After lunch, Hogwarts sprang back to life.
Ravenclaw's first class of the afternoon was Herbology. Professor Sprout led the young wizards through another hands-on lesson, getting them familiar with various magical plants.
The moment class was dismissed, the Ravenclaws couldn't wait to head outside and make their way toward the Quidditch pitch.
According to the official Hogwarts Flight Schedule, the pitch belonged to Ravenclaw starting from the second block of the afternoon. It was officially their practice time, meaning the other houses couldn't try to snipe the field.
When Terry found out Richie had changed his mind and was actually coming to watch the practice, he broke into a massive grin, threw his arm around Richie's neck, and confidently declared:
"Nobody can resist Quidditch!"
The four roommates followed the crowd out of the castle.
The Hogwarts Quidditch pitch was located near the Black Lake on the west side of the grounds.
After struggling up the steep steps to the towering stands, Richie leaned against the railing and took in the view.
The pitch was a massive oval—easily the size of a dozen football fields. The spectator stands towered around the perimeter, clearly divided into four distinct sections, obviously corresponding to the four houses. At either end of the field stood three towering, hoop-like goalposts that looked remarkably like giant, hollow lollipops.
The Ravenclaws slowly filed into the stands, claiming the best vantage points. Over in the other sections, a few scattered students from different houses had also shown up, clearly sent to "scout the enemy."
Soon, Razeem marched out to the center of the pitch in his blue team uniform, leading his squad to the ball-release hatch marked with a giant "H".
Looking up at the packed stands, Razeem spotted Richie leaning against the railing and enthusiastically waved at him.
Then, turning to his teammates—who were looking more energized and locked-in than they had in years—Razeem delivered his first captain's speech of the season.
"Alright, guys. It's incredibly good to see you all out here."
"A new school year. A fresh start."
"I'm sure you all saw the parchment on the notice board this morning." Razeem looked at each of them, his expression turning dead serious. "That wasn't just a list of academic theories. It was a mandate from our house. It was them giving us a brand-new purpose!"
"Remember how the poem went?" Razeem didn't wait for an answer; he just projected his voice across the pitch.
"When we treat the Golden Snitch and the Bludgers as raw variables, and the pitch as our parchment for seeking truth."
"Then our brooms are our quills, and the sky is ink waiting to be spilled."
"Thus, Quidditch is no longer merely a sport, but a live-fire test of intellect."
Hearing Razeem's powerful delivery, the players instantly stood taller, their chests puffing out with pride.
"That is the true purpose of Ravenclaw Quidditch."
"The light of knowledge will illuminate this pitch, and we are the ones who will bring the glory back to Ravenclaw!"
With that final rallying cry, Razeem mounted his broom and kicked off the ground.
"Mount up! Practice starts now!"
At their captain's command, the rest of the team launched themselves into the air.
Whoosh—
Whoosh—
"Oh, it's starting!"
"Get your parchment out! Start tracking the data!"
"Ridgeway, I'm about to prove my theory is exactly right!"
"Ha! In your dreams! My math is flawless!"
Up in the stands, the Ravenclaw students watched the practice with laser focus, desperately trying to validate their personal hypotheses.
Whenever the data didn't line up, or if they couldn't clearly see a variable, they literally shouted down at the players they knew, ordering them to perform high-difficulty maneuvers to test their theories. And surprisingly, the players happily obliged.
"Slipstream velocity... resonance frequencies... the Bludger's pseudo-random targeting algorithm..."
"Oh, beautiful play! I think I've cracked it!"
"Haha! The Bludger's attack pattern definitely has a sequence! Look at these two datasets!"
"Don't jump to conclusions yet!"
Test after test, debate after debate. Even though it was just a single house running drills, the sheer noise and energy made it feel like an actual championship match.
Seeing the absolute madness, the scouts from the other houses panicked and immediately sprinted back to the castle to warn their own captains:
"Ravenclaw is collectively crowdsourcing brand-new Quidditch tactics!!!"
Meanwhile, Richie sat in the stands, watching the players dart through the sky and occasionally chiming in on the debates breaking out around him.
He had to admit, Quidditch really did have a unique pull. It truly was the football of the wizarding world; just watching it got his blood pumping. He could only imagine how intense a real match would get.
As the afternoon dragged on, the students eventually packed up and headed to the Great Hall for dinner.
Night fell, and another day quietly slipped away.
Back in the dorm, Richie opened his notebook.
September 4, 1991. Sunny.
Because of magic, every single day brings something entirely new.
...
Time flew by. Before anyone realized it, a whole month had passed.
[cite_start]For the past month, Richie had been grinding relentlessly, constantly expanding his theoretical knowledge base[cite: 78]. His exceptional performance in class had the professors singing his praises, putting him right up there with Hermione as the undeniable teacher's pets.
Outside of class, Richie had practically moved into the Hogwarts library. Every night, right on schedule, he'd sneak down to the kitchens to hang out with his late-night snacking buddy, Windis, and demolish the house-elves' cooking. (Though he strictly avoided anything with alcohol in it now).
Whenever he had some free time, he'd head down to the pitch to watch the Ravenclaw team practice, using it as a way to unwind.
Everything had settled into a comfortable, productive routine.
But on the very first day of October, Hogwarts Castle received unexpected visitors—four investigators from the Ministry of Magic.
Annabelle Godwin, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Pierce Grant, and Thomas Carter.
The latter two were actually scribes, brought along specifically to record the official interrogations for the investigation.
Whoosh!
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Green flames flared continuously in the fireplace of the Hogwarts reception room, and four figures dressed in sharp black robes stepped out one after another.
"Hogwarts. Good to be back."
Kingsley leaned against the sofa in the reception room, looking entirely relaxed, as if he had just walked into his own living room. And honestly, considering he was a Gryffindor alumnus, it pretty much was his "home."
"Oh, the Fat Lady!"
"Long time no see."
The reception room was lined with magical portraits. Seeing the group arrive, a few of the painted figures immediately scurried out of their frames to pass on the message, while a few others stuck around to keep an eye on them.
Kingsley stepped away from the sofa and walked right up to a portrait of a curly-haired woman in a pink silk dress, enthusiastically waving at her.