"I'll go first!" One of the twins—it was Fred—quickly vaulted onto the Comet Two-Sixty, grabbed the handle, and with an eager, powerful push off the soft grass, quickly ascended. He shot into the air, flying in a wide, sweeping circle around the Quidditch pitch. He flew fast, maybe a little too fast, but his control was surprisingly competent.
"It's okay, just barely passable," Charlie assessed, crossing his arms. However, the proud smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth was an easy giveaway: he was immensely pleased. Not every eleven-year-old freshman, especially one flying a proper racing broom for the first time, could manage such stable flight.
George followed Fred, his style mirroring his twin's: fast, confident, and perhaps a touch reckless. They were both natural flyers, a trait common among the Weasleys.
After the twins had completed their circuits, Fred landing with a swagger and George nearly taking out a goalpost on the rebound (earning a sharp look from Charlie), it was finally Albert and Lee Jordan's turn.
Since neither had ever truly flown a broomstick, Charlie reverted to a patient instructor mode. He demonstrated the correct seating position, showing them how to sit astride the broom without sliding off or gripping the handle too tightly.
"We didn't get treated like this before!" Fred stage-whispered to George, feigning outrage. "Are we really his brothers?"
"Shut up and stop talking nonsense," Charlie grumbled, his focus entirely on Lee Jordan's awkward grip.
"Listen carefully," Charlie instructed, his tone shifting to serious pedagogy. "The broom responds to your balance and your will. To take off, simply push off the ground with your legs. Don't worry about the force; the broom's magic handles the lift. Just let it rise."
He paused, ensuring they were listening. "To rise higher, you simply lift the broom handle slightly and point your nose upward. To descend, you point the head down. To go forward, lean forward slightly. You are the engine, the rudder, and the pilot all at once. The key is to be calm and decisive. I will be below, ready." He drew out his wand, a subtle but reassuring gesture that he was prepared to cast a cushioning charm if either of them suddenly panicked and fell.
It took Charlie about five minutes to go over every precaution and every motion. He asked Lee Jordan to go first.
Lee Jordan took off. His flight was slow, cautious, but remarkably steady. He flew far slower than the twins, completing his circuit around the massive pitch in about five agonizing minutes. When he landed, his face was alight with pure, unconcealable triumph.
"That was incredible! I was actually flying!" Lee Jordan gasped, still trembling slightly from the sheer joy of it. His prior experience on a toy broom, however trivial, had clearly given him the mental framework to handle the basic balance.
"Good flight, Jordan," Charlie said, offering a genuine word of encouragement before handing the broom to Albert. "Your turn, Anderson."
Albert took the broom, his hand tracing the smooth, polished handle.
Ah, the Cushioning Charm, or maybe a more sophisticated dampening charm, he thought. He had read about this enchantment, which protected the rider from the severe vibration and chafing of the wooden handle during high-speed flight. Logically, he shouldn't feel the hard wood, but he touched it anyway, trying to sense the magic.
Well, there's no visible magic, but I definitely don't want to feel the sadness of my... well, if I sit on it without a charm. The thought of the old, uncomfortable racing brooms made him grimace. There was no visible seat like on a toy broom; this was a saddle in the truest sense of the word.
"What are you doing?" Charlie asked, watching Albert gingerly stroke the broom handle.
"Nothing, Professor," Albert replied, winking at Charlie. "Just checking the integrity of the Cushioning Charm." Before Charlie could comment further, Albert quickly stepped onto the broom, pushed off the ground, and smoothly lifted himself into the air.
Sure enough, the shock-absorbing spell is active. He felt a definite layer of softness—it was like sitting on a very firm, supportive cushion.
The broom flew up, and the powerful rush of air immediately snapped his Gryffindor robes out behind him. Albert felt an unexpected, thrilling rush of pure joy. He followed Charlie's instructions perfectly, slowly raising the broom head to gain altitude.
He glanced down. He was about ten feet from the ground.
Thank Merlin I'm not afraid of heights. The wind buffeted him, and he had to grip the broom handle firmly with both hands to maintain his balance. He was flying slower than Lee Jordan, moving forward cautiously, enjoying the novelty of the feeling.
Charlie watched Albert from below. He was impressed by the first-year's calmness. Most first-time flyers either panicked or flew too high and wobbly. Albert was slow but steady, adapting quickly.
Albert completed half a circuit at this snail's pace, consciously taking in the sensations. The wind, the balance, the sheer magic of it all—it was amazing, but it was slow. He realized his current speed was the result of a conscious mental block: he was using his physical, un-trained body knowledge, which demanded caution.
I'm not doing this justice. I have the skill for this.
Albert looked down briefly, confirming that Charlie was busy giving Lee Jordan and the twins a rundown on basic Quidditch team formations. He seized the moment, his mind working at the speed of the Level 2 Multitasking skill.
He opened his internal Panel. The skill Flying Skill (Broom) was present but currently at Level 0. He had 2,000 experience points sitting in his bank, courtesy of Professor McGonagall's club.
Flying Skill (Broom) [Level 0] Cost to Level 1: 1000 XP
Confirm upgrade.
The experience points vanished, and a massive flood of ingrained, perfect muscle memory, aerodynamic knowledge, and magical balance awareness instantly coursed through Albert. It was the knowledge of an accomplished broom rider, suddenly transferred to his consciousness.
His awkward posture felt instantly wrong; his grip became lighter yet more secure. The broom suddenly felt like an extension of his own body, not a piece of wood he was struggling to balance on.
Albert felt an instinctive, irresistible urge to lean forward, seeking speed.
It was as if he had silently shouted the word Go.
The Comet Two-Sixty, a respectable broom that loved speed, instantly responded. Its acceleration switch had been flicked. The broom shot forward, and Albert's slow, tedious movement instantly transformed into agile, high-speed flight.
He leaned into the turn, sweeping around the nearest goalposts at a dizzying velocity. The wind roared past his ears, forcing him to squint, but the feeling of effortless control was exhilarating. His heart hammered against his ribs—not from fear, but from the sheer, joyful adrenaline.
Faster!
His body instinctively adjusted the angle, minimizing drag, and the broom picked up more speed, pushing near its maximum safe limit. The field below rushed past in a green blur. Albert was carving graceful, confident arcs through the air, practicing dives and sharp pivots that belied the fact that he was a first-year who had been flying for less than ten minutes.
On the ground, the four onlookers were absolutely stunned.
Charlie Weasley had been mid-sentence, demonstrating a Beater's strategy, when he glanced up and saw the Comet Two-Sixty suddenly transition from a slow, steady trot to a blistering race. He stopped talking, his jaw dropping slightly.
"Did you see that?" George whispered, his voice full of disbelief.
"He just... accelerated," Fred finished, equally mesmerized.
Lee Jordan looked at Albert with an expression of complicated envy and awe. He had been so proud of his own steady flight, thinking he was a talented flyer. But this? This was the difference between a bicycle ride and a fighter jet.
Albert flew several more rapid circuits around the pitch. The feeling was intoxicating. He was no longer fighting the broom; he was dancing with it. He finally straightened the broom and began a slow, controlled descent, executing a feather-light landing on the grass, a meter away from the bewildered group.
He stepped off, his chest heaving slightly from the physical exertion and the adrenaline rush, but his face radiating pure excitement.
Charlie stared at him, unable to form a coherent sentence. "You... you flew..." he stuttered, recovering quickly. "That... that was an amazing piece of flying, Anderson. I watched you adapt. You went from barely moving to mastering high-speed flight in under five minutes. That level of natural talent is truly astounding."
Albert had adapted to the intricacies of high-speed broom control and mastered the basic maneuvers in a negligible amount of time, thanks entirely to the Level 1 skill integration.
"Sorry, Charlie, I couldn't help it," Albert apologized immediately, though his smile made the apology less than convincing. "It just felt... too good to slow down."
"You are gifted, Albert," Charlie repeated, shaking his head. He vigorously clapped Albert on the shoulder. "All four of you show incredible talent, far more than the average first-year. I'm not just saying that to be nice. Fred and George have the aggression, but you two, Albert and Lee, have the control."
"I want to offer all four of you a standing invitation," Charlie continued, his Quidditch Captain instincts taking over. "You can come to the practice grounds twice a week after class. We can start training you as unofficial reserve players. We need to get you familiar with positions and strategy. If you're free, come join the training."
The twins' faces lit up with uncontainable joy. This was exactly the outcome they had hoped for.
"But Charlie, we don't have our own brooms," Albert reminded him, keeping a note of practicality.
"It's no problem," Charlie consoled him quickly. "There is a decent selection of reserve brooms kept in the broom sheds for the school's flying lessons. They are older, yes, but they will suffice for learning techniques and finding your optimal position. If you perform well, you'll be well-placed to pass the official player selection next year."
"However, I have one non-negotiable rule," Charlie said, his expression turning serious again. "If you want to become a real Quidditch player, you still need to pass the formal player selection next year, based on your own abilities. I will not show favoritism in that regard. You earn your robes."
"We understand," Fred confirmed, winking at Charlie to show his appreciation for the shortcut to practice.
"Good. Now, go get some dinner. And Albert," Charlie added, a calculating gleam in his eye, "do you think you'd be a Seeker or a Chaser?"
Albert looked up at the vast, empty sky, still buzzing from the speed. "I think," he said, a determined glint in his own eyes, "I'll try my hand at everything." The sky, after all, was the ultimate skill tree.