Hogwarts: Wind and Eagle Wings

"Hey!" Roger called out, his tone edged with annoyance. "Don't tell me you've fallen for Lockhart's toothy grin and flashy charm too!"

Scott shook his head, responding with a calm and objective tone. "The cover photo is a bit much, I'll admit. But to be fair, the book has a few worthwhile parts."

Roger scoffed, clearly unconvinced. "I don't know… I have a bad feeling about Lockhart teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. He's more of a celebrity than a professor. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if his teaching ends up being even worse than Quirrell's. Why does Dumbledore keep hiring such questionable people for this position? It's like he's forcing us to self-study just to scrape by in the exams."

The frustration in Roger's voice was hard to miss—he had clearly given up any hope for this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

Scott pondered for a moment before offering an explanation. "It's probably because no one actually wants the job. Let's face it—the history of that position is bad. The so-called 'curse' on it seems almost real at this point. Most witches and wizards avoid it like the plague... except maybe Snape."

Roger frowned, though he couldn't deny the truth of Scott's observation. Over the years, Hogwarts had seen a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor almost every year, and many of them left under less-than-ideal circumstances. It was one of the most infamous facts in the British wizarding world.

"Yeah, that's probably why Lockhart got the job," Roger muttered, reluctantly accepting Scott's reasoning. But then, a thought struck him, and he smirked. "Imagine if it were Snape in that role. If he ever got the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, I bet he'd be gone in a year, too. Why doesn't Dumbledore just give him the job already?"

Though Roger had endured more than his fair share of Snape's biting sarcasm in Potions class, the thought of Snape leaving Hogwarts made him a little too excited.

"That's not going to happen," Scott said flatly, crushing Roger's daydream. "Dumbledore would never let Snape be sacrificed to that position. As unpleasant as his teaching style is, Snape's still a rare Potions Master. The school needs him."

Roger sighed, disappointed. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Guess I'll just keep dreaming." With that, the two friends moved on to lighter conversation while finishing the food Scott had brought along.

"So, you came all this way just to help me eat?" Scott teased as he packed the leftover trash into a bag.

"Not exactly," Roger replied, his face lighting up. "I wanted to see if you'd consider trying out for the Quidditch team. We've lost a few players to graduation, so we've got openings."

Scott gave a small laugh and shook his head. "No thanks. I hope you remember that I tried out in second year—and didn't make the cut." He set the trash aside, politely declining Roger's suggestion.

"But you like Quidditch, don't you?" Roger pressed, his excitement bubbling over. "You've got talent, Scott. I remember during tryouts, your aim was spot-on. It's just the flying part that… uh, could've used some work."

Like many wizards his age, Roger couldn't help but get fired up when talking about Quidditch. He was eager to see his friend join him on the pitch, imagining the synergy they could have as teammates.

"Listen," Roger continued, undeterred. "We're down a Chaser right now, and I really think you should give it another shot. You might surprise yourself!"

Scott continued to shake his head. "Sorry, Roger. You know I haven't had the chance to practice flying since our first-year flying lessons." He knew full well that his flying skills weren't up to par for an intense Quidditch match.

It was no secret that Muggle-born students often struggled with flying compared to their wizard-born peers. Many young witches and wizards from magical families had been riding toy broomsticks since they could walk, while Muggle-borns only encountered flying for the first time at age eleven when they entered Hogwarts. And it was hard to catch up unless they had natural talent—like Harry Potter.

As for Scott? His flying skills were, to put it kindly, mediocre. And while practice might have helped, he had no real interest in improving.

Roger, however, seemed oblivious. "What, are you planning to spend all your time studying again, like last year?" He groaned dramatically. "Just because we're in Ravenclaw doesn't mean we shouldn't have some fun, you know…"

Scott raised a hand to stop him mid-rant. "I get it, Roger. But you're giving me way too much credit. I'm really not the Quidditch star you're imagining."

Roger, however, stood firm. "You're being way too modest. You're clever, Scott. And hey, I'm not pestering Milton to join the team, am I" Milton Greaves, another one of their roommates, was a sensitive, artsy boy whose greatest passion was playing the cello.

"Wow, what an honor. Compared to Milton, I really am a star," Scott replied with a sarcastic grin.

For context, Milton had barely scraped by in their first-year flying class with a D (Dreadful), while Scott had managed an A (Acceptable).

Seeing that Scott was resolute, Roger grudgingly relented, "Alright, your choice." After all, if Scott's flying really was as unremarkable as he claimed, then he wouldn't stand a chance at the tryouts. Roger's hope had been to see Scott join him as a fellow Chaser, thinking that as best friends, they would have an unmatched synergy on the field.

But it seemed that hope had been dashed.

"Yet I must say, even in Ravenclaw, you're the most obsessed with studying, Scott." Roger changed the subject from Quidditch, his expression overly dramatic. "Especially last year—you were completely immersed in your books and notes, even skipping Quidditch matches!"

While Scott might not have been the best flyer and had failed to make the Quidditch team in his second year, he had his own strengths. Since entering Hogwarts in his first year, although he hadn't excelled in most of the classes set by the school, performing at a level that was neither outstanding nor bad, he had shone in Transfiguration.

The subject was taught by Professor Minerva McGonagall, the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts and head of Gryffindor House, a professor known for her strictness with students. Yet even she couldn't help but smile and praise Scott, claiming he had "superb talent in Transfiguration."

Scott believed that since he had this talent, he should strive to maximize his strengths. So he had consistently delved into independent study and experimentation in Transfiguration topics during his spare time. The previous school year had been a crucial period for his research, and he had always rushed to find time to focus on it in order to achieve visible results, leading him to miss out on many activities.

At that moment, Roger's expression suggested that not attending the Quidditch matches was like committing an unforgivable sin.

"Oh, thanks for the reminder." Scott could only smile in response. "I think this new year, I'll try to take it a bit easier. At the very least, I'll have time to watch your Quidditch games."