When Sean learned something himself, he valued one thing above all else: speed.
But when teaching others, he preferred a more measured approach. Step by step. Slow and steady.
"That's enough framework analysis for today," Sean said. "I'll show you the actual casting effect another time."
Bernard scratched his head, pulling a face.
"This spell is really hard."
"Take it slow," Sean encouraged. "You're a Lestrange."
At those words, Bernard's eyes lit up.
That's right. He was a member of the ancient House of Lestrange. No spell should be beyond him.
"Oh, and don't tell anyone else about the spells I'm teaching you."
Chris tilted her head. "Is there a problem with that?"
Sean shook his head.
"Not exactly. But it's always good to keep an ace up your sleeve."
By the time the meeting ended, it was already nine o'clock.
The members split into small groups and returned to the Slytherin common room one after another.
On the way back, Sean happened to run into Cassius, who was also heading toward the dormitories.
"Why do you smell like sweat?" Sean asked.
Cassius's face was still flushed from exertion.
"I just got back from the pitch. No one was around, so I practiced for a while."
Sean's heart skipped a beat.
He hadn't expected Cassius to take yesterday's defeat so seriously.
In class, Cassius always seemed carefree and laid-back, but the moment he stepped onto a Quidditch pitch, he became a completely different person.
"Don't overdo it," Sean said. "Your body won't hold up."
"I know. From now on, I'll only practice an hour every night," Cassius said seriously.
Cassius had joined the team in his second year.
At first, he rarely got the chance to play. Even occasional appearances as a substitute were enough to make him happy for days.
In third year, he became an official Chaser.
But last year, Harry joined the Gryffindor team, and Cassius's luck was terrible. In his very first match as a starter, Slytherin lost to Harry.
And this year…
According to the original timeline, the Quidditch season would be canceled midway because of the basilisk attacks.
But now, the basilisk incident might never happen.
Which meant the season would likely proceed as normal.
"And if the season goes on normally, Slytherin is going to lose again."
Ever since that loss to Gryffindor last year, Slytherin had started losing to every house in turn.
"I need to help Cassius."
As a friend, Sean couldn't stand watching him become discouraged by repeated defeats in the sport he loved.
"Sean, we should help him," Chris said.
"Yeah." Sean nodded.
Chris thought for a moment.
"Flint's tactical sense is awful. He only knows how to play physically. Maybe you should talk to him and convince him to pay more attention to strategy."
Given Sean's reputation in Slytherin, Flint would at least be willing to sit down and hear him out.
"But I don't know anything about Quidditch tactics," Sean said helplessly.
He'd never paid attention to Quidditch before. Asking him to discuss formations and strategy now was like expecting a fish to climb a tree.
Still, he said calmly, "I'll think of another way."
The next morning, Sunday, Sean headed to the Quidditch pitch after breakfast.
Following yesterday's practice match, Gryffindor had the field reservation, but Flint had ordered the Slytherin team to continue training on Sunday regardless.
"Have you figured out your plan?" Chris asked as they walked.
"You'll see," Sean said mysteriously.
When they arrived at the pitch, the stands were empty.
It was Sunday morning, after all.
Only the seven Slytherin players were in the air, practicing.
Flint was still dissatisfied with Draco's performance yesterday.
Actually, he was dissatisfied with everyone.
At that moment, Draco was circling the field in pursuit of the Golden Snitch, diving and climbing, darting left and right.
If there was one position that demanded the highest individual skill, it was Seeker.
A Seeker needed speed, reflexes, and precision.
Sean cupped his hands and shouted into the sky.
"Flint! Can we pause for a moment? I need to talk to you."
Hearing his voice from the stands, Flint turned.
When he saw Sean and Chris, he slowed his broom and descended.
He landed on the spectator tower and stepped off his broom.
"What do you want?"
Sean glanced at Cassius in the air, then looked Flint straight in the eye.
"I want to join the team."
"What? Did I hear that right?"
Flint stared at him in disbelief.
Sean's terrible flying grade was well known.
"Your grades in every other subject are untouchable," Flint said. "But Quidditch? With that Dreadful in Flying? This has to be a joke."
Even Chris was stunned.
Flint had only heard stories. Chris had personally witnessed Sean's disastrous flying every year.
Some students even joked in private that Sean's cerebellum hadn't developed properly.
"I'm not joking," Sean said seriously. "I'm here to help Slytherin win the championship."
Flint couldn't help but sneer.
"With your flying skills? If you took the tryouts, you'd lose to second-years."
"Skill improves," Sean said calmly. "If you don't believe me, let's have a match."
Flint folded his arms and laughed coldly.
"Fine. How do you want to do this?"
Sean looked up at Draco, who was still chasing the Snitch.
"Let's see who catches the Golden Snitch first."
Flint raised an eyebrow.
"You're serious?"
He was already giving Sean face by agreeing to compete. But to compare Seekers? That wasn't something you could do just because you knew how to ride a broom.
"I'm not here to waste your time," Sean said.
Flint glanced at Draco, then shouted, "Draco! Get down here!"
Draco stopped his pursuit and flew over.
The other players hovered nearby, curious.
From above, they couldn't hear what was being said.
If Cassius knew Sean was trying to join the team, his jaw would probably hit the ground.
"Flint," Draco said, landing.
"Take a break. Hand me your broom."
Without question, Draco dismounted and passed over his Nimbus 2001.
Flint took it and turned to Sean.
"Latest model, Nimbus 2001. If you fall off, I can get you to the hospital wing faster than anyone."
"He's flying?" Draco finally understood what was happening.
"That's right," Flint said loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Our top student, Slytherin's pride, Sean, wants to join the team. But first, he has to beat me. If he wins, he's in."
Sean accepted the Nimbus 2001.
The broom felt noticeably heavier than the school brooms used in Flying class.
Chris leaned close and whispered, "Are you sure about this? If not, I can do it instead."
Her flying was nothing extraordinary, but it was worlds better than Sean's.
"I know what I'm doing," Sean said. "Just watch."
He stepped onto the broom with one foot and mounted it in one smooth motion.
It was a stylish takeoff only someone with real experience could pull off.
Flint's eyes widened.
Wasn't Sean supposed to be terrible at flying?
Why did he look like a seasoned player?
"When did he become this good?" Chris muttered in astonishment.
"Sean?" Cassius, hovering overhead, looked utterly confused.
Flint mounted his own broom and rose into the air.
The two hovered two meters apart.
He glanced down at Draco.
"Draco, count us off."
Draco nodded.
"Three… two… one… start!"
Sean and Flint shot forward like arrows released from a bow.
Every eye on the pitch followed them.
"Eight minutes," Sean thought to himself.
"I have to catch the Snitch within eight minutes."
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