"Huh?"
Sean was a little surprised.
The name of the whole local magic network was Hogwarts, but he hadn't considered whether it could be renamed.
Now it seemed every wizard was an "administrator."
Sure enough, magical creations that hadn't been properly tested were incomplete.
He would fix that in the next production batch.
Meanwhile, up in the stands—
"Harry, am I done for?"
Ron's face was ashen.
There was still half an hour before the match began. Harry, sitting in the third row, was silent for two seconds before nodding.
Ron went completely still, like a slab of dried bacon.
A second later, he seemed to try to save himself.
[Ron has renamed the magic-network channel from "Know-It-All" to "Hogwarts."]
[Ron deleted one message.]
The magic hand mirror was filled with silence.
[Justin: It's alright, Ron. Mistakes can always be erased by a sincere apology.]
[Harry: Yeah, just apologize. Oh, the match is starting.]
[Sean: Correct.]
[Justin: Sean, are you here yet?]
[Hermione: Sean, I have a question about typing. Where are you now?]
[Ron has renamed the magic-network channel from "Hogwarts" to "Know-It-All."]
[Ron has renamed the magic-network channel from "Know-It-All" to "Hogwarts."]
[Harry: …]
[Justin: …]
[Ron: I think this magic hand mirror is broken, Sean.]
[Sean: There is no quality issue with the third-generation magic hand mirror.]
[Ron has renamed the magic-network channel from "Hogwarts" to "I'm Done For."]
Up in the stands, Harry was holding back laughter so hard his face had gone red.
Ron sat beside him looking utterly gray.
Fortunately, Wood appeared just in time to save Harry from suffocating on his laughter.
"Harry, I just found out who Ravenclaw's Seeker is.
It's Cho Chang. She's in fourth year and she's good… I was really hoping she wouldn't be able to play. She got hurt pretty badly in their last practice…"
Wood frowned, clearly displeased that Cho Chang had made a full recovery, then went on:
"Still, she's riding a Comet Two Sixty. Compared to your broom, that's a joke."
As he spoke, Wood seemed to finally remember something.
"Right, your broom…"
Harry silently nodded.
Ever since his broom had been destroyed, he hadn't even gone to training.
Sean had said he would receive a broom, but so far Harry hadn't seen so much as its shadow.
"Harry! You have to have a broom, do you understand—"
Wood paced anxiously back and forth, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and shaking him.
At least, that was the scene Sean saw when he arrived.
"Excuse me."
Sean said.
Harry and Wood were blocking the aisle.
"Sean—"
Harry greeted him in delight.
"Mr. Green—"
Wood hesitated for a few seconds, apparently fighting the urge to ask something, such as whether the young wizard would be playing in the next match.
But Sean had already walked past.
"Oh! Sean, wait for me—"
Harry hurried after him.
"Sean…"
Sean heard Harry panting behind him.
It seemed he had remembered even more things.
Sean sighed. Sure enough, he had forgotten again.
Whenever he started studying magic, he forgot food and sleep alike. This time, he had forgotten the matter Sirius had entrusted to him from faraway Albania.
Fortunately, it wasn't too late.
"Oh, right, Harry. Your broom…"
Sean said.
"What?"
Harry immediately leaned in closer.
"Your godfather asked me to help fetch a broom for you. If you want, we can get it right now."
Sean said calmly.
"Now? Sean, you mean now?"
Harry was a little dazed. He looked around, but couldn't see so much as a twig from a broom.
"Now."
Sean nodded.
His tone was as casual as if he were saying he had eaten pudding, ham, and fried eggs today.
"Do we— I mean, where is it?"
Harry's heart began thumping. Only now did it truly sink in that his godfather had bought him a broom.
Even if it was only a Comet Two Sixty, Harry would treasure and use it properly.
"At Mr. Sirius's house."
Sean said.
Harry stared blankly.
He was now entirely convinced that he and Sean were not operating on the same frequency at all.
"Hmm…"
Sean took out a tiny wooden door burning with flames from the Wizard's Book.
He walked into a corner and tossed the "door" onto the ground.
In Harry's trembling pupils, the wooden door enlarged and enlarged, gradually transforming into a fireplace, complete with blazing hot flames.
And there was Floo powder too, stored in a little box and vase on the mantel.
"With the Anywhere Door, we can go get it now. Do you want to go, Harry?"
Sean said beside the fireplace.
…
A few minutes later, the two of them returned through the green flames.
"That was amazing, Sean! How did you do that? A fireplace—how can it… and the Floo powder…"
Harry murmured excitedly.
Sean, meanwhile, had already sat down in the stands.
What he had just used was the alchemical result of his recent work—the Anywhere Door.
In essence, it was a portable fireplace. After negotiating with the Floo Powder Company, they had finally agreed, with great difficulty, to connect Sean's fireplace to a separate Floo network.
And it had been a massive undertaking.
Faced with a fireplace that could move, the Floo Powder Company had only barely managed to open a single route.
For Sean's personal use only.
Even so, it gave Sean tremendous convenience.
Now, when he needed to travel far, he no longer had to rely on the Pukwudgie butler or on professors.
Anytime, anywhere, he could use the Anywhere Door to reach his destination.
The Quidditch match was about to begin, and the atmosphere in the stadium had already reached a fever pitch.
But in the stands, the young wizards had gathered tightly around Harry.
"What's that?"
Ron pointed at the package in Harry's hands.
"A flying broom. My godfather… asked Sean to give it to me."
Harry said proudly.
"Merlin—open it, quick—"
Ron urged.
So Harry tore open the package, then sucked in a breath.
A gleaming, exquisitely crafted flying broom rolled into his hands.
Ron immediately leaned in for a closer look.
"I don't believe it."
he said hoarsely.
It was a Firebolt.
Exactly like the dream broom Harry had gone to look at every day in Diagon Alley.
He held it in his hands, the broom handle shining brilliantly.
He could feel it trembling, so he let go.
The broom hovered in midair, exactly at the right height for him to mount it.
His eyes caressed every inch of it, from the golden registration number at the tip of the handle all the way down to the sleek, flexible, polished tail made of birch twigs.