Justin's words caught Sean off guard, and before he could answer, Justin burst out like a wind-up toy:
"We could let Hogwarts students read it for free first! I'm sure everyone's been tortured long enough by dull magical history, Binns's vague droning, and those absurdly long History of Magic essays!"
He grew even more animated:
"If the feedback's good, we can contact a publisher. Think about it—not just one wizarding school's students would need it!"
Sean didn't answer right away. He knew publishing a book was a long process.
"The notes aren't complete," he said softly. He studied history for its own sake; even if Justin's idea was feasible, it wouldn't change Sean's study plan. Still, if something good came of it, that wouldn't be bad.
"All right, all right—then when you finish them, at least let me try selling them among the first-years?" Justin lowered his voice, sincerely pleading.
Sean nodded.
…
Hogwarts was noisier than usual on Monday. In corridors, classrooms, and common rooms, first-years were buzzing about something. Sean was puzzled, but he didn't dig into it. He was heading for the hidden classroom.
In the corridor he heard a cough—and looked up to find it was Sir Cadogan. He'd tied straw to himself and was trying to blend into a lovely landscape of rice fields as a scarecrow. He'd forgotten to remove his armor or set aside his sword.
Hogwarts portraits wander constantly. Sometimes they feel no different from the furniture. So what better entertainment than a contest to see who can pass as a different portrait the longest? Sir Cadogan, alas, was never good at such disguises.
Picture it: once he copied Lady Violet, plopping into her frame, hat and all, and declaiming in a ridiculous falsetto. Roughly the same energy as Professor Snape in a dress.
"Ahem—" came another cough. With a sigh, Sean tore off a sheet of paper and slapped a label reading "Sir Cadogan" onto the frame.
"Oh—young Green! You've spotted me again! Tragic! Why won't you go talk Quidditch with the others!" howled the knight.
"Oh, dearest Sir Cadogan, you didn't even last three minutes—how shabby. Looks like you owe me another bottle of firewhisky," came a teasing lady's voice.
Quidditch? It was the second time Sean had heard it mentioned. His question was soon answered. An upper-year shouldered through the crowd and pinned a gold-trimmed parchment to the notice board. The first-years cheered—they would have Flying this Thursday and Friday.
After reading, Sean felt a spark of anticipation too—which is why, by the time he reached the practice room, his arms were full of books:
Origins of Quidditch, Quidditch Through the Ages, A Complete Guide to Broomsticks, Broomstick Care Manual, and the Official Quidditch World Cup Guide.
The most famous, of course, was Quidditch Through the Ages. When Madam Pince handed it over, she told him this book was "pawed through daily, drooled on, and otherwise abused." To Sean, that was high praise for any book—making him even more eager to read it.
"Lady Ravenclaw left at Hogwarts—"
"The diadem, the moving staircases, the portrait," Sean cut in, slipping past the owl's glare into the room.
"Sean? What are those in your arms…?" Justin relieved him of three volumes so Sean's green eyes could reappear.
"Whoa! Quidditch Through the Ages! They say getting that out of Madam Pince is harder than flying to the moon," Justin whispered.
"Hm?" Sean was puzzled.
"Because a student literally used it as a pillow once—and drooled all over it," Hermione said, faintly exasperated.
"Shall we read it together?" Sean set the book on the table. Justin's eagerness was impossible to hide; he slid his stool over first, then Hermione. Three heads bumped into a single pool of light.
[The fruit of Kennilworthy Whisp's painstaking research, this book is a treasure trove of truths previously unknown about our sport. A captivating read.
—Bathilda Bagshot, author of A History of Magic]
They began with the blurbs—names Sean knew.
[Mr. Whisp has a great future. If he keeps it up, someday he'll have the chance to take a photo with me!
—Gilderoy Lockhart, author of Magical Me]
That, too, sounded exactly like Lockhart—so Sean skimmed ahead:
[To date, witches and wizards have not invented any charm that allows unaided human flight. They tried many methods and none worked. A few Animagi could enjoy flight, but they were rare. Some later witches and wizards transfigured themselves into bats…]
"Bats?" Justin blurted—unexpected, to say the least. They all read on, curious; after all, if becoming a bat worked, broomsticks wouldn't exist.
[This proved foolish. Though bats can fly freely, a wizard with a bat's head will invariably forget where he was going. Drifting aimlessly in the air became commonplace.]
Further down, Sean's green eyes brightened:
[We now take this fact for granted: every wizarding family in Britain owns at least one broomstick. But we seldom stop to ask—why?
Why did the humble broom become a legally sanctioned means of transport?
Why do we in the West not use flying carpets, so beloved by our Eastern brethren?
Why no flying barrels, flying chairs, flying bathtubs—why brooms?]