate objects into living ones. Gaining 50 proficiency at Apprentice level was impressive.
After reverting the tortoise, he looked expectantly at McGonagall, ignoring his ghostly pale face.
"Well done, Mr. Green. Significant progress," she said, her voice warm but her eyes subtly downcast.
Sean didn't notice. He tidied the office and softly closed the door as he left.
His panel updated:
[Transfiguration: Beginner Level (800/900)]
Lost in thoughts of Transfiguration, the chatter of nearby students faded into the background.
McGonagall stood by the door, watching his retreating figure, as she had countless tis late at night.
"Minerva, you think highly of that boy?" A steady voice broke the silence. A white-bearded wizard, Albus Dumbledore, appeared beside her.
"There's no such thing as coincidence, Albus," McGonagall said, her eyes softening with a trace of pride and heartache. "If that boy's determined to find sothing, he will."
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