C025 - Breakup & Firebolt
As I walked towards Hogwarts with the broom box following behind me obediently, I pondered on the rather pleasant conversation I just had that ended somewhat awkwardly.
I liked Miss Farley's company and still hoped she would become my guardian over Dumbledore for the next four years - so I wouldn't want for her to be targeted by House Malfoy without knowing about it. After all, she would be doing it on her own whim, but she had to consider her husband's family.
Her enthusiasm took a big dive upon hearing I was almost at the level of a blood feud with Lucius Malfoy because of the actions of his son, and I couldn't fault her for it.
Interestingly enough, the color surrounding her went from pale green to green and back to pale green during the entire two hour long conversation, which meant that at least Bella Farley was still on my side for the time being.
I was keen to find out how this whole interaction would change Gemma's stance since she hadn't talked to me since the attack, but if she didn't even inform her mother about Draco openly besmirching my name and character, then I didn't have high hopes for any change.
As I neared the big door of the grand entrance to the Hogwarts castle that welcomed back the students and registered my name with Filch, who was taking attendance, I was ambushed by Parvati of all people. Thankfully, it didn't involve a literal attack this time, but the young witch dragged me away to a nearby courtyard that was currently more or less empty.
"Lavender sent me," the Indian girl said after looking at me awkwardly for a whole while.
And, after she said that, Parvati could no longer look me in the eye.
Oh.
"She says you are an amazing boy who will accomplish much in life... but she can't be by your side like this."
Ohhh.
"She hopes you two would still be friends after a while, but right now, she wants to focus on herself so she hopes you would give her some space."
I closed my eyes for a moment to figure out my feelings. I had wanted to break up with Lavender from the very start, but the cheerful girl had grown on me despite me barely spending any time with her.
"It's because I barely spent any quality time with her, right?"
Parvati finally looked up with an open mouth, probably having expected either insults to her good friend or her, or any other kind of outburst but not a mature search for the problem with myself.
"No... it's not that... not just that..."
"I see," I said and left the rest unanswered.
'I spend way more time with the girls from my house since we're constantly hanging out in our common room for study sessions and in the library and she didn't want to be the jealous girlfriend that stops me from being myself? From standing in my way?'
I took a deep breath, surprised Parvati with a gentle hug, and whispered into her ear, "Tell Lavender that she should take care of herself. I wish her and you all the best. You both are great friends. To me and to each other."
As I leaned back, I saw Parvati with tears in her eyes, and I likely had a few threatening to leave my eyes as well.
"I told her not to do it," Parvati whispered as she wiped her tears away.
"We'll see each other for another six years. Who knows what happens then?"
With a nod and a tearful smile, Parvati excused herself and left me at the courtyard.
'Huh, let's go to try out the broom to distract myself...'
A few minutes later, I was outside the Quidditch pitch all alone. Since it was currently the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, there was no house team training today.
I got it out of the box, left it laying on the ground, and mounted the brandnew broom that was hovering in the air as opposed to lying on the ground like the school's century old inventory.
Just like with my wand, I felt a connection to the broom as I sat on it and the fresh cushioning charm felt much better to sit on than all the other brooms I had tried since the first flying lesson. In fact, I had even taught myself the charm and cast it on my behind to make sure I didn't hurt my nuts during a crazy stunt midair.
The moment I was in the air, I understood the hype behind the broom in canon.
My intent more or less instantly translated into movement. I didn't need to stir the broom into any direction, or at least that was how it felt. It already started drifting left just by thinking about it.
And then there was the top speed and acceleration that just felt so very freeing. I was doing high-speed spirals, shot through the bridges, back under them with my body under the broom. I stood on the broom instead of sitting on it and surfing past the many towers, doing slaloms around flagpoles. I flew sitting backwards on the broom past several windows that I figured would be near the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor common rooms and dormitories.
A few people eventually gathered at the windows to see what I was doing, and I was pretty sure I heard the Weasley twins in particular. I followed the voices and stopped in front of one of the windows.
"Hey, Macnair! What kind of broom is that!?"
"The one we're branding on the game!" I shouted back with a grin and dove down at a speed that made me reach the limit of what I could react to as I dodged past imaginary Bludgers, the two balls in a Quidditch match the beaters would shoot at the enemy team to disrupt their plays.
The action filled evening ended in my picking up the box and flying toward the Ravenclaw common room. Team captain Hilliard had seen me and asked me to bring the broom, and I wanted to be a bit prideful, so I wanted a grand entrance through the window.
"Those were some wicked moves, Macnair. Finally got your own broom, eh? What is it?" Hilliard asked as I dismounted from the broom under the stares of many in the common room.
"You watched from the start?"
"Pretty much, Davies saw you," the captain replied and pointed toward Roger Davies currently drooling over my new broom together with someone whose position I likely took, Grant Page who would in later years become the team's keeper.
"Oh, hehe," I chuckled as I scratched the back of my head. "Uh, but yeah. This is a Firebolt. Spudmore will release it soon, I was lucky and scored one of the first ones. The Irish Quidditch team apparently already ordered one for everyone on the team, and I reckon there will be more soon."
"Nice," Hilliard praised and walked over to the other players who had by now all gathered around the broom, even Harry who hadn't visited Hogsmeade today and somehow knew to come downstairs from our dormroom.
I rode that cheerful wave until I retired together with Harry toward our dormroom. The rosewood box was now prominently sitting on top of the trunk at the foot of my bed, but the broom hovered between our beds.
"You got me a pre-order for this thing?"
"Yeah, you should take it for a spin tomorrow to see what you're paying the 700 galleons for," I said with a smug smile.
"700? That's quite a lot compared to the Nimbus broom Flitwick told me to buy..."
"Well, they are actually 850. You get a 150 galleon discount because I'm not making you pay my cut, and I had Spudmore reduce it down to a round number for the famous boy-who-lived. Don't worry. You're not getting used as an ad prop, but Spudmore will be able to say even you're using his broom in upcoming presentations."
"Huh, really?"
"Yeah, it should arrive before our first match, too - so I'll loan you mine for your seeker practice from time to time so you'll get a feel for it."
Harry nodded at that, but his eyes never left the broom. Apparently, what cars were for some muggle men, brooms were a man's romance for wizards.
-----
On Monday as the last lesson, we had Magical Etiquette, and for the first time, we had our third teacher, and I would no longer have to endure Lucius Malfoy's venomous gaze. The man hadn't spoken another word to me after our confrontation, but that didn't mean I was off the hook.
And so we laid our eyes on a woman who looked a few years past death, respectfully. Her skin was incredibly sallow and sunken. Her hair, mostly hidden behind a wide-brimmed witch's hat, was white and flimsy. But her eyes, her eyes were still sharp and lively.
"Hello, children," she greeted warmly as she slowly walked over to a chair near the teacher's desk aided by a walking stick. Before she sat down, she changed it into a grand, cushioned armchair with a wave of her spindly hand holding her wand and regarded us all for a moment.
"My name is Griselda Marchbanks. Usually, I would be one of your examiners during your O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s as my official position is called Governor of the Wizarding Examinations Authority or W.E.A. for short. I have held this position for 109 years, and I plan to retire next year to make it a crisp 110 years, so I likely won't be responsible for your official exams. I'm also the third oldest bag of bones still sitting in a voting seat at the Wizengamot since my dear son sadly fell together with his father to the forces of Grindelwald back in '42 and my granddaughter passed away three years later in an attempt to avenge her father. Brave though she was, there isn't a day I don't curse her for wanting to make the house she was sorted into proud. Stupid Gryffindors."
The elder witch clapped her hands and made a tea set appear next to her, likely with the help of the house elves of Hogwarts, and slowly poured herself a cup.
"We will only see each other for four lessons, which will conclude your lessons in Magical Etiquette. You might be wondering why your education is done in less than 20 lessons when your peers who grew up in the magical world took three years to get their certificate at the P.S.Y. schools, but that is easily explained by pointing to the fact that you had extensive schooling in the muggle world."
She took another sip and explained, "They get taught reading and writing in case the households they grew up in were slacking, and they get taught how to calculate, which you learn in Mathematics, of course. Everything else that isn't simple busy work and socializing is taught to you here at Hogwarts. And everything in between that these children picked up by reading the Daily Prophet over their parents' shoulders or overheard in Diagon Alley you get taught here."
"Now, are there any questions about magical society that you still have burning in your minds about things my predecessors not answered?"
Hermione immediately raised her hand, and Marchbanks pointed to her with a spindly finger, "Introduce yourself, young lady."
"Greetings, Lady Marchbanks. My name is Hermione Granger. Lord Malfoy and Madam Hopkirk had given us insights into our later career paths, but none talked about opportunities in other countries. Will our grades be recognized in other countries? Do they have O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, too?"
"Insightful question. The ICW does indeed recognize both levels of British examinations, which means any country in the ICW will recognize your grades... but despite what Albus might want to make you think, some grades will be worth more than others. Defense, History, and Care for Magical Creatures especially are not seen too favorably."
'Care isn't seen too favorably, either? Kettleburn is a crazy good teacher. I should ask him next time during the survival club.'
"That isn't everything because we might have St Mungo's, but Hogwarts does not offer a N.E.W.T. level course for healing like Beauxbaton and many other magical schools that grade is needed to become a healer in different countries. We haven't had someone get his N.E.W.T. accreditation in Alchemy, Enchanting, and Warding in thirty-eight years, either. Something that is especially bad for all of you if you want to get a mastery in these subjects in MACUSA."
'Well, at least the old lady told it like it is.'
-----
Marchbanks had been pretty insightful. Much more than even Lucius Malfoy despite him giving us a pretty decent insight into politics. But the month was over now, and Magical Etiquette was over all the same. So, for the past two weeks, my training under Flitwick had three more hours a week, and he had given me increasingly thorough magical beatings.
And this morning, on the death day anniversary of Harry's parents, I was in an unwarranted great mood. Just yesterday, I had decimated two Slytherin fourth years trying to 'prank' Anthony and Terry, who were searching for an abandoned classroom to practice some spells. The two, among many others, had been left in the dust by me in practical magic, and many first years were indignant in hearing the professors praise only me.
The tallest tree experiences the strongest winds, or so an ancient Chinese proverb says, but I had a particular reason for being so outstanding instead of hiding my talent. And that reason was almost exclusively linked to people like Lucius Malfoy.
A genius who went missing was worth an article in the Daily Prophet, but the 'brightest student' since Albus Dumbledore, now that would result in a bigger upset if I went missing so scheming bastards like Lucius Malfoy would think twice before touching me.
Also, my bloodline practically ensured that I was leagues ahead of my peers even if I just casually read a book or two a week and practiced some spells. I didn't have any more 'clarity moments' where I suddenly comprehended a topic I hadn't fully figured out like with Transfiguration yet, but my studies were still progressing even faster than before I entered Hogwarts.
The only professor who would categorically disagree in calling me a genius was likely Snape. The man had insisted I tried brewing potions on my own since no partner was free and I shouldn't freeload on Hermione and Isobel's excellence, and despite not being able to rattle me, none of my potions were Outstanding. They were barely acceptable, even, despite my most earnest tries for a better result.
If you would ask what Flitwick thought about me, the man would likely call me the second coming of Merlin - denying Dumbledore the title in process. With my dueling mentor, I had shared my full potential because he wanted absolute excellence and the half-goblin had confided in me that he pushed me to a level he didn't think I could handle before my fourth or fifth year.
Sure, I was no match for the likes of Dolohov and Bellatrix, the death eater's most accomplished duelists, or, Merlin forbid, a fully powered Voldemort - but Flitwick assured me I would crush every Under18 tournament by the end of the year unless there was another outlier like me.
I wasn't sure yet if I wanted to attend such a tournament, but with Flitwick's sponsorship, I could directly jump to the international circuit, and that sounded worth considering.
Back to why I was so cheerful this Monday on the last day of October, it was because there was a chance I would be spared of having to hear Quirrell's awful stutter anymore after today, possibly. His classes were getting worse, like the man wasn't even trying anymore, which I would want to laugh about since Riddle finally got his wish of becoming the DADA professor and made sure our education was terrible.
Thankfully, Quirrell and Voldemort had left me completely alone. With my obvious and strong connection to a professor as strong, involved, and opionated as Professor Flitwick, Quirrellmort seemingly wanted to stay away as far as possible from me to keep the chance of getting the Philosopher's Stone high.
During this time, without trying to, I had even heard the 'accidental' confirmation that the stone was indeed at the school when Hagrid met up with Harry after survival club and took me along.
I had told him after that I personally thought Dumbledore had manipulated Hagrid to say that to prime him to do something, and Harry had nodded, saying that he knew the moment Hagrid 'slipped up'.
This Monday during dinner, I sat close to every girl Harry and I cared about in my year, and none were missing. Ronald Weasley had indeed insulted Hermione this day for being a know-it-all, which boggled my mind because we only had Herbology and History with the Hufflepuffs today.
Yet, despite this iconic canon event happening, the other one didn't. To my knowledge, nobody was crying in the girl's bathroom on the second floor and almost everyone was present for the Halloween feast I had decorated together with Flitwick and a surprisingly talkative Professor Vector, the professor for Arithmancy.
The woman in her late thirties told me she adored the holidays and told me everything a muggle-raised magical like me needed to know about 'Samhain' the pagan name of the holiday that magicals used for Halloween.
The feast was in a cheerful atmosphere until the giant doors once more slammed open, despite them already being open, which meant even Voldemort had a flair for the dramatic, and in came a panting, exhausted and distraught looking Quirrell with his ugly turban askew.
"Trolls!!! Trolls in the dungeonnn!!!" The possessed actor shouted hysterically and quietened everything down before he fainted and breathed out the words, "thought you ought to know," before faceplanting on the floor.
'Ouch. Voldemort really doesn't like his meat puppet, eh? And did say trolls? Not troll singular?'