In the corridor, Sir Cadogan kept trying to mount the pony in the painting. Unfortunately, this task had consumed countless years without success. There he was, mounted on his horse and enthusiastically discussing Quidditch with Shawn. When he got excited, he slapped the horse's rear, then was knocked backward in a curled position and flew far away.
Shawn silently offered him a prayer, then opened his status panel:
[Name: Shawn Green]
[Title: Potions Novice]
[Slightly increases perception of Potions, slightly improves Potions talent]
As expected, Shawn nodded and continued reading.
[Wizard Shawn, Potions Talent: Green (Potions Novice title boost applied, original talent was white). Note: Average wizards are green]
[Advancement: Three Entry-level potion brewings unlock Entry-level title in Potions domain]
Shawn didn't know if it was psychological, but the moment his Potions talent changed, recalling his previous brewing attempts suddenly generated many new ideas—concepts that had never occurred to him before. Magic was truly such a miraculous thing. It existed in wizards' blood, bringing miracles capable of changing reality. Sufficiently talented wizards could even inherit vague knowledge from this bloodline. If not, it would be hard to explain how those dusty experience books in the magical world taught young wizards anything.
Thinking about this, Shawn slowly lifted his head. The corridor's portraits were almost all dozing. The slanting sunlight through Gothic stained glass illuminated Sir Cadogan's chattering face.
Of course, the knight was pestering him—everyone else was sleeping.
"Shawn!" At this moment, Justin appeared in the slanting sunlight, as if materializing from nowhere. His pale, elegant hand extended toward Shawn, holding what looked like delicious English mille-feuille with surprising gentleness. "New flavor. Please try it," his eyes narrowed. "Oh, and one more thing—Gryffindor and Slytherin's flying lesson just started. We could watch from the hillside? Hermione and I researched techniques all day yesterday. I'm not sure if she got to use them."
It was now half past five in the afternoon. Shawn and Justin walked down a sloping grass hill to a spot where they could view the Quidditch pitch. The view here was excellent—they could see young wizards in class, the glittering Black Lake, and the sprawling pumpkin patch before Hagrid's hut.
"Look, Hermione seems to be flying well. Oh, that black-haired Gryffindor is also—wait, who's that? How did he fly that high so suddenly?!" Justin's eyes widened watching a plump wizard shoot skyward. He muttered, "Is this some special training?"
Clearly not. Because Longbottom had circled in the sky, then, with terrified screaming, the broomstick flew past a statue, but Longbottom didn't. His clothes caught on the statue's weapon, leaving him suspended in the air. Just as everyone held their breath watching this breathtaking scene and Madam Hooch chanted a spell, Longbottom cried out again. His weight tore his clothes free. Then came dull cries of "Ah," "Ow," and "Ooh." Longbottom crashed into a torch, a wall, and heavily into the ground.
"Is he still alive?" Justin's voice carried concern.
"He'll be fine," Shawn whispered in reassurance. If he remembered correctly, falling from that height, Neville had only broken his wrist. This raised questions about wizards' physiology, which far exceeded that of ordinary people. Shawn even suspected broomsticks lacked any protective magic. Wizards relied entirely on their own physiology, withstanding wind resistance and completing difficult maneuvers at extreme speeds. Consider that the 1967 Cleansweep Eleven reached 100 miles per hour, while the 1990s Firebolts with whitewood handles reached 150 miles per hour. With such terrifying kinetic energy involved, Hogwarts' worst accidents were just a few broken bones—nothing more. Wizards were practically superhuman.
"All right." Justin turned to anxiously watch Hermione, praying she wouldn't take to the sky. Meanwhile, he handed Shawn a couple of chocolate chip biscuits.
Though flying was humanity's dream, after this incident, Shawn reassessed flying lessons and suddenly discovered the danger was comparable to Potions class. Hard to imagine wizards taking to the air themselves after just hearing Madam Hooch's explanation, without even demonstration or trial runs. How was this different from driving after watching a few technique videos? Wizards truly had thick skin and tough flesh. But Shawn wasn't like that. If he fell from height, it wouldn't be bruises—it would be pieces scattered everywhere.
The flying lesson ended quickly. After carefully observing Madam Hooch's flying technique, Shawn and Justin successfully reunited with a still-shaken Hermione.
"How are you feeling, Hermione?" Justin handed her a steaming honey lemon tea.
Where had he pulled that from? Shawn glanced at him, somewhat surprised.
"Not very well..." Hermione sipped the lemon tea, relaxing slightly. "I must say, if you sit on a broomstick tomorrow, the most important thing is not falling. As for flying... did you see Neville?"
"You're right." Justin nodded in agreement.
Walking into the castle, Shawn was still carefully considering Madam Hooch's flying techniques. Learning to ride a broomstick was equally important, especially after completing the Potions title. Now he'd collected five scholarship fragments, leaving only Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Herbology wasn't difficult; it was just a matter of steady progress. That left only Defense Against the Dark Arts. If Professor Quirrell wasn't reliable, surely there'd be capable professors. Hogwarts had more than one professor skilled in defensive magic.
Arriving at the Great Hall, Hermione and Justin discussed the thrilling flying experience they had earlier, while Shawn heard something particular.
"Eating your last meal, Potter? When are you catching the train back to the Muggles?" This sentence made both Justin and Hermione frown almost simultaneously. They looked toward the Gryffindor table.
"Now that you're back on the ground with your little friends, you're braver." They heard Harry coldly reply.
"I'm willing to duel you anytime," Malfoy said. "If you don't mind, tonight. A wizard's duel, wands only—no contact. What's wrong? I bet you've never heard of a wizard's duel, have you?"
"Of course he has." Ron, beside him, spoke suddenly, turning. "I'm his second. Who is yours?"
"Oh no." Hermione quickly puffed her cheeks indignantly. "How many more house points are they going to cost Gryffindor?"