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HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 59
🕑 Added 2025-11-09 20:22:02 +0000 UTCChapter 59: Owl Post
Shawn could understand the necessity of that last requirement.
On the pitch, a flying broomstick was a wizard’s comrade-in-arms. An old or outdated broom was a liability for a first-year beginner who had only just learned to fly. It could even be dangerous.
The handmade nature of broomsticks meant their floor and ceiling differed wildly.
Expensive brooms like the Nimbus 2000 were not only equipped with a unique braking mechanism, but they also carried the hefty patent cost for the Braking Charm, allowing for rapid starts and stops. Their intricate alchemical construction supported full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turning.
As for the broom Shawn was riding, if he dared to force that kind of maneuver, it would undoubtedly come apart midair. The manual issued by the Comet Trading Company made that perfectly clear.
"As you can see, this is a classroom-model broom. It costs thirty Galleons. What more do you expect it to do?"
Shawn felt the company heads, Randolph Keitch and Basil Horton, were not entirely wrong.
For most first-years, this wasn’t even a problem. The price of a Nimbus 1500 wasn’t outrageous, and Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley shipped directly to Hogwarts.
One letter home, and most parents would be happy to oblige.
But Shawn... if anyone sent him a letter, it would be a miracle.
Which meant his plan to fly up to the Ravenclaw Tower would have to wait until he could leave school.
At noon, the Quidditch pitch was soaked in a near-luxurious sunlight. The sky was a clear, immaculate blue, and thin clouds lay like smudges of white paint brushed across it.
Before leaving, Shawn forced out one last question. "Madam Hooch, if I can’t leave school, then how should..."
"Oh, Mr. Green, I don’t think that will be a problem for you," Madam Hooch said, handing him a towel to wipe the droplets that had fallen from the shed roof. "Train hard. That is the least of your worries."
With that, she strode off, broom under her arm.
Shawn stood there, puzzled.
In the corridor, a painted knight downed his liquor in great thundering gulps, his cheeks red from the drink. He carried a sword a bit too long for him, and his knees were green with grass stains from repeated tumbles.
Drunk as he was, he bellowed, "Headmasters of Hogwarts... oh, Violet, you must know. Phineas Nigellus Black was an evil, foolish buffoon! Armando Dippet was a bungling dullard! Dumbledore is very fine indeed, but a knight’s oath forbids me to lie. He is a..."
That sudden rashness made Shawn recoil.
Sir Cadogan was that bold when drunk?
Not just him. Wizards as a whole seemed to possess a peculiar streak of reckless gall.
"Sir, if you finish that sentence, tomorrow either you or the sun won’t rise. Only one of you gets to show up."
It was a kindly warning.
"Oh, young Green..." Sir Cadogan seemed to sober a little at the remark. His face stayed crimson, but his voice fell sharply. "I was going to say, Dumbledore is a headmaster who pleases... all wizards at once."
"Sir Cadogan, is that really so?" Lady Violet, in her white undergown, blinked doubtfully.
Shawn slipped past the bickering portraits and quietly moved the painting of the drunken monk he’d hung there two days earlier.
The knight had given him more than a few thoughts on flying. If his gratitude led to ending a centuries-long life in a single night, it would sound like the punchline to a very cold joke.
Day by day, the castle became more familiar. Shawn could have reached the Great Hall with his eyes closed.
He didn’t even need to enter the hall to know the menu. The corridor already carried the scent of sweet, inviting roast pumpkin.
Today’s mains were pork chops and Hungarian goulash. There were also many flavors of pudding. Shawn didn’t need to guess whose improved recipes those were.
Then the post arrived.
A hundred or more owls swooped into the Great Hall, giving several first-years a fright.
They wheeled over the tables until they found their recipients, dropped letters and parcels onto laps, and drifted up again to circle the rafters.
As always, the mail triggered a flurry of curiosity.
Shawn never received a post, but he did not mind feeding tired messengers. Their human companions, busy reading, often forgot them.
A few owls settled beside Shawn. He quietly cut a small piece of toast and watched these clever, sensitive creatures eat.
After a while, the snow-white owls would fly back to the Owlery to sleep among the others.
From the high table, a tall witch took in the scene.
"Animals always find the kind ones," said the wizard at the center, his silver hair and beard long and white. His eyes glinted with deep kindness and humor behind half-moon spectacles. "Sometimes animals make choices better than wizards do, do they not, Minerva?"
He seemed to be talking about owls, yet not only owls.
The stern cat-lover said nothing. She watched small wizards receive letters and share their joy with friends. Even a box of sweets could cause wild excitement.
Seamus, for instance.
Had his friends not saved him a few, he might have burst into tears.
Surrounded by owls, the quiet boy simply watched, the noise flowing around him as if it had nothing to do with him at all.
After the Great Hall, Shawn turned to a new spell. The Summoning Charm. Accio.
One of the oldest spells in wizarding society, used for centuries. Which meant its explanations were convoluted and layered, a knot of many masters’ interpretations.
The result was the opposite of clarity. The more they wrote, the harder it was to hold onto the essentials.
Just like the labyrinthine string of words Hermione had recited the other day.
Shawn excelled at testing those descriptions to isolate what actually worked. For him, that saved time.
In the classroom, he pulled a quill from his bag as a practice target.
Except... he had not looked closely...
"Focus. Fix the object’s properties in your mind. Accio, Quill!"
The quill gave a faint tremble and nothing more.
"The pulling motion. A wizard’s palm should face upward when casting," a voice said, breaking his concentration.
Hermione pushed open the door with an armful of books.
"Accio, Quill!"
She flicked her wand. The quill remained unimpressed.
Now there were two of them thinking.
They paged through different books until Justin came through the door.
"Oh, Shawn, Hermione... are you practicing on a quill lollipop?"
