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#48 WSWW
🕑 Added 2025-03-21 04:28:33 +0000 UTCTed don't know what kind of butterfly effect led to it, but for some reason, Harley never developed an interest in flying broomsticks and only has a casual appreciation for Quidditch.
And this has always been a sore spot for Sirius.
But whether Harley was on the Quidditch team or not, the matches would go on as scheduled.
The first Saturday of November marked the first game of the season.
Hogwarts' Quidditch season typically worked like this:
The four houses were split into two matches between Halloween and Christmas, followed by another two matches between Christmas and Easter.
The two teams with the best records would then face off in the final game at the end of the school year.
Games were always scheduled on Saturdays.
Ted groaned. "Why do they have to put the games on a Saturday? That's basically stealing our weekend! What kind of twisted corporate logic is this?"
In the world of Quidditch, Gryffindor and Slytherin were the dominant teams, often clashing at least three times a year.
Meanwhile, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff usually just tagged along for the ride.
The first game of the year was none other than the much-anticipated Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match.
Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, served as the referee, and the ever-enthusiastic Lee Jordan provided commentary.
Lee, with his fast-talking, charismatic style, had a natural talent for hyping up the crowd.
He looked like the kind of guy who probably learned how to talk before he could walk.
The excitement for Quidditch at Hogwarts was something Ted and Hermione could never quite understand.
Some students had been up since dawn just to secure the best seats in the stands.
"Do they think they're waiting in line for a new gaming console or something?" Ted muttered as he jogged past the already gathering crowd.
By nine o'clock, the stands were packed—or at least as packed as they could be, considering Hogwarts only had about 200 students. Still, for a school this size, it was a major event.
The house colors stood out vividly in the stands: Gryffindor red, Slytherin green, Ravenclaw blue, and Hufflepuff yellow.
On the field, Slytherin's team looked less like Quidditch players and more like an air rugby squad.
Their Chasers were built like tanks, and their Beaters wielded their bats like weapons of war.
Gryffindor’s team, on the other hand, had a more balanced mix.
Three of their players were girls, their captain was Oliver Wood, and the infamous Weasley twins were their Beaters.
The Seeker was some guy Ted didn’t recognize—since Harley wasn't playing, there was no Chosen One drama this time around.
Without a star player to shake things up, the game played out as expected.
There was no suspicious spellwork from Professor Quirrell, no Snape getting accused of jinxing a broomstick, and no Hermione setting anyone’s robes on fire.
In the end, Gryffindor lost. And it wasn’t even close.
Slytherin’s playing style could only be described as dirty—flagrant fouls, blatant interference, and absolutely no regard for fair play.
They didn’t even go easy on the girls.
By the end of the match, the other three houses were seething, booing Slytherin’s underhanded tactics.
And then, as if on cue, Malfoy swaggered over, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, wearing the smuggest expression imaginable.
“Oi, Gryffindor’s a joke! Slytherin’s where the real talent is.”
Jerry, having absolutely no patience for Malfoy’s nonsense, took the opportunity to trip him.
The moment Malfoy hit the ground, Ron seized the chance to land a well-timed follow-up.
And just like that, round two of Gryffindor vs. Slytherin kicked off—this time, off the field.
What started as a war of words quickly escalated into an all-out fistfight.
Unfortunately for Malfoy and his goons, they had wandered straight into enemy territory.
The three of them were hopelessly outnumbered.
By the time they managed to escape, their robes were in tatters, their faces were smudged with dirt, and they looked like they’d barely survived a stampede.
Even so, Gryffindor considered it a well-earned victory.
The Quidditch loss was a tough pill to swallow for many Gryffindors. Even Professor McGonagall looked disheartened for days.
Ted, however, had bigger things to focus on.
He had finally reached a new level in his magical progression.
After another month of absorbing knowledge from other worlds, he had officially leveled up:
Level 3 Wizard / Level 1 Psion.
Going from Level 1 to Level 2 had only required 1,000 experience points, but reaching Level 3 took a total of 3,000.
Currently, he had 1,686 experience points remaining in his pool.
With the attribute point he earned, he boosted his Intelligence stat.
His single skill point was invested in Magical Power, bringing it to Level 4 (+1 when wielding a wand).
With his wand in hand, his magical power now sat at Level 5—surpassing that of most adult wizards.
The sheer volume of magic flowing through him was staggering.
It was like having an endless well of power, though realistically, this was because most of the spells he knew were still low-level and didn’t consume much energy.
This allowed him to practice magic relentlessly, casting spells over and over without tiring.
As a result, several of his spells had already leveled up, especially combat-oriented ones like Frost Armor, Frostbolt, and the Shield Charm.
After all, he was going to need every advantage he could get.
...
Lately, Ted had been diving deep into the arcane spells of the Dalaran battle mages, meticulously studying their techniques.
His hard work was finally paying off, as he had successfully learned his first arcane spell in record time.
One day, while wandering through the Hogwarts library, he stumbled upon an unusual manuscript hidden in the restricted section.
"The Joy of Chaos."
It wasn’t a typical spellbook, nor was it written by a wizard. The author was a Muggle named Austin Osman Spell, who had published the book in the 1970s.
Though he lacked magical ability himself, he had spent his life immersed in magic, thanks to a neighboring witch who eventually became his wife.
This book was his attempt to explain magic from a Muggle’s perspective, but it went even further—it explored the possibility of Muggles casting spells purely through willpower.
As Ted flipped through the pages, he realized that Spell had gone on to become a renowned mystic scholar in the Muggle world, founding what he called the "Chaos School of Magic."
However, this wasn’t the kind of chaos associated with dark, eldritch forces that lurked in the depths of the universe—the kind of chaos that would have Warhammer's Emperor screaming "Exterminate!" before incinerating an entire planet.
No, this was something different.
According to Spell’s philosophy, the universe was inherently unknowable, and no belief system—whether science or religion—could ever be completely accurate.
Humanity was just a tiny fragment of existence, perceiving the world through limited senses, unable to grasp the full truth.
For instance, humans see the world in color, but some animals only see in black and white, while others can perceive spectrums beyond human capability.
Some creatures don’t even rely on sight at all, experiencing reality in an entirely different way.
The book argued that all perspectives were fundamentally flawed because they were inherently incomplete.
This was the foundation of Chaos Magic: the idea that the only thing we can truly control is our will.
The book suggested that myths and gods only existed because humans feared disorder.
Given the choice between believing the universe was a swirling, uncontrollable storm or believing that some greater power—be it a deity, fate, or even the Force—was pulling the strings, most would choose the latter.
But Chaos Magic rejected the need for any external power.
It was a philosophy that discarded rules, regulations, and traditions in favor of personal will and practicality.
According to this school of thought, magic wasn’t an inherent force but rather an art—one where the mind could influence reality.
The idea that using magic carelessly would bring misfortune wasn’t an objective truth, but rather a self-imposed limitation born from guilt and doubt.
In other words, if you didn’t believe in karmic retribution, then there was no punishment. If you truly believed you could cheat the system, then you could. What you believed became reality.
The practitioners of Chaos Magic took this to absurd levels. They claimed that anything could be a source of magic, even pop culture icons.
For example, some chaos wizards and witches could worshipped characters like Spider-Man, Sonic the Hedgehog, and even Goku, treating them as divine figures to draw power from.
If they placed unwavering faith in these figures and performed rituals in their name, their subconscious minds would channel their belief into tangible results.
Ted paused. This was starting to sound eerily similar to a concept in psychology known as the "Law of Attraction"—the idea that thoughts could shape reality, drawing in outcomes that matched one’s mental focus.
He looked down at the manuscript in his hands. This was no ordinary book—it was the original draft of Spell’s work, filled with notes elaborating on "will-based magic."
Ted leaned back, rubbing his temples. "Can this actually work?"
In the wizarding world, the basic formula was clear: magic = magical energy + willpower.
But this? This threw magic power out the window and relied entirely on will. Was that even possible?
He wasn’t sure. If pure willpower could alter reality, then technically, if he got mad enough, he should be able to punch straight through a fifty-meter steel wall.
Ridiculous.
But then again, there was another field of magic that relied on mental power alone: psychic abilities.
Ted’s eyes flickered with intrigue.
