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Chapter 65: The Flight Test
🕑 Added 2025-10-31 02:09:00 +0000 UTCChapter 65: The Flight Test
"Excellent work, Mr. Green!" Madam Hooch strode briskly towards Sean, hands on her hips. Even her smile held a certain sharp intensity. "You've mastered many of the basic flying techniques – hovering, turning, circling. Today, we practice something different."
A light breeze swept across the Quidditch pitch, rustling the grass. Sean dismounted, stumbling slightly, but Madam Hooch's steady hand caught his arm. "Good. Take a moment. Next, you face this."
With a flick of her wand, a wooden crate appeared from the broom shed, filled to the brim with what looked like ordinary golf balls. Madam Hooch tossed one high into the air. It shot upwards with unnatural speed, then hung suspended for a moment, seemingly defying gravity.
The tall witch who had been standing beside Madam Hooch a moment ago had vanished. Sean discreetly pulled a phial from his bag and downed the contents in one gulp, pretending he hadn't seen anything. He tucked the empty phial away. Snape's revitalizing potions tasted surprisingly like fruit juice, a far cry from the thick, bitter sludge described in the textbook recipes for Strengthening Solution. Sean wouldn't dare deviate from a published recipe, but Snape seemed to treat them like Boggarts – Sean saw potential explosions, while Snape just sneered, "Riddikulus."
Madam Hooch raised an eyebrow, observing the exchange with keen interest, her sharp eyes lingering on Sean for an extra moment.
Sean checked his Panel:
[Flying Skill: Novice (190/270)]
[Next Tier: Adept Flyer (Requires Adept-level Flying Skill)]
The next title is close, he thought. Just a few more days.
In the air, the enchanted golf balls behaved like miniature, less aggressive Quaffles. Madam Hooch had cast a charm on them; if missed, they would descend slowly, as if sinking through water. Sean's task was to catch them mid-air before they reached the ground.
It was difficult, certainly. But not too difficult.
The wind roared in his ears as he urged the broom forward, his form blurring like a hawk diving through the blue. He pushed the old broomstick to its absolute limit, feeling it shudder beneath him, threatening to fall apart. Yet, he remained calm. The broom wasn't the only thing reaching its limit.
"Astonishing talent!" Madam Hooch exclaimed from below as Sean snatched the golf ball from the air, clutching it tightly as he banked in a smooth arc against the clouds.
It had taken him only three attempts to go from fumbling uncertainty to a clean, decisive catch.
"Mr. Green," Madam Hooch said later, gazing at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable, "you are destined to be a star Seeker."
Sean just looked back at her, baffled. Why does everyone keep saying that?
[Historically, nearly seventy percent of all fouls committed in Quidditch targeted the Seeker, employing a wide array of despicable tactics. Examples include: setting fire to the opponent's broom tail ('Broom-tail Burn'); striking the opponent's broom with a club ('Bludger Backbeat'); and attempting to attack the opponent with an axe ('Axing Foul') – these were merely the appetizers.]
The passage from Quidditch Through the Ages flashed through Sean's mind. If he had a rattle, he'd be shaking it as vigorously as he was shaking his head now.
"Next week," Madam Hooch announced, planting her hands on her hips with an air of resignation, "I will administer your official Flight Test. First-years only get one attempt, so remember to bring your new broom. As for this Comet 260… it belongs back in the shed."
She strode off, leaving Sean standing alone, a mix of confusion and worry churning within him. Where on earth was he going to get a Nimbus 1500?
Afternoon Transfiguration class was held in absolute silence. Every Ravenclaw knew better than to risk Professor McGonagall's displeasure.
For the third time that lesson, McGonagall found her gaze drawn involuntarily to Sean. He worked with unwavering focus, transforming the rat back and forth into a snuffbox, honing his control. Only when his face grew visibly pale with exertion did he pause, turning to his copy of Intermediate Transfiguration. The library book, priced at two Galleons, differed from the beginner's guide only by the colour of the gem embedded in its gold-filigree cover – green instead of red.
It detailed more complex transformations, such as turning a teapot into a tortoise. The key indicators of success (or failure) were whether the tortoise's tail emitted steam, or if its shell retained the teapot's willow pattern. Another exercise involved changing slippers into rabbits, focusing on achieving fully formed ears. The emphasis seemed to be on transforming inanimate objects into animate ones.
Professor McGonagall's explanation after class confirmed Sean's suspicion.
"Basic Transfiguration involves changing one inanimate object into another. Intermediate Transfiguration deals with transformations between animate and inanimate objects. Advanced Transfiguration," she elaborated, seeing his keen interest, "involves changing one animate object into another – a tortoise into a rabbit, for example. Remember, Mr. Green," she added, her voice softening slightly, "the more advanced the transformation, the greater the power required. Do not attempt spells beyond your current capabilities."
She handed him another set of her personal notes. After carefully reading through them, Sean immediately drew his wand, his eyes fixed on the teapot on her desk, visualizing the attributes of a tortoise as instructed. Transfiguration was dangerous; practicing under the professor's direct supervision was the only sensible approach. If he accidentally turned himself into a badger, at least she could quickly reverse it. (He recalled reading about an incident where a student had accidentally transfigured their friend into a badger, and according to McGonagall, a delay in casting the counter-spell could have made the transformation permanent.)
The fire crackled merrily in the hearth. Outside, cheers erupted from the Quidditch pitch, and the occasional shouts of Wizard's Chess pieces – "Aha!" "Off with you!" – drifted up from the courtyard below. Inside the quiet office, Sean practiced until he was utterly drained. A small, dark green tortoise crawled slowly across the desk, puffing tiny wisps of steam from its tail.
The Panel chimed repeatedly:
[You have practiced an advanced intermediate Transfiguration to the Apprentice standard. Proficiency +50]
Advanced intermediate Transfiguration, Sean noted. Inanimate to animate. Fifty points even at the Apprentice level… Excellent.
He reversed the transformation, then looked up expectantly at Professor McGonagall, oblivious to his own deathly pallor.
"Very good, Mr. Green. Significant progress," McGonagall praised, her voice warm with approval, though her brow furrowed almost imperceptibly with concern.
Sean didn't notice. He quietly tidied the office, then let himself out, closing the door softly behind him.
His Panel had updated:
[Transfiguration: Novice (800/900)]
He walked down the corridor, lost in thought, the usual student bustle fading into the background.
Professor McGonagall stood by her door for a long moment, watching his retreating figure, just as she had watched him depart into the late evenings countless times before.
"Minerva," a calm voice said beside her. Albus Dumbledore had appeared, his blue eyes twinkling. "You seem quite invested in that boy."
"There are no coincidences in this world, Albus," McGonagall replied, her voice soft, laced with a mixture of pride and heartache. "If that boy is determined to find something, he will find it."
