The Quidditch Ball

Justin's words caught Sean off guard, but Justin suddenly launched into an impassioned stream of words, rattling them off like a machine gun:

"We could let the Young Wizards at Hogwarts read them for free first.

I'm sure everyone has long been tormented enough by the dull History of Magic, Professor Binns's vague lectures, and those terrifyingly long History of Magic essays!"

He grew even more excited as he continued:

"If the feedback is good, we can contact a publisher and get them published. Just think about it—students at more than one magical school need these!"

Sean did not answer immediately. He knew that distributing and publishing books was a long process.

"The notes aren't comprehensive."

Sean said softly. He studied History of Magic for the subject itself, and even if Justin's idea was somewhat feasible, it would not change his study plans.

Still, if it could bring some other benefits, that would not be bad either.

"Alright, alright. Then once you've finished the notes, you have to let me try promoting and selling them among the Young Wizards, okay?"

Justin's voice dropped considerably, carrying a sincere plea.

Sean nodded.

Hogwarts was far noisier than usual on Monday, and in the corridors, classrooms, and Common Room, Young Wizards could be seen enthusiastically discussing something everywhere.

Sean was rather puzzled by all this, but he had no intention of looking into it, as he was preparing to head to the hidden classroom.

In the corridor, Sean suddenly heard a cough, and looked up to find that it had come from Sir Cadogan—

he had tied straw all over himself, attempting to disguise himself as a scarecrow in a beautiful Oil Painting of a wheat field.

But he had forgotten to take off his armor, and had also forgotten to remove his sword.

The portraits at Hogwarts often wandered about, and sometimes they felt they were no different from the furniture.

So what could be more entertaining than seeing who could disguise themselves as another portrait for the longest?

Unfortunately, Sir Cadogan had never been good at this sort of disguise.

Just imagine it: he had once imitated Violet, sitting in her picture frame and wearing her hat while speaking loudly in a ridiculous voice.

It was probably much the same as Professor Snape dressing as a woman.

"Cough, cough—"

Sean heard another cough. Somewhat helplessly, he tore off a sheet of paper, wrote Sir Cadogan's name on it, and stuck it onto the portrait.

"Oh—Little Green! You found me again!

How saddening. Why aren't you discussing Quidditch with the others instead?!"

Sean heard a miserable howl.

"Oh—dear Sir Cadogan, you couldn't even last three minutes—how pathetic. Looks like you owe me another bottle of strong liquor!"

A teasing female voice followed.

Sean turned his head in confusion. This was the second time he had heard the word Quidditch.

However, his confusion was quickly answered.

In the corridor, an older wizard broke through the layers of Young Wizards crowding around and pinned a sheet of gold-trimmed Parchment onto the Notice Board.

The first-year Young Wizards immediately burst into cheers—they were going to have Flying Class!

This Thursday and Friday.

After reading it, Sean felt a hint of anticipation as well, which directly resulted in him arriving at the Practice Room with several books in his arms:

"The Origin of Quidditch," "The Quidditch Ball," "Encyclopedia of Flying Brooms," "Flying Broom Care Manual," and "Official Guide to the Quidditch World Cup."

Of these, the best known was "The Quidditch Ball."

When Sean had received the book from Madam Pince, Madam Pince had even told him

that this book was practically "pawed through every day, dripped on with saliva, and abused by everyone."

Sean felt that for any book, this was praise.

As a result, his interest in the book grew even stronger.

"Lady Ravenclaw left behind at Hogwarts—"

"Diadem, spiral staircase, portrait."

Sean answered Mr. Owl's question a little too quickly and entered the classroom under Mr. Owl's glare.

"Sean? These in your hands are..."

Justin helped take three of the books, revealing Sean's large green eyes again.

"Wow! The Quidditch Ball! I heard getting this book from Madam Pince is harder than climbing to heaven."

Justin let out a surprised cry.

"Hm?"

Sean looked somewhat puzzled.

"Because a Young Wizard really did use it as a pillow, and ended up drooling all over it."

Hermione explained with a rather speechless expression.

"Then, shall we read it together?"

Sean placed the books on the desk.

The longing in Justin's eyes had long since become impossible to suppress. He was the first to move his stool over, followed by Hermione.

The three little heads huddled together.

The fruits of Quentin Quibbler's diligent research reveal a true treasure trove of hitherto unknown facts about this wizarding sport. A fascinating book.

—Bathilda Bagshot, author of History of Magic

When he opened the book, the first thing he saw were several introductory remarks. The witch who had written the review was Bathilda Bagshot, whom Sean knew well.

Mr. Quibbler has a bright future ahead of him. If he keeps up the good work, one day he may have the chance to take a photograph with me!

—Gilderoy Lockhart, author of Magical Me

This was Gilderoy Lockhart, whom Sean was barely familiar with.

Well, it really did sound like something he would say.

So Sean skipped that section and continued reading:

So far, wizards had not invented any spell

that allowed them to fly in human form without the aid of any tools, so they had tried many methods, but none of them worked.

The few Animagi could enjoy the pleasure of flight, but they were, after all, exceedingly rare.

Later, wizards transformed themselves into bats.

"Bats?"

That was clearly rather unexpected.

Justin even cried out in surprise.

The three continued reading curiously, though they all knew

that if turning into bats had worked, broomsticks would never have appeared.

This was proven to be foolish. Though wizards who transformed themselves into bats could fly to their hearts' content, because they had bat heads, they would inevitably forget where they wanted to go while flying.

Drifting about in midair was a common occurrence.

As they read further, Sean's green eyes suddenly lit up.

Now, we take for granted the fact that every wizarding household in Britain owns at least one broomstick, yet we rarely stop to ask ourselves:

Why?

Why had the unremarkable broomstick, as a means of transport for wizards, become an object sanctioned by law?

Why did we Westerners not use the Flying Carpets so beloved by our Eastern brothers?

Why were we unwilling to bring out flying buckets, flying chairs, flying bathtubs—why brooms?