The next morning was bright, clear, and cold. The Great Hall was filled with the tantalizing aroma of roasting sausages and the excited chatter of students anticipating the first Quidditch match of the season.
"Like we said, Harry, you'll be brilliant!" Ron declared, offering encouragent from the Gryffindor table, just behind where Sean was sitting.
Harry nodded, though he looked pale. The wizarding world's obsession with Quidditch was intense. He and Ron both felt that if Harry could prove his talent on the pitch, maybe he'd finally feel like he belonged, like he had value… just as Justin had his amazing cooking magic and his organizational skills (he had taken over managing Sean's entire note-distribution system), and Neville had his surprising gift for Herbology, contributing rare plants for them to study. Even Hermione was the group's primary tutor, patiently explaining spells, only escalating the truly difficult questions to Sean.
According to Justin, Sean knew everything, and had even developed a special system for tracking their magical proficiency levels. This revelation had blown Harry and Ron's minds. Spells had levels?! They had assud passing the end-of-year exams was all that mattered. The two, whose motto had previously been "passing is winning," had no idea what new obsession was about to consu them.
"You'll be great," Ron repeated, though he seed even more nervous than Harry. This wasn't just a ga; it was their ticket into Sean's inner circle.
At the Ravenclaw table, Justin watched the two Gryffindors and had to suppress a laugh. Sean glanced over, and Justin imdiately schooled his features. He's been a bit odd lately, Sean thought.
By eleven o'clock, the entire school seed to be in the stands. Many students held binoculars. The seats were high, but the action was often still hard to follow.
The match began. Sean, Justin, Hermione, and Neville sat near the back. Sean found the ga itself—while thrilling for the others—a bit like watching children play in slow motion. His own flying standards had far surpassed this. The comntary, however, was far more entertaining.
"And Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor takes the Quaffle," Lee Jordan's voice bood over the crowd. "What an excellent Chaser, that girl. And quite attractive, too—"
"JORDAN!" Professor McGonagall's warning voice snapped.
"Sorry, Professor."
The Gryffindor stands roared as their team scored, the sound echoing in the cold air, punctuated by groans from the Slytherins. Suddenly, the Gryffindors yelled in anger. Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Chaser, had deliberately slamd into Harry, nearly knocking him off his broom.
"—so, after that blatant and disgusting bit of cheating—" Lee Jordan roared, forgetting his impartiality.
"Jordan!" McGonagall barked.
"I an, after that open and revolting foul—"
"Jordan, I'm warning you—"
"Alright, alright! Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor! Taken by Spinnet, who passes, and the ga continues, Gryffindor still in possession."
His sarcasm was, if anything, more infuriating than the direct accusation. The Slytherin stands seethed. Sean suspected McGonagall sat next to Lee not just to moderate his comntary, but to prevent him from being lynched by angry Slytherins.
Sean quietly pulled out A Guide to Ancient Runes. He was only here because McGonagall had told him, "You should get out more, child. The Quidditch match is today."
Suddenly, a violent uproar swept the stadium. Harry's broom was bucking and twitching wildly, carrying him high, away from the ga. It began to roll, and Harry was barely hanging on by one hand.
Sean's head snapped up. He knew this scene. He glanced over just as Hermione disappeared into the crowd, pushing her way towards the teachers' stand. She was so focused she knocked Professor Quirrell flat on his back, trampling him without an apology. Sean heard her muttering, "It's Snape… he's jinxing the broom…"
Sean's eyes widened, not at Harry, but at Hermione.
In the stands below, Hermione crouched beneath Snape, her wand aid at his robes, muttering an incantation. But before the spell could take effect, her magic fizzled. She looked up in panic and saw Sean standing a few rows back, his wand calmly lowered.
"Hermione, look," he said quietly.
High above, Harry had managed to swing his leg back over his broom. A mont later, the stadium exploded. Harry had caught the Snitch!
Hermione stared, baffled. "But… how? Why… Sean?"
Sean didn't answer, simply gesturing for her to follow him back to their seats, where Neville was openly weeping with relief.
In the Ravenclaw high stands.
Penelope Clearwater, the prefect, was furious. "You were in charge of recruitnt, Roger," she seethed at the team's burly alternate captain. "How did you miss a first-year who passed the official Flight Test? Even the Gryffindors knew about it!" She looked at him as if he were a particularly stupid troll.
"Who would have thought?" Roger Davies stamred, looking miserable. "No one's passed that test in… I don't even know how long!"
"Go find him!" Penelope snapped. "No—wait. I'll go find him."
But she wasn't the only one. As Sean left the stadium, he was cornered by two identical red-haired figures.
"You finished those books already?!"
"Never seen anyone with talent like yours—"
"We've got to teach you the real stuff!"
"But it'll cost you—"
(End of Chapter)
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