Chapter 49: The Knight

Soon, the several parties who had been at odds with each other dispersed after making their arrangements.

As Harry and Ron passed by, they were still whispering about it:

“What’s a wizard duel like?”

Harry asked,

“And what do you mean by being my assistant?”

“Oh, if you die, the assistant steps in.”

Ron said casually, then noticed Harry’s pale face and quickly corrected himself,

“I mean, you know, people only die in proper duels against real wizards.

You and Malfoy can at most shoot sparks at each other.”

“What if I wave my wand and nothing happens?”

“Then drop the wand and punch him in the nose.”

Ron’s voice was firm and decisive.

“Oh my goodness!”

Hermione’s face had turned red with anger,

“Don’t they even know how many points they’re going to lose?!

I worked so hard to earn all those points, and we still couldn’t match Ravenclaw—they’re still deducting them!”

She stormed off, and Justin, worried for her, immediately followed:

“Oh, Wizard Sean, we’ll be right back… don’t worry, I’m here—Hermione won’t be bullied.”

Wizard Sean nodded,

though right now he was more focused on the Yorkshire pudding in front of him.

Justin could handle the quarrel between Ron and the others—he was a full head taller than Ron and the rest,

which meant Ron would have to think twice before saying anything hurtful.

At the same time, Wizard Sean knew that because of this midnight duel, Harry would encounter the three-headed dog for the first time,

and his adventures this school year would officially begin.

But that had nothing to do with Wizard Sean. If anything did,

it was that once Harry drove Voldemort away, Hogwarts would become much safer,

and at least for this school year, Wizard Sean could focus on grinding his proficiency.

…

As the last day before Flying Class,

the Ravenclaws’ excitement was soaring to the heavens.

After politely bidding farewell to Mrs. Pince, Wizard Sean could still hear loud discussions about Quidditch echoing down the corridors.

Even as she left, Mrs. Pince was still flipping through his notes with keen interest.

This lady, whom the young witches and wizards both respected and feared, was not always irritable,

or rather, it was the students’ behavior that made her irritable.

Anyone would be angry if their carefully organized books were messed up or their neatly cleaned desks were scribbled on.

So Wizard Sean quietly did a little something himself,

casting a few cleaning charms was simple and didn’t take much time.

Wizard Sean’s History of Magic notes were already half completed, and the learned Mrs. Pince had given him many useful suggestions;

whenever Wizard Sean was confused, this kind woman would casually slip him a book—saving him countless hours.

He closed the library’s heavy oak door once again.

The cool evening breeze stirred Wizard Sean’s hair, and Sir Cadogan had somehow displaced the black-robed wizard in the portrait above him:

“Oh—Wizard Sean Green (see green)!”

Wizard Sean ignored him.

“Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow you’ll have Flying Class—yet today you won’t seek advice from Scotland’s greatest Chaser?”

Wizard Sean kept walking with his head down, while Sir Cadogan darted between several portraits,

now stepping across a golden wheat field belonging to a beautiful lady in a straw hat, then narrowly avoiding a group of monks.

“Sir, you’re from the time of King Arthur, but the first Quidditch World Cup was held in 1473…”

Wizard Sean said helplessly.

"A little trick— at least you're willing to talk to me, aren't you? Violet—three bottles of strong wine!"

Sir Cadogan shouted, stretching his voice.

“Alright, Sir, you really know how to work it.”

Madame Violet, dressed in a long gown, smiled helplessly—she had lost the bet.

“Ah ha—considering the wine, I suppose I ought to give you some advice.”

Wizard Sean eyed the seemingly unreliable knight skeptically.

But the knight suddenly leapt up—only to be kicked far away by a startled pegasus, yet he quickly scrambled back to his feet:

“I’ve watched five centuries of Quidditch, young Green—I know it better than the woman who teaches it!”

“Go on.”

Wizard Sean instantly pulled out his notebook.

“Hmm, this is a secret technique—I only share it with the young witches and wizards I take a shine to—I’ve never told anyone else,

the last one who got this trick was… what was his name? Potter—yes, Potter. A talented lad, too…”

Sir Cadogan looked wistful,

“Let me tell you: when wizards invented the flying broom, it wasn’t because only brooms could fly,

but because they carved their spells onto the brooms. You don’t ride the broom—you ride the spell.

It’s the spell that gives the broom its flight. When you realize this, you’ll understand—

control yourself, and you control flight.”

It made sense. Wizard Sean sincerely thanked him:

“Thank you.”

“Hmm—”

Sir Cadogan’s chin was practically pointing at the sky.

After Wizard Sean left, the knight muttered:

“Young Green, don’t you dare move the monk portraits again—last time, Madame Violet chased me all day with a broom…”

…

The fireplace in the Ravenclaw common room was always warm.

The young witches and wizards habitually sat together, talking about Quidditch.

Wizard Sean remembered Sir Cadogan’s words: Potter… talented…

Whoever this Potter was, he clearly had exceptional talent for Quidditch;

Harry had even used his flying skills to pass the obstacle on the fourth floor and, in the Triwizard Tournament, navigated past dragons to claim the Golden Egg.

So could it be…

No—how could Sir Cadogan have known?

Friday,

the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch lay quietly at the edge of the Forbidden Forest—a magically enhanced arena.

At either end of the three-hundred-foot oval field stood three golden posts; the central area between them was the goal zone, resembling a giant’s game of toss.

There were many stories about this goal.

Once, it had been a basket mounted atop the posts. Later, it was reformed into a goal between two posts.

The reason for the reform was simple: in the north, near Barneton,

wizards placed tiny baskets on the opposing team’s goalposts—you couldn’t even fit a grape inside.

But on their own end, they could make giant woven willow hoops spin.

The Department of Magical Sports and Games suffered a major setback, and the reform was eventually enforced.

At the time, angry protesters gathered in the hall and hurled countless baskets; the department’s reform representatives were forced to retreat step by step.

Another interesting point:

these subsequent riots were instigated by goblins stirring up trouble.

…

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

“Wizard Sean, isn’t that broom too thin? Can you even ride it?”

Wizard Sean heard Justin’s quiet question.