Charlie found himself in a familiar predicament. He was trying to name his latest magical confection. Judging by his previous attempts at nomenclature, it was glaringly obvious that naming things was not his strong suit. After a grueling ten seconds of intense contemplation, he proudly settled on "Overload Chocolate."
Evening descended over Hogwarts. Having successfully tested the Overload Chocolate up in the Room of Requirement, Charlie made his way down the shifting staircases to the Great Hall.
A large notice board stood near the entrance. When he first arrived at school, Charlie had read the extensive list of banned magical items pinned there, including Fanged Frisbees, Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet Start No Heat Fireworks, and Whizzing Worms. It also held Dumbledore's start of term warnings regarding the Forbidden Forest and the highly perilous third floor corridor.
Tonight, a massive throng of first year students crowded around the board, pushing and shoving to get a closer look. Over the din, a familiar voice called out, and Charlie spotted Anthony Goldstein waving frantically.
Charlie squeezed his way through the sea of black robes. "What is all the commotion about?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"Flying lessons! It is our flying lessons!" Anthony bellowed twice, forced to compete with the roaring chatter around them. "We have our first class on Friday afternoon, right alongside the Hufflepuffs!"
"I hear you, I hear you. No need to burst my eardrums," Charlie said with a chuckle, patting Anthony on the shoulder.
The two boys wriggled out of the crushing crowd and headed toward the Ravenclaw table. Hector was already seated there. The long wooden tables were groaning under the weight of a magnificent feast, but Hector had not started eating. He had been waiting for them.
"Hey, Charlie, you made it. Anthony, what did the notice say?" Hector asked.
Anthony quickly relayed the exciting news. As the rest of their dorm mates gathered, they finally dug into their dinner.
Michael Corner strolled over with a few other boys, giving Charlie and the group a friendly wave before taking a seat opposite them. "I wonder if there is an exam for flying class," Michael pondered aloud. "If there is, getting a high mark might be crucial for making the Quidditch team next year."
"What exactly is Quidditch?" Hector asked, his brow furrowing.
Anthony stared at him as if he had just grown a second head. "You honestly do not know?"
"Why would I? If you want to talk about football or basketball, I am your guy. I have heard Roger mention Quidditch before, but I never bothered to figure out what it actually is."
"What on earth is football? Actually, never mind. Let me tell you about Quidditch. It is objectively the greatest sport in the entire world!" Anthony proclaimed, his eyes lighting up with fanatical zeal.
Between Anthony and Michael firing off explanations, Hector quickly grasped the basic rules of the wizarding sport.
"So, do all the balls fly on their own?" Hector asked, trying to visualize the chaos.
"What? Of course the balls do not fly. Well, except the Golden Snitch," Anthony corrected.
"But if the Bludgers and the Quaffle are not being carried or hit, do they just plummet to the ground?" Hector asked, applying solid Muggle logic. He nodded thoughtfully. "That would certainly make the game highly strategic, considering gravity and all."
"What?" Michael looked completely baffled. He hesitated. "I mean, they sort of fly, but not entirely?"
Hector looked even more bewildered by this incredibly unhelpful answer.
A crisp, bossy voice suddenly chimed in from right behind Charlie.
"According to the text, both the Quaffle and the Bludgers are enchanted with specialized Hover Charms. When the kinetic force from a player's strike dissipates, the balls simply remain suspended in midair, completely stationary."
Charlie turned around to find Hermione Granger standing there, clutching a heavy tome to her chest. The Gryffindor table was situated right behind Ravenclaw, making eavesdropping notoriously easy.
The title of the book in her arms was proudly displayed in embossed gold letters. It read Quidditch Through the Ages.
"Good evening, Hermione," Charlie greeted her pleasantly. "Since when did you become a Quidditch enthusiast?"
"Enthusiast? Absolutely not. I have zero interest in such a barbaric, violent sport," she sniffed. "I went straight to the library the moment I saw the notice on the board and checked this out. I figured if I am expected to learn how to fly on a broomstick, this book is the most logical starting point. Chapters one, five, and fourteen cover beginner, intermediate, and advanced flying techniques."
"You never cease to amaze me," Charlie admitted, genuinely impressed. Her immediate instinct to hit the library to solve a practical problem was a level of dedication he had to respect. Come to think of it, Charlie had not even set foot inside the Hogwarts library yet.
"Come on, Granger. Even if Quidditch has a bit of rough physical contact with the Quaffle, calling it barbaric is a massive stretch," Anthony argued, rolling his eyes.
"Oh, really? If you think a Norwegian Seeker named Christo Howard getting half his head caved in by a rogue Quaffle in 1742 is not barbaric, then suit yourself," Hermione retorted sharply.
"That is obviously an extremely rare accident," Anthony replied, though he clearly had no idea who she was talking about.
"Is it? Then how do you explain the sickening history of the Golden Snitch?" Hermione challenged, snapping the book shut and glaring down her nose at him.
"What history?" Anthony crossed his arms, rising to the challenge.
"The original Snitch was a living creature. A plump, tiny bird with fragile little wings called a Golden Snidget. Every single time a Seeker caught one, the poor bird was crushed to death in their hands."
A ripple of discomfort passed through the gathered Ravenclaws. Several boys frowned, disturbed by the mental image.
"It was not until the fifteenth century that a wizard named Bowman Wright invented the metallic Golden Snitch to replace the birds," Hermione continued, delivering her lecture with rapid fire precision. "By that point, the Snidgets had been hunted to the absolute brink of extinction. Yet, even after the metal Snitch was invented, many leagues stubbornly continued to use live birds for another two hundred years, all in the name of tradition."
She took a sharp breath before delivering her finishing blow. "If the Wizards' Council had not finally stepped in during the seventeenth century to legally outlaw the use of live birds, the Golden Snidget would be entirely extinct today. By the way, Bowman Wright is featured on a Chocolate Frog card for his invention."
"Wow, I never knew the backstory," one of the Ravenclaw boys muttered. The rest of the flock nodded in solemn agreement, their expressions turning serious.
Hermione lifted her chin like a triumphant rooster. She looked incredibly smug, clearly thrilled that she had successfully educated this group of Ravenclaws.
"And?" Michael asked, entirely missing her point. "What does that have to do with us playing Quidditch now?"
The corners of Charlie's mouth twitched upward. He forced his expression into a neutral mask immediately. Since his back was to Hermione, she missed his fleeting amusement.
Just as Charlie had suspected, the Ravenclaws' thoughtful nods and serious faces were purely an academic appreciation for a fascinating piece of wizarding history. It absolutely did not mean she had convinced them to hate the sport.
Hermione, however, was utterly dumbfounded. She threw her hands up in frustration. "Does that horrific history not prove that Quidditch is rooted in barbarism?"
"The Muggle church sold indulgences in the sixteenth century, and people resorted to cannibalism during the Great Famines," Terry Boot chimed in calmly from beside Michael. "What does that have to do with us? Are you suggesting that just because horrific things happened in the past, everyone sitting here right now is a bloodthirsty, uncivilized savage?"
Charlie looked at Terry with newfound respect. He had not expected the boy to casually drop Muggle historical facts to win a magical debate.
Hermione flushed defensively. "Human history is incredibly complex and driven by countless factors! Hunting the Golden Snidget was purely to satisfy humanity's twisted morbid curiosity for entertainment!"
"Fascinating. You show a bleeding heart for a tiny magical bird, yet you completely brush over the darkest, most harrowing eras of human history," Terry replied coolly, clearly losing interest in the conversation.
Beside Charlie, Anthony waved a hand dismissively at Hermione, making a shooing motion. "Alright, buzz off, Miss Know It All. Go back to your Gryffindor table. Nobody invited you to our conversation. Were you talking to the air?"
Realizing a group mobbing was about to occur, Charlie raised his hands. "Alright, lads, let us drop it. We still have Astronomy class tonight, remember?"
But his attempt to keep the peace came a second too late. Hermione's eyes welled with angry, humiliated tears. Clutching her heavy book to her chest, she spun around and sprinted out of the Great Hall.
"Hmph. What an insufferable person," Anthony grumbled, resting his elbows on the table and turning back to his dinner plate.