Theodore felt more than relieved as his Spaniard friend consented to his wishes. Had he been with any other of his companions, they probably would have forced him to fly around, like a mother forcing their awkward baby bird from the comfortable nest. Grabbing up the quaffle and tossing the borrowed clean sweep 290 on the grassy ground, Theodore made an effort to grin. "Ready when you are!" He said, pulling his scarf more tightly around his as he kept the large red ball in the crook of his arm. "When you shoot, I'll run over to the goal posts and catch it. I... I need to warm up before I do any actual flying."

It was more like Theo needed to observe some proper flying technique to alleviate his fears about his own flying-related inadequacies. It hadn't necessarily been that the curly-topped teen had never wanted to play the famed sport as a kid in the Big Apple; it was rather that it was nearly impossible to use a broomstick in such a heavily-populated urban area. Even if his parents would have placed a disillusionment charm on hi, there was always the big chance that he would crash into a bird or a building.