"Got it, I'll go first!"
One of the twins swung onto the broom, kicked off the ground, and shot upward before looping smoothly around the Quidditch Pitch.
"Not bad—barely passable," Charlie said, though the smile tugging at his mouth gave him away.
For a first-year, flying that steadily was more than "barely" anything.
Once both twins finished their test runs, it was finally Albert and Lee Jordan's turn.
Since neither had ever ridden a proper broom before, Charlie stepped in to teach them personally—demonstrating how to sit without sliding off and how to grip the handle correctly.
"We never got this kind of luxury," the twins muttered teasingly from the side. "Are we sure we're actually his younger brothers?"
"Be quiet," Charlie snapped, shooting them a glare before correcting Lee Jordan's hand placement.
"You only need to push off with both feet to lift off the ground," Charlie said, slipping into professor mode. "You'll learn how much strength to use after you try it. Keep the broom steady, lift your body slightly, and it'll go up. Lean down a bit, and it descends. Lean forward—and it moves forward."
After five minutes of instructions and safety warnings, Charlie stepped back and let Lee Jordan begin.
Wand in hand, he watched closely, ready to catch any falling first-year.
To everyone's relief, Lee Jordan's flight was smooth—slow as a drifting cloud, but steady. It took him almost five minutes to complete a lap, and when he landed, his face glowed with excitement.
His toy-broom experience clearly helped.
"Good flight," Charlie said, offering a token bit of encouragement before turning to Albert.
Albert reached for the broom and ran his fingers along the handle.
Smooth. Hard. No padding.
He vaguely remembered something called a Cushioning Charm or Softening Charm that was placed on brooms.
Yet he couldn't feel any magic.
Would this thing hurt to sit on?
Was pain in the balls a rite of passage for wizards?
At least toy brooms had actual seats.
"What are you doing?" Charlie asked, baffled at Albert stroking the broom like he was searching for treasure.
"Nothing—just trying to find the cushion," Albert replied, and before Charlie could react, he swung a leg over and kicked off the ground.
Ah. The Cushioning Charm was there after all.
The broom felt soft beneath him—as if sitting on a springy cushion. Somewhat like riding a bicycle, actually.
As the broom lifted higher, wind rushed against Albert's robes, making them billow behind him. His mood soared with it. Following Charlie's instructions, he gently raised the broom's nose to climb.
A quick look downward told him he was about ten feet above the ground.
Good.
No acrophobia.
Otherwise he might've panicked and fallen straight off.
Albert tightened his grip with one hand and leaned forward. The broom eased into motion—slow, steady, safe. Slower even than Lee Jordan, but enough to circle the pitch and savor the sensation of flight.
Charlie, watching below, stared in surprise.
Most first-years panicked as soon as both feet left the ground.
Albert adapted in minutes.
But Albert had no intention of flying like a turtle. Once he'd grown used to the pace, he opened his skill panel and upgraded Flying Skills (Broom) to Level 1.
Immediately, he leaned forward—and the broom surged ahead.
His movements sharpened. His balance improved. He slipped between the goalposts with agility he hadn't had moments before. Wind whipped across his face, making him squint.
Faster.
His body responded instinctively, leaning in, and the broom accelerated again. The pitch blurred beneath him. His heart hammered wildly.
Flying felt incredible.
No wonder wizards loved this sport so much.
It was exhilarating—thrilling in the same way street racing was thrilling.
Albert took lap after lap, faster each time, until he pushed the Shooting Star close to its limit.
Below, four stunned boys watched with their mouths hanging open.
A few minutes later, Albert landed lightly on the grass.
"You—you fly really well," Charlie stammered. He looked almost disbelieving. He'd watched Albert improve from slow to fast to borderline professional in the span of minutes.
This talent was absurd.
Lee Jordan stood beside the twins, looking at Albert as though he had grown a second head. He'd thought he'd flown well—until a monster appeared beside him.
Did legendary geniuses really exist?
(If he knew Albert had simply leveled up his flying skill for fun, he probably wouldn't think so.)
"Sorry—I got carried away," Albert said, stepping off the broom. Speeding through the air had been… addictive.
"You've got a lot of talent," Charlie said, patting Albert's shoulder firmly. "All of you do. You should think about becoming reserve players. If you've got time, join us for training."
The twins' faces lit up instantly.
"We don't have our own brooms," Albert reminded him.
"That's fine—you can borrow school brooms," Charlie said. "Learn the basics first. Figure out your positions."
Then he cleared his throat. "But I need to say this up front. If you want to become proper Quidditch players, you'll still need to pass next year's selection on your own. I'm not giving you special treatment."
"We know," Fred said, grinning.
"Good."
Charlie looked very satisfied—already imagining the secret weapons he'd train for Gryffindor.