"Good morning, Madam Hooch."
"Good morning, my dear Eve."
Today was the first Quidditch match of the year—Slytherin versus Gryffindor.
Madam Hooch had been woken up early for the occasion, but she didn't seem the least bit annoyed. In fact, she looked downright excited.
"Eve, tell me, is the broom Nolan made really that incredible?"
As they walked toward the Quidditch pitch together, Madam Hooch chattered away, her enthusiasm boundless.
"In terms of speed, it's about three times faster than an ordinary Silver Arrow," Eve recalled the results of Nolan's test. "It has excellent maneuverability, shock resistance on par with the Nimbus 2001, and I can easily perform a Sloth Grip Roll and the Wronski Feint on it."
Madam Hooch's eyes gleamed. "Brilliant, child! If it's truly as you say, then this is nothing short of a revolutionary breakthrough! We always knew young Mr. Von Draugr was exceptional, but perhaps we've still underestimated him!"
Then, her tone softened. "Of course, to be chosen as his partner, you must be quite remarkable yourself. I believe I told you two years ago—you are the most naturally gifted flyer I have ever seen. Bar none."
"I've always held onto your words, Madam Hooch. You made me realize that I am not lesser than anyone else," Eve said earnestly.
Two years ago, Eve had been despised by her housemates in Slytherin. A Muggle-born, clueless about magic, and carrying a timid nature, she had been consumed by self-doubt.
The two things that had saved her from drowning in insecurity were Nolan and flying.
"You've always been exceptional," Madam Hooch said, gently brushing a hand over Eve's silver hair—her most outstanding student.
Eve indeed had an innate talent for flying, but much of her precise technique had been honed under Madam Hooch's guidance.
As they discussed recent flying insights, they arrived at the Quidditch pitch.
The preparations were already underway. Professor Flitwick was busy adding colorful banners, Hagrid was carrying an armful of chairs across the grounds, and the prefects were reinforcing the stands with magic.
After all, last year's final match had involved a dragon, and half the stands had been destroyed. These new structures had only just been rebuilt.
Madam Hooch and Eve exchanged greetings with the others before stepping onto the grass.
In the center of the field, Nolan—blindfolded—was in a heated discussion with a tall wizard.
"What's going on, Von Draugr? Beamon?" Madam Hooch walked over curiously.
"Oh, Madam Hooch," the tall wizard, Beamon, greeted her. He worked for the Comet Trading Company and was overseeing the development of Nolan's broom. "We all recognize Mr. Von Draugr's brilliance, so I wanted to extend an invitation for him to join Comet after he graduates. Unfortunately, he's not interested."
"I have more important things to do," Nolan said impatiently. "Besides, I can assure you, Mr. Beamon, the Firebolt won't be replaced anytime soon. When will professional players feel the need to upgrade their brooms again? Fifty years from now? Starting next year, I think your company's research department can take a long break."
"Perhaps I should be offended by your arrogance, Mr. Von Draugr." Beamon looked serious for a moment before breaking into a laugh. "Then again, those with talent are entitled to a bit of pride. But hold on—what did you just say? Firebolt?"
"Firebolt. That's its name." Nolan picked up the broom resting beside him.
It still carried traces of the Silver Arrow design, but it was clearly something else entirely.
The streamlined handle made it look almost regal—a broom crafted for nobility.
"This is the finished product?" Madam Hooch took the Firebolt eagerly, swung her leg over, and kicked off the ground.
In an instant, she shot into the sky.
Her speed was astonishing, her movements fluid. She even managed to execute advanced maneuvers without losing momentum.
Madam Hooch was not as skilled as Eve, and she was no longer in her prime, yet even so, she flew with remarkable ease. It was a testament to how exceptional this broom truly was.
"Spectacular! Absolutely spectacular, Mr. Von Draugr!"
Madam Hooch landed, her face flushed with exhilaration. "I am so proud of you, Mr. Von Draugr!"
"Madam Hooch, you might remember that in my first year, no broom would acknowledge me." Nolan's voice was calm. "I was a wizard without any flying talent. So, I had to find another way to conquer a broom."
Madam Hooch, deeply moved, pulled Nolan into an embrace. "Oh, child, no one could have done better." Then she turned and wrapped Eve into the hug as well. "Two years ago, I saw something extraordinary in both of you. And today, you've proven me right. I have taught the greatest broom designer of our time, and the finest flyer of this generation!"
Beamon chuckled. "Congratulations, Madam Hooch. I still remember when you retired thirty years ago—every Quidditch enthusiast mourned the loss. But I think now, no one can say you made the wrong choice… Alright, Miss Stock, let's see the Firebolt in action!"
Eve smiled confidently as she took the very first Firebolt in the world—the broom that was made for her.
The golden letters on the broomstick gleamed under the sunlight:
Firebolt No. 001 – Silver Lightning, Eve Stock
At eleven o'clock, students flocked to the pitch in excited groups. The six Slytherin boys on the team gathered around Eve.
"Today, I get to witness history!" Beamon said enthusiastically. "This is the first live trial of the most powerful broom ever created! It won't be long before its speed and elegance dominate the skies! Our Comet Trading Company can finally stand tall and crush the Nimbus brand underfoot!"
Then, lowering his voice, he turned to Nolan. "About the Firebolt's numbering…"
"I've already made No. 001 and No. 002," Nolan said coolly. "The rest of the numbers belong to your company. But don't even think about touching mine."
"Ah, of course…"
Beamon forced a smile.
It was easy to predict what would happen next.
The Firebolt was destined to revolutionize Quidditch. Single-digit serial numbers would become priceless collector's items, fought over by the wealthiest wizards in the world.
Owning one would be a statement—a mark of prestige.
Beamon estimated that Firebolt No. 001 and No. 002 would sell for millions of Galleons.
But unfortunately… both of them were already claimed.
Nolan had given them away.
As gifts.
To his little girlfriend.
What a colossal waste.
Beamon rolled his eyes. He had just witnessed the most expensive romantic gift in wizarding history.