Justin's words caught Sean off guard. Before he could respond, Justin launched into an enthusiastic, rapid-fire pitch.
"We could totally let the Hogwarts students read it for free at first! I bet everyone's sick to death of boring old magical history, Professor Binns's rambling lectures, and those ridiculously long essays!"
He leaned in, his eyes gleaming. "If the feedback is good, we could contact a publisher! Think about it, Sean! Students at other magic schools need this too!"
Sean didn't answer imdiately. He knew publishing was a long and complex process. "The notes aren't comprehensive," he said quietly. His goal in studying history was for the knowledge itself. Even if Justin's idea was feasible, it wouldn't change his own study plans. Still, if it generated so extra inco… that wouldn't be unwelco.
"Alright, alright," Justin conceded, his voice softening into a sincere plea. "But once you do finish them, you have to let try selling them to the other students, right?"
Sean nodded.
Monday at Hogwarts was noticeably louder than usual. In the corridors, classrooms, and common rooms, students were buzzing with excited conversation. Sean found it puzzling but didn't dwell on it. He was heading to the hidden practice room.
As he walked, a loud cough echoed from nearby. He looked up to see Sir Cadogan attempting – and failing spectacularly – to blend into a scenic painting of a hayfield. The knight had draped himself in straw but had forgotten to remove his clanking suit of armour or his oversized sword.
Hogwarts portraits often wandered between fras, sotis seeing themselves as little more than moving furniture. A favourite pasti was seeing who could remain undetected in another portrait the longest. Sir Cadogan was notoriously bad at it. Sean recalled seeing him once cramd into Lady Violet's fra, wearing her hat and booming pleasantries in his usual stentorian tones. The effect was probably similar to Snape in Neville's grandmother's clothes.
"Ahem! COUGH!"
Sighing, Sean tore a corner off his spare parchnt, wrote SIR CADOGAN in large letters, and stuck it to the fra.
"Oh! Young Green! You've spotted again!" the knight wailed dramatically. "How disheartening! Why aren't you off discussing Quidditch with the others?"
"Oh, dear Sir Cadogan," ca Lady Violet's teasing voice from her own portrait nearby. "You didn't even last three minutes! That's another bottle of sherry you owe !"
Sean paused. That was the second ti he'd heard Quidditch ntioned today. His curiosity was piqued, but it was soon satisfied.
Further down the corridor, an older student pushed through a crowd of eager first-years and pinned a gold-trimd parchnt to the noticeboard. A cheer went up – Flying lessons were scheduled for Thursday and Friday this week!
A spark of anticipation lit within Sean as well. By the ti he reached the hidden practice room, he was carrying several new books: Quidditch Through the Ages, The Wonder of Wigtown Wanderers, Handbook of Broom Care, Which Broomstick?, and the Official Guide to the Quidditch World Cup.
Quidditch Through the Ages was by far the most famous. When Madam Pince had reluctantly handed it over, she'd complained that it was "pawed about, dribbled on, and generally maltreated nearly every day." High praise for any book, Sean thought, which only increased his interest.
"Lady Ravenclaw left behind at Hogwarts—" the owl portrait began its riddle.
"Her diadem, the staircases, and portraits," Sean finished quickly, ignoring the owl's indignant squawk as he slipped through the door.
"Sean? What are all these?" Justin asked, helping him with three of the books, revealing Sean's bright green eyes from behind the stack.
"Whoa! Quidditch Through the Ages!" Justin breathed in awe. "I heard getting that book out of Madam Pince is harder than wrestling a Blast-Ended Skrewt."
"Hmm?" Sean looked puzzled.
"Because so idiot actually used it as a pillow and drooled all over it," Hermione explained, rolling her eyes.
"Well, shall we read it together?" Sean offered, placing the book on a newly cleaned desk.
Justin, practically vibrating with eagerness, pulled up a stool imdiately, followed closely by Hermione. The three of them huddled together.
Kennilworthy Whisp's painstaking research has uncovered a veritable treasure trove of hitherto unknown facts about the sport of warlocks. A fascinating read.
— Bathilda Bagshot, Author of A History of Magic
Sean recognized the na. He flipped past the foreword.
Mr Whisp shows promise. If he keeps up the good work, he may well find himself sharing a photoshoot with one day!
— Gilderoy Lockhart, Author of Magical
Sean vaguely recalled Lockhart. Yes, that sounded exactly like sothing he would say. He skipped ahead again.
Wizards have, as yet, failed to discover a spell that will enable them to fly unaided in human form… As a result, wizards sought alternatives. Few Animagi could transform into winged creatures capable of flight… Others attempted to transfigure themselves into bats.
"Bats?" Justin exclaid, clearly surprised. The three of them read on, curious, though they all knew that if turning into a bat had been a viable solution, broomsticks would never have been invented.
This proved foolish. While wizards who transfigured themselves into bats could indeed fly, they invariably forgot where they intended to go once they had bat-brains. Levitation was commonplace.
He continued reading, and suddenly, his green eyes lit up with intense interest.
We take it for granted today that every wizarding household in Britain owns at least one flying broomstick. We rarely stop to ask ourselves why. Why did the humble broomstick beco the sole object legally sanctioned as a ans of wizarding transport? Why did we in the West not adopt the carpet so beloved of our Eastern brethren? Why weren't we prepared to accept flying barrels, flying armchairs, flying bathtubs – why brooms?
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