Harry clicked the silver fastening. The lid creaked open, revealing a bed of soft, enchanted silk. Nestled within was the .

Ron and Harry hovered over it in the kitchen. For weeks, they had pooled every stray Galleon, including a surprising contribution from Fred and George, who claimed they were "investing in Gryffindor’s aerial superiority."

"Go on then," Ron whispered, his voice cracking with excitement. "Pop the latch."

"The shopkeeper said it can go from zero to one hundred and fifty miles per hour in ten seconds," Ron breathed, leaning in so close his nose nearly touched the bristles. "And look at the braking charm—it’s got a 'perfect-stop' guarantee."

It was more than a broom; it was a masterpiece of aerodynamic sorcery. The handle, turned from polished ebony, shone with a deep, inner light. Each individual birch twig at the tail had been honed to aerodynamic perfection. But it was the ironwork that drew the eye—the footrests were forged with goblin-silver, etched with a unique registration number that pulsed faintly in the sunlight.

Looking down at the shrinking patch of the Burrow, Harry realized this wasn't just a purchase. It was the fastest thing in the wizarding world, and for the first time, the Golden Snitch didn't stand a chance.

He didn't even need to kick off. He simply thought of the sky, and the broom surged. There was no wobbling, no vibration. It was like being strapped to a bolt of lightning that knew exactly where he wanted to go. He banked hard left, and the world tilted effortlessly; he dove, and the wind didn't just whistle past his ears—it roared in triumph.