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**Edgar Cloggs** · #1 (**permalink**) 05-08-2026, 11:36 PM

2119-2120 SCHOOL YEAR QUIDDITCH TRYOUTS

Quote:

Before posting in tryouts, please make sure you’ve reviewed the Quidditch and Gobstones Guidelines thread in full and have submitted the required questionnaire for the character(s) you hope to place on their House team.

A reminder as well that Quidditch tryouts are open to all student-age characters whether they are a post bit or additional character.

Quidditch hopefuls arrive at the Quidditch pitch to find school brooms lined in neat rows upon their racks beside open crates of gear and a box of white training bibs. The towering stands curved around the field like watchful giants, mostly empty for now save for the occasional flutter of house banners snapping lazily in the wind and scattered pockets of supportive spectators already gathering to cheer their friends on.

Everything appeared perfectly arranged. Everything except the instructor.

That illusion lasted right up until the clock struck nine on the dot. Not a minute earlier. Certainly not a minute later.

By then, any student with serious Quidditch ambitions had already made themselves present and accounted for — those still sprinting across the grounds late would simply have to discover firsthand how Edgar Cloggs felt about tardiness.

The temperature dipped sharply where the hopefuls stood. A sudden chill swept across the pitch, cold enough to prickle the backs of necks and cut clean through layers of robes, and then a voice rang out across the field from nowhere in particular.

“Ahhhh, there you are.”

Edgar Cloggs — former Quidditch official, professional critic of poor footwork, and very much deceased — makes his appearance with all the timing of someone who enjoys startling children recreationally (Oh My!). One moment absent, the next hovering several feet above the grass in perfectly pressed officiating robes at least a century out of fashion and a silver whistle gleaming faintly against his chest.

“Training bibs, if you will. White ones. Yes, the box directly in front of you, we are already demonstrating worrying observational skills this term.” he says, hands clasped neatly behind his back as he drifted several feet above the grass, expression calm in the distinctly threatening way. “Take one. Put it on properly. We will all benefit enormously from being able to identify who is who once the flying begins. If the Kobe Kappa Quadruple Substitution Disaster of 1968 taught us anything, it is that. Ohhh, marvelous cheating scandal. Entirely avoidable if people had worn clearly distinguishable identifiers.”

He gave a slow, wistful shake of the head and straightened abruptly, nostalgia vanishing beneath professional irritation.

“So. Bibs on. Promptly, please. I have already died once and do not intend to spend my afterlife waiting for teenagers to dress themselves.”

He hovered there in silence while students obeyed, occasionally narrowing his eyes at particularly confusing attempts to untangle fabric from limbs. At one point he floated soundlessly behind someone wearing theirs backwards, stared for a long moment in visible disappointment, then drifted away without comment. Once everyone had more or less succeeded, Cloggs gave a small approving nod.

“Wonderful. Some of you even managed to put them on facing the correct direction. A promising start.”

Turning sharply in the air, he extended one long spectral arm toward the opposite end of the pitch.

“Warm-ups. There and back. And there and back again if so inclined. Leave all brooms behind ― they will be here when you return. Alternate between regular jogging, high knees, heel kicks, and side shuffling. Properly, mind you. If I see creative interpretations of basic movement this early, I shall become concerned.”

His hands folded neatly behind his back once more as he began circumnavigating the group at an unnervingly effortless glide.

“Posture upright. Knees higher. No shortcuts. I spent decades officiating Quidditch — I can spot cheating from remarkable distances.” He paused, holding his chin between his index finger and thumb for a moment. “And stretch when you return. Thoroughly. I am not haunting a pulled hamstring or deltoid today.”

OOC: We’re diving straight into the action with tryouts starting immediately with warm-ups! Go ahead and post your characters following Edgar Cloggs’ instructions on the pitch — bibs, jogging, stretching, complaining internally, showing off unnecessarily, all of it encouraged. Also feel free to have your characters interact with one another throughout the warm-up as much as you’d like while everyone gets settled in.

TRYOUT PROGRESSION

Please note that you may jump into tryouts at any point in the progression ― whether that means catching up on previous phases or jumping right in to the current one.
CATCH-UP PHASE: Warm-Ups & Dynamic Stretching (on the ground)

CATCH-UP:Low Altitude Flying Warm-Ups

CURRENT PHASE:Zone Flying Warm-Up
Slow Zone; slight silver shimmer; movement delayed/slowed

Fast Zone; slight gold shimmer; movement speed up

Inverted Zone; slight bronze shimmer; player/broom orientation vertically flips

Normal Zone; no shimmer; sweet relief... but transitioning in/out is tricky

sweetpinkpixie · 05-09-2026, 04:45 AM

Calliope had arrived early, because of course she had. Not absurdly earlier in a way that carried a sort of overeager energy she had left behind in her second year or so, but rather early enough to feel bored by the great expanse of nothing in front of her. Her broom had been checked twice before she'd even stepped onto the grounds, polished dark wood gleaming beneath the morning light like an extension of herself rather than sporting equipment ― more so than her wand ever could be.

So when the icy drop in temperature swept across the pitch and Edgar Cloggs materialized overhead with all the dramatics of a ghost who clearly enjoyed hearing himself speak, Calliope merely tipped her chin upward with the composed expression of someone deeply unimpressed by theatrics and trying very hard not to roll her eyes.

She moved to the box of training bibs when instructed to do so, her fingers pinching one from the box like she was picking up a dead rat. Reluctantly, she pulled it over her quidditch robes with the air of someone tolerating injustice for the greater good of the sport... and at least she put it on correctly the first time.

The fifth year's jaw tightened and the look she cast toward her broom was one that belonged on the cover of a tragic romance novel from Pierrot Proper Romance Publishers. Still, rules were rules — or at least rules were things she strategically followed when Quidditch authority figures were involved (even when it came to school brooms now) — so she slid it onto the rack with a level of care usually reserved for her nightly skincare routines.

Then she was moving. The annoyance vanished almost instantly ― well, mostly ― as she became absorbed in muscle memory and rhythm. Her jog settled into an easy, athletic cadence as they crossed the pitch, posture upright exactly as instructed, knees driving high with sharp precision, side shuffles low and controlled, heel kicks clean and swift. Calliope pivoted sharply the moment her trainers skimmed the white boundary line as she drove back toward the starting point, her thick brunette braid snapping behind her like a whip.

FearlessLeader19 · 05-09-2026, 11:17 AM

Levi turned up for the tryouts, broom grasped firmly in his hand. He was quite nervous and was trying his best to not let that show. It did not help that there was a new Flying Instructor. Because the Hufflepuff was not familiar with his style, he found himself shifting from foot to foot, missing Professor Springer. Instead of dwelling on his feelings, he tried to take the time to appreciate how neat and organised everything was - the bibs, the gear... That admiration lasted for about a minute before Levi found himself shivering violently. Then, as the voice pierced the air seemingly louder in the third year’s opinion, than the voices of his schoolmates, he jumped nearly a foot in the air.

But he tried his best to play the embarrassment off by dragging a hand through his hair and leaning TOO casually against his broom. A small smile was given to the instructor. Had it been absolutely necessary to scare him - as well as anyone else - like that?!

Bib. Yes. Grateful for something else to do, Levi grabbed one then fastened it properly on himself. He wished Cloggs would stop talking so much and get a move on with things. Levi was trying not to feel annoyed about it; a mixture of his nerves and being startled earlier contributed to this. And did Cloggs have to berate students like that? It was okay for them not to know stuff, you know. Levi, seeing a younger student struggle with a bib, helped them wear it right before offering some words of encouragement.

Now thinking that he couldn’t care less about Cloggs’ extensive experience in Quidditch, he took off, trailing a little behind Calliope. He started with a jog which became intermixed with his knees raising almost as high as he could possibly get them. Levi wasn’t at all feeling the pressure as yet when it came to his muscles, and determined this was a good thing - it meant that his calves and other assortment of muscles in his legs were well in practise. He also knew that some of his fellow Quidditch hopefuls might already be feeling it.

Having reached one end of the pitch, the Hufflepuff began retracing his steps. This time, he managed to catch up to Calliope. “Hi!’’ he greeted. “Good luck with the tryouts!”

Vi had already made it down to the Pitch way Di way before Cloggs materialised. Whereas a few students jumped or made noises of surprise, Viano had taken a break from his stretches simply to brush his hark hair out of his eyes. And to give Diego a look complete with a raised eyebrow. It read: “Cloggs knows how to make an entry, doesn’t he?” And then as cool as a cucumber - because really, Vi was used to this sort of pressure when it came to Quidditch; not to mention the chill in the air - he had gotten himself and Di a bib each. That didn’t mean the U-17 Chaser didn’t feel a hint of nerves. Oh no. He always did since he was determined to live up to - or even outshine his papa Raju. That man had built a stellar reputation for himself, and Vi had every intention of carrying on the ‘Misra’ part of his hyphenated name in the Quidditch world while building his own reputation.

“One that’ll make your biological father wish he never abandoned you,’’ his mind whispered smugly. To which the boy simply shut the thought down by telling himself “You are thinking too far ahead.”

The wind whipped his long hair against his face again but it was ignored. Instead, the sixth year grinned at the bestie after the instructions were given. And yes, he barely paid attention to Cloggs’ rambling that didn’t pertain to the tryouts. See, Viano had gotten good at filtering out ‘noise’, and was keen on keeping a clear mind for the duration of today. “All set?” he asked, bib now secured correctly on himself, his eyes shining with that excitement and anticipation of what lay ahead. Like the good friend he hoped he was, Vi also wanted to help Di - if needed - to secure a spot on the Gryffindor team again. “Okay, let’s do this.”

So, off he went at a jog, not kicking his knees high just yet. There would be ample time for that. At this moment, he was simply alive with doing the warm up, with being present on the Pitch and, of course, being in Di’s company.

Charely Potter · Yesterday, 12:36 AM

Diego felt a little more comfortable walking onto the field for Quidditch tryouts! Sure, Gryffindor didn't win last year, but he didn't feel like he let the team down overall when doing his best. Now with his bat in hand and broom in the other, recently purchased from working hard at his new summer job, he felt sure of himself.

"Hello." He greeted everyone after the Instructor. "Ready to show them how it's done, Vi?" Smiling, he looked back to see, oh... was that Diallo? And he wasn't in the stands. He gave them a wave in the distance before they could all get started. So he had to leave his stuff down and do some exercise.

Okay. Bib was on and broom was gently lowered to the ground before he joined the others in the jogging session and back.

That's right! Diallo was here. Gobstones was okay, but he hated being on the bench. Inexperience of course meant he will likely be benched here too, but at least it'll be less messy and higher chance of jumping in from the potential injuries. Though, he might not want to go against his cousin if there was a plus to him somehow not making the team.

Sneaking up behind Levi, he gave them a gentle tap. "Yo. Looks like we'll be having fun together." He looked at Calliope, "and hello to you." Smiling her way, she was pretty and free from cooties.

What? Bibs? Were they babies now? Diallo looked puzzled, but he would roll with it. Luckily, they weren't the type of bibs for babies, but the image of him wearing one to fly remained ingrained. Now he just had to follow after everyone with the jogging. Easy peasy.

Connor stepped onto the field, calm and focused was his game. He was 14 and well... he wanted to do more at this school than quietly pass through the years. So with help from his dad, he simply told Ty and Tiana to "meet" him at the benches for them to see something. Well, here he was.

What transpired on the field had him... blinking, not from the chill of Cloggs but the orientation was a change of pace. Letting his broom down to the ground, he fixed the bib after getting it from the box. Then did some stretches before heading off and leaving the trail of dirt off his heels as he sprinted ahead.

sweetpinkpixie · Yesterday, 12:56 AM

Calliope heard the rapid succession of feet pounding the ground before she looked over, pace never faltering as the Hufflepuff fell into stride beside her.

"Mm. Guess I've got a warm-up partner now," she replied between breaths, side-eyeing him briefly before transitioning into low squat shuffles to really activate her quads.

Not exactly the partner she would've chosen ― certain redhead would've made things significantly more interesting ― but this did make it easier to focus on tryouts with zero distractions..

"You too," she added after a beat, the competitiveness in her tone softened just enough to sound genuine rather than threatening for once. Growth? Some of us like to think so.

Calliope’s brows lifted slightly the other bloke, somewhere between amused and incredulous. "Hi," she replied dryly. "If we're 'having fun together,' try to keep up, yeah? I hate lapping people before drills even start." Was the comment directed at her? No, but the point still stood regardless.

By the time they reached the starting point of the pitch again, Calliope peeled away smoothly toward the racks without slowing much, reclaiming her broom almost immediately. Her fingers curled around the handle with familiar ease before she planted one foot against the broom head and folded into a stretch, shoulders rolling loose afterward while her braid slid forward over one shoulder.

●—————◦◉◦—————●

CJ had arrived at the Quidditch pitch, broom in hand, with exactly the kind of energy one would expect from someone who had slept through two alarms, inhaled half a piece of toast while running out the door, and still somehow made it on time.

Barely.

And his shoelace was untied.

And the white training bib he had enthusiastically yanked from the crate was, unfortunately, very backwards. CJ glanced down at his bib once during the instructions, frowned briefly like something about it felt… spiritually incorrect, and then immediately decided it was probably fine.

Spoiler: it was not fine.

Still, he puffed his chest out slightly when Cloggs complimented some of them, the jab zipping right over his head like a dodged bludger. He was also a bit distracted by the fact that a ghost was running tryouts.

"Oh, SICK," he whispered under his breath, to the person standing nearest to him ― he didn't know a whole lot of names yet and the ones he thought he knew he apparently didn't, go figure. "He's, like… aggressively dead."

The third year was also a bit too ferreting, craning his neck up at the towering stands with the bright-eyed wonder of someone trying veeeeeeery hard to play it cool while internally losing his mind. A little outwardly as well ― he did wear his heart on his sleeve. He whistled under his breath while Cloggs went on about something or another, warm hazel eyes drinking everything in that he could about his first time on a real OG quidditch pitch ― minus the professional matches he had been taken to during the summer, that is.

This was awesome. Different from Ilvermorny's pitch and bigger somehow... or maybe that was just because the vibe was so new.

The Gryffindor bounced lightly on the balls of his feet immediately when given the green light to start warming up, energy returning full force now that movement was involved. Athletics had always made more sense to him than standing still ever had.

Jogging? Easy. High knees? Let’s go. Heel kicks? Beautiful. Side shuffling? Slightly less beautiful but still survivable. At least they hadn't been asked to do the grapevine.

He took off across the pitch with lanky enthusiasm and approximately twenty percent too much momentum, knees driving high as instructed. At one point during side shuffles, he caught himself nearly crossing his feet, windmilled both arms to recover balance and looked briefly proud of himself for it.

By the time he looped back toward the group, slightly flushed and breathing harder but visibly thriving, the bib still very much backwards with its little size tag flapping worthlessly in the wind against his chest.

CJ planted his feet shoulder width apart and immediately launched into standing stretches. Arms extended overhead first, fingers lacing together as he stretched upward onto the balls of his feet with an exaggerated groan that was at least 30% performance and 80% relief because he had definitely slept funny last night.

"Ain't no mountain hiiiiigh enough," he sang quietly under his breath while leaning into a side stretch, voice still roughened from the jog but not half bad actually. He always had decent pitch. "Ain’t no valley low enouuuughhh…" One arm crossed over his chest next, then the other, shoulders rolling loose afterward while he hummed the rest of the tune to himself, wiggling and rolling his hips while he did.

**Edgar Cloggs** · Yesterday, 05:37 AM

Never one for remaining still for long, Edgar waited scarcely a minute before gliding off across the pitch alongside the students, weaving and serpentining between runners in drifting arcs that occasionally carried him directly through someone by accident.

“Excellent posture and efficient footwork, Barrington,” he remarked while floating backwards ahead of the Slytherin for several strides, hands folded neatly behind his back despite the impossible angle of it all. “A competitive spirit is healthy, but publicly threatening peers and potential teammates will not earn any coach or scout’s praises.”

Then he was gone again in a sudden sideways glide, robes trailing soundlessly behind him as he drifted toward the Gryffindor sixth year. Edgar tilted slightly in the air, studying the long hair whipping across the boy’s face.

“Impressive focus, Thanatos-Misra. I can see the blaze behind the eyes.” His head inclined mildly. “But if you cannot see out from them, I do recommend addressing that before introducing Bludgers into the equation.”

Not everyone was destined to become the next Soren Vale, windswept hair and all, but he certainly was not about to be the one to crush ambitions of dramatic flying aesthetics outright.

He pivoted sharply then vanished into a quick corkscrew through the middle of the warm-up pack, reappearing moments later beside one of the more unfortunate looking Gryffindors.

“Your bib is backwards, Miller, and your shoelace is untied.” Edgar eyed the flapping tag with visible disappointment. “Control your feet before attempting to control a broom. Quidditch has very little sympathy for gravity related improvisation.”

With exception ― as they would find out soon enough.

And if the third year still possessed enough breath to perform Motown during cooldowns, he may be in need of further conditioning training.

Off he swept again, passing low enough over the grass that his translucent form briefly disturbed the morning dew without truly touching it. He slowed near the Hufflepuff running alongside Barrington, hovering just overhead this time.

“Mm. Good, Singh-Phora. Players who pay attention to the people around them tend to survive longer on the pitch.”

Helping younger students. Encouraging teammates. Useful instincts — provided they translated into spatial awareness once airborne.

Edgar spun neatly through another lazy corkscrew simply because he could before leveling out beside Melo-Dreamer.
“Confidence is admirable, Melo-Dreamer. Overconfidence is usually educational.”

A bit of thought to chew on as he gilded along the group of aspiring athletes.

“Less chatting, more jogging, Dreamer. Charm alone has historically performed very poorly against Bludgers,” he cautioned the Slytherin as he glidded by.

Then away again — robes fluttering though there was no wind strong enough to account for it — until his attention landed upon the boy sprinting as though chasing the wind itself.

“Oh, eager. Wonderful.” Edgar clasped his hands behind his back once more as he circled Patterson effortlessly through the air. “We shall see if your stamina shares your enthusiasm in approximately ten minutes, Patterson. Quidditch rewards endurance just as often as speed.”

Eventually ― with students flushed, breathing harder, and hopefully a touch looser in the muscles　―　Edgar rose several feet higher above the pitch and slowly rotated in place to address the group as a whole.

“Excellent. Most of you appear marginally more limber and considerably less tense. All in all a successful warm-up.”　He swept one translucent hand toward the broom stands. “Mount your brooms. First years and anyone without their own may collect a school broom from the rack and treat them with respect. Some of those brooms are older than you. A few may even be older than me.”

He drifted higher as students began gathering their brooms.

“We will continue with one or two laps around the pitch at low altitude. And when I say low altitude, I mean your toes should very nearly be grazing the grass beneath you.” A pointed pause followed. “Anyone who climbs excessively high before instructed will be grounded immediately, their tryout concluded before it has truly had the opportunity to show what you can do other than keep a bench warm.”

His smile sharpened slightly and a flick of his wrist dismissed them.

“Control first. Off you go.”

*Nordic Witch* · Yesterday, 04:23 PM

JT had arrived early with his broom, and in his Slytherin coloured quidditch gear. When the ghostly flying instructor arrived out of thin air he didn't flinch or ooo as others did in reaction to the dramatics of the very visibly dead quidditch official. Being around the Bloody Baron enough, had that effect on you.

As instructed JT had quickly put on a white training bib over his quidditch gear. It was no use arguing that his robes already had his name on them since Professor Cloggs was babbling about some old disaster in Kobe. They were then instructed to do warm up laps on the pitch so JT reluctantly left his prized broom on the ground, and had started jogging with the others. He alternated between regular jogging, high knees, heel kicks, and side shuffling for two laps on the pitch keeping his posture upright and tall over the others and then he had ended with stretching his limbs diligently to appease Professor Cloggs.

JT quickly fetched his broom before some first year snagged it from the rack when told to do so and swiftly kicked off the ground, keeping himself at low altitude, letting his toes almost grace the grass. He felt joy and happiness being in the air again, and really wanted to climb high, but knew he couldn't at least not yet.

*********************

Tiana had never been to a quidditch tryout before at Hogwarts so it was hard to know what to expect. She had arrived super early, nervous, but ready and when Professor Cloggs materialized she did her best to not scream in fright, and bolt away to the safety of the castle. First encounter with a ghostly professor, check! Heart hammering, Tiana did her best to breath in and out to calm down, before things got started. Was she the only first year here? It seemed so, but at least Connor was here and she moved closer to her elder brother.

Trying not to let her thoughts run away with her Tiana focused on their professor as he started speaking, giving out their first instructions. They had to wear a bib for easy identification. Wait, what was a bib? Clueless, she looked at Connor for help, but was saved from asking the embarrassing question by Professor Cloggs direction toward a box on the ground. Grateful Tiana picked up a bib, and put it on over her robes. It wasn't until Professor Cloggs passed by her with a long silent dissaproving stare that she realized her big mistake. Oopsie! Quickly she adjusted her bib so her name was on the back, and not the front with an embarrassed smile.

Then they had to warm up. Jogging, knee highs and heel kicks seemed simple enough, but what was side shuffling? Tiana didn't want to ask so she decided she'd just see what the elder students did and try to mimic their actions. That'd work, hopefully. Tiana gave the others including her brother a bit of a head start before she got started on her warm up keeping her short posture up right as she jogged and did knee highs, heel kicks and the weird shuffling two times up and down the pitch. Getting back to the others Tiana stretched all her limbs even if she wondered silently why that was important.

After that they got to fly. A big beam formed on her lips as she walked over and selected one of the school brooms from the rack. First years couldn't bring their own to school so hopefully this broom wouldn't give her issues. Kicking off from the ground, she almost slid back off her broom before she found the right grip and place to sit. At a very low altitude as instructed she started to fly slowly toward the end of the pitch.

FearlessLeader19 · Yesterday, 08:50 PM

Having interacted with Calliope before, Levi knew better than to be put off by her words. Not to mention she had given him some excellent advice last year during his tryouts. He liked to think it had helped him secure a spot on the Hufflepuff team. “You do,’’ is what he remarked simply. “And thanks!” While the Slytherin did her squats, Levi opted for a couple of lounges, though he kept them within proximity of her so that he wouldn’t leave her behind. “By the way, I don’t think I’ve mentioned before but your advice last year was helpful for my tryouts.” Did he think Calliope was brilliant? Yes, Levi did.

At the tap on his shoulder, he turned around. The appearance of Diallo definitely startled him, but unlike his reaction to Cloggs, this one was more graceful and full of delight. “DEE! You’re the last person I expected to see here!” Did Levi want to break out the chai cookies in celebration? You bet! Too bad this wasn’t a possibility now.

Looking up now, he spotted Cloggs. Instantly, his defenses went up and he, without meaning to, clenched his jaws together. Having overheard how the instructor had berated a few others before, Levi’s instincts were to brace for the same. That was why a surprised then bewildered look crossed his face at the praise, but he was beginning to relax again. “Th… thank you? That is so true. I’ll keep your words in mind.”

By the time he finished his stretches, the third year was itching to get in the air. He bumped Dee’s shoulder with his. “I’m glad you’re here, even if Gobstones is more your thing.” And as he gazed around more carefully now, the boy realised just how many more students had gathered to participate in the tryouts. He had been so caught up with his warming up and conversing with Calliope and Dee that he hadn’t been aware of the fact prior. “That warm up wasn’t so bad, huh?” It was a question directed to both.

With further instructions given, Levi mounted his broom. He took in the instructions, though slightly nervously for his own reasons; especially with the bit about toes needed to just about skim the grass. What if he misjudged and TOO much of his feet touched the ground? Then that made him tumble off of the broom so that he went rolling? That… was not a pretty picture. He shook his head as though trying to rid himself of the intrusive thoughts.

But off he went indeed, kicking off but not too powerfully so that he would rise too high. The tips of his trainers brushed the grass and sometimes he felt an extra bump which meant that he went extra low. Levi would quickly right himself. At least he wasn’t gaining too much altitude, right? For now he focused on his feet just brushing the grass as he trailed behind JT.

And how was Dee faring? He was certain Calliope had this exercise under control, but the best friend? “Please don’t set the broomstick on fire,’’ he sent a silent plea to the Slytherin.

Vi made sure to bring his knees as close as they could go to his chest. This was an easy feat for him, but he wasn’t about to boast. Instead, he remained determinedly focused on his task, as well as committed to throwing the occasional side-glances at Di, not because of the silent feelings he harboured still for his friend, but to ensure that he was okay. The protective feelings he had for the other guy would never disappear, he was sure of it. So yes, in regard to Di’s earlier question, they both were showing everyone else how it was supposed to be done.

“Doing well, Di,’’ Vi commented, swiping hair carelessly from his face as their warming up continued. His papas had repeatedly told him he should have it cut but Viano had seen photos of both men in their younger days: they had worn their hair long. In his own way, he was trying to deviate from everything he knew of his real dad {who presently had neatly cut and styled hair} and be everything he could be like the men who genuinely cared for him. Also… no. His hair didn’t bother him during matches since he took steps to ensure the strands stayed in place. “Keep it up; I bet Cloggs will keep his eagle eyes on us all and won’t hesitate to point out if we mess up.”

Speaking of Cloggs. “Thanks, professor! I appreciate it.” Vi flashed the ghost a thumbs up then burst out laughing. Yet he did not lose his focus with his jogging. “Noted. I promise you there will be no issues seeing out of them once I get airbourne.” Not that there was any now. Another side eye was thrown at Di when Cloggs addressed him. In Vi’s opinion, his bestie had the perfect amount of confidence.

All too soon, this particular warmup was over. Viano grabbed his Moontrimmer Dlite, thinking that he and Di should breeze through the next set of instructions. “Papa Raju had us do this before,’’ he remarked as he recalled the extra training he and Di received from the coach. At the same time, a careful eye swept over his broomstick to double check it was in excellent physical condition. “You got this, Di.” As for him, he had this too! Mindful of all the hopefuls rising to meet the challenge, he rose with precision, all the while the front of his feet remained just an inch from the ground. One of the things that was taught to him by Healer Curious was the practise of mindfulness. It didn’t just help Vi with keeping his mind from drifting, it also helped him become more aware of his body. Which was why he knew exactly how much altitude he needed to keep that inch between his feet and the Quidditch pitch.

sweetpinkpixie · Today, 03:02 AM

Levi's comment earned the faintest twitch at the corner of Calliope's mouth as she straightened from another squat, one hand briefly braced against her thigh while she caught a steady breath and really gave in to the stretch. At the mention of last year's advice, though, well… compliments were a currency with the fifth year. She rolled one shoulder back before reaching down to adjust the cuff of one sock.

"Obviously it was," she replied with easy confidence, flipping her braid back over her shoulder so it fell between her shoulder blades. Her advice was always solid. She should probably start charging for it. Something she would keep in mind when that one little Ravenclaw shadow came asking her about skin care regimens and hair routines again.

One Hufflepuff that was teetering towards being moderately tolerable in her book.

Calliope had been stretching her hamstrings beside her broom when Cloggs' voice cut through the morning air again. For a dead person, he was rather exhausting… or maybe she just needed to finally add ghosts to the list of hard no’s along with any pretty much every animal, beast, and creature.

But publicly threatening peers and potential teammates? Her eyes narrowed faintly as she straightened from her stretch and tried not to cut the Flying Instructor too much of a glare. Bit dramatic wording, wasn't it? She had hardly threatened anyone and had just stated objective facts about standards.

She brushed the ~~constructive~~ criticism aside thanks to the compliment about her footwork.

Her fingers closed around the polished handle of her broom the instant permission was given, irritation from earlier evaporating almost immediately beneath the familiar comfort of wood fitting against her palm. Better. The rigidness in her shoulders loosened as she stepped forward and mounted in one fluid motion, kicking lightly off the ground.

Low altitude. Right. Borning but…whatever.

Still, Calliope and hovered only a few feet above the grass as instructed, toes skimming dangerously close to the tops of the blades whenever she dipped lower during flight to the other side in a lazy wave-like movement. It was almost insulting how slow this pace felt and it was obvious impatience simmered beneath the surface, fingers flexing slightly against the broom handle while she physically resisted the urge to shoot upward and actually fly.

●—————◦◉◦—————●

CJ looked down at himself the moment Mr. Quidditch Ghost pointed it out and barked out a laugh loud enough to carry across the ~~field~~ pitch.

"Ahhh, man," he wheezed through a grin, immediately crouching to fix the lace before he ate it in front of everyone ― a spectacle he had, so far, managed to avoid. "Respectfully, sir, I think I control my broom better than I do my feet."

Hey-OH!

Still chuckling to himself, CJ tugged the bib around the correct way at last, flattening it against his chest with a quick pat and the little size tag vanished from public view at long last. Then, because his brain operated on a soundtrack during these moments, he slipped right back into singing while stretching his shoulders loose.

"Ain’t no river wiiiiide enough…"

One final arm stretch, a quick bounce on his heels and then—

BROOMS.

The Gryffindor's entire face lit up with such immediate, unfiltered excitement it was honestly a wonder he didn’t start vibrating out of his own skin.

"Ohhhh, SAY less, Mr. Ghost," he cheered, rubbing his hands together while making a beeline for the broom racks where he had left his broom earlier.

The second his hand wrapped around the broom handle, something in him visibly settled into place. Like muscle memory clicked in where the chaos usually lived. His grip adjusted automatically, posture changing as naturally as breathing while he swung one leg over the broom. The urge to immediately blast into the stratosphere was so real and visibly took effort to suppress. His shoulders bunched with restraint for a moment before he forced himself to hunker low over the broom instead, chest closer to the handle in the unmistakable posture of a seeker preparing for a dive.

Warm-ups. Right. Leisurely. Tooooooootally leisurely.

CJ kicked off the ground and skimmed low over the pitch, toes brushing dangerously close to the grass exactly as instructed. The first stretch across the field was calm and almost lazy ― just give him a pillow and maybe he could take a nap. But then he crossed the center circle and the acceleration was immediate. His broom surged forward beneath him with a sharp burst of speed, wind tore through his chocolate curls while he shot across the pitch low enough for the tips of grass to flick against the soles of his sneakers.

"WHOOOO—!"

At the far end, CJ leaned hard into the turn and whipped around so sharply ― on DIME. SORRY, a KNUT, or a POUND, or whatever was said here ― he was certain he had violated at least one law of physics as he rocketed back the opposite direction.

But also, real talk? British grass against his sneakers was kind of its own brand of awesome.

Which was exactly why, after finishing the first go, CJ immediately looped around and did another. The third year zipped past at considerably more speed than was really necessary for warm-ups before banking abruptly sideways in a smooth little curve that brought him gliding alongside the younger girl ― and his housemate! ― at a much more reasonable pace.

"Hey, nice recovery!" he called over with an easy grin, one hand briefly lifting from the broom handle to give her a big thumbs up. "That first almost-fall's basically a rite of passage." His toes skimmed the grass again as he matched her speed for a few seconds, posture relaxed and completely at home in the air in a way he definitely wasn't on solid ground. "Low altitude's honestly harder anyway," he added. "Less room for recoveries. You’re doing awesome, Rookie."

And then, flashing her one last bright, encouraging smile, CJ leaned forward over his broom and shot off again in a burst of speed like a golden retriever that had briefly paused mid-zoomies to hype someone up.

**Edgar Cloggs** · Today, 04:41 AM

Edgar zipped and corkscrewed through the air between students as they made their passes across the pitch, occasionally phasing directly through someone with little more than a distracted “Oh my, terribly sorry,” before continuing on.

“Good restraint, Forsfelle,” he remarked while gliding alongside the Slytherin at grass-skimming altitude. “The urge to climb is natural. The ability to act on restraint is what matters.”

His attention shifted then to the Hufflepuff trailing the seventh year, brow knitting a bit as the boy corrected a slip towards the grass.

“Careful, Singh-Phora. You’re looking a bit distracted,” he cautioned as he floated backwards towards the boy, allowing the third year to pass and ― hopefully ― leave those wandering thoughts behind. “A broom can feel hesitation faster than you think.”

A smooth sideways drift carried him toward the nervous Gryffindor correcting herself after brushing a bit too low only to have his thoughts interrupted by Miller’s burst of speed.

“Oh, marvelous. Miller has discovered acceleration.” Edgar’s head turned sharply towards the third year and found the boy's encouragement towards his potential future teammate soften whatever bite he had been about to unleash. “Lovely to see. Teams built entirely of ego tend to explode eventually.” His gaze drifted back to the first year as Miller showboated away. “Better, Patterson. Adjustments without panic. Keep your eyes forward for your first pass to make sure you keep your seat on your broom, yes?”

Then away he glided again again in a lazy spin toward the Gryffindor sixth year.

“Excellent control, Thanatos-Misra. Awareness working in tandem with instinct. That distinction keeps talented players alive.” He tilted slightly to peer again at the long hair whipping around the boy’s face, but offered no further comment.

Finally, Edgar drifted sideways until he was pacing Barrington’s reluctantly restrained low-altitude glide.

“You are treating patience like a medical condition, Barrington,” he observed dryly. “But excellent discipline regardless. Slow control exposes weak flyers faster than speed ever will.”

Edgar gave a couple firm puffs on the silver whistle around his neck, calling the group back and allowed the hopefuls a brief moment to settle onto their brooms after making their warm-up flights. Then he rose higher above the pitch himself, drifting effortlessly upward with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Excellent. Now that we have confirmed you are all capable of remaining upright at low altitude, we may proceed to the portion of tryouts that separates adaptable flyers from decorative ones.”

A faint shimmer rippled across portions of the pitch at those words, distortions drifting slowly across the airspace like oil across water in just barely there silver, gold, and bronze.

“You will now take another lap, or more should you wish, around the pitch to familiarize yourselves with today’s… unusual conditions before we get into the real thick of things. A proper circumference this time.” His smile sharpened slightly. “Do try to experience all of them at least once. Repeatedly avoiding discomfort tells me very little about your potential as an athlete.” Edgar turned smoothly in the air, translucent sleeves sweeping dramatically behind him. “Several decades ago, long before any of you or even your parents were born, during a professional match between the Yokohama Umibōzu and the Falmouth Falcons, a truly inspired group of idiots attempted to manipulate localized Momentum Charms on the pitch in order to favor one side’s Chasers.” He paused, his eye twitching ever so slightly. “They succeeded for approximately eleven minutes. Then a Beater accelerated into a commentator’s box at nearly seventy miles per hour. I had paperwork for six months and several players under a restraining order to forever remain at least 5 meters from any broom at all times.”

Slowly, Edgar drifted lower again as the shimmering zones continued shifting around the pitch at a glacial pace.

“Scandalous as the incident was, it is the inspiration for today’s trial. Rest assured that Cushioning Charms and Momentum Charms are in place to prevent any of you suffering the same fate as the Beater or any injury that would warrant any extensive care from Professor Feirgrund.” One long finger lifted toward a silver-tinted stretch of air. “Silver shimmer means Slow Zone. Your movements and response times will feel delayed and drag.” Then toward gold. “Gold shimmer: Fast Zone, which means increased acceleration and delightful for the thrill seeking sorts.” And, finally, he indicated towards a bronze shimmering patch of sky. “Bronze shimmer is an Inverted Zone. Your orientation will reverse vertically, up becoming down and down becoming up. Quaffles, Bludgers, and Snitches will also respond the same, so you will need to think about your passes and whacks of the bat. All-in-all, an excellent exercise in spatial awareness and strategic thinking.”

The ghost rotated once slowly in the air, robes fluttering despite the stillness around him.

“There are also pockets of normal airspace scattered throughout the pitch as well. You may find them comforting and a way to reset and refresh your flight. But keep in mind that transitioning between zones cleanly will be a challenge.”

His gaze swept across the students below.

“Focus on control. Observe how your broom responds. Anticipate transitions before they occur. And above all else…” Edgar’s smile turned knowingly amused, “enjoy. If you are not enjoying flying, then I do question why you are doing it at all. The moment Quidditch becomes nothing but pressure and ego is usually the moment gravity begins taking a personal interest in you.”

A flick of his wrist sent them onward.

“Now off you go. We will be adding considerably more variables shortly, and I would prefer you discover how these enchantments behave before introducing Quaffles, Bludgers, teammates, opponents, and competitiveness into the equation.”

*Samia* · Today, 06:55 AM

Marina arrived at the pitch with her broom tucked beneath one arm and an expression that said she had lost an argument with herself and she was just deeply unimpressed with existence itself. Which, frankly, had been her default mood for weeks now.

Which was also why she was trying to keep to herself and DO whatever she was being told without needing to socialize - because frankly, throwing someone off a broom might not be ideal and surely she would not escape detention for that.

The drills and warms up were all welcome, until the second Marina spotted CJ in her peripheral vision with his bib on backwards and approximately twelve too many expressions happening on his face at once, she redirected her entire path instantly. Smoothly at first. Then less smoothly when she realized he was warming up vaguely in the direction she’d accidentally chosen. Her entire route visibly adjusted again like a migrating bird avoiding an incoming storm system. If someone mapped her movement across the pitch, it would probably resemble a deeply personal restraining order.

Which was difficult because he was loud.

Not volume-wise necessarily. Energetically loud. Existing-at-her loud. Every time his voice carried somewhere behind her, Marina’s shoulders tightened another fraction before she forced them back down again with sheer willpower.

By the time Edgar Cloggs instructed them toward the brooms, Marina crossed immediately toward the rack, fingers finding the handle of her broom with familiar certainty before she wheeled away from the cluster of students gathering nearby. Her gaze flicked once toward the stands, once toward the sky, and she smoothly kicked off into the air.

Low altitude or not, relief hit the second the ground dropped away beneath her. The broom responded instantly under her grip, familiar and alive, and for the first time since arriving at Hogwarts again she stopped feeling quite so crowded inside her own head. She stayed close to the grass exactly as instructed, sharp turns controlled, posture neat, flying with the kind of instinct that came less from practice and more from love. Real love. The sort that rooted itself deep enough to survive moods, summers, disappointments, and stupid boys who couldn’t say her name properly if their lives depended on it.

And then the pitch changed.

Marina slowed instinctively as silver shimmer drifted across her path like liquid glass suspended in air. Her grip tightened fractionally on the broom handle before she angled directly into it anyway, because avoiding difficult conditions during tryouts felt dangerously close to cowardice. The moment she crossed the threshold, resistance wrapped around her limbs. Not painful. Just wrong. Like flying through syrup while her own reactions lagged half a breath behind her thoughts.

Her brows knitted immediately.

Interesting.

Annoying. But interesting.

She adjusted quickly, compensating by anticipating movement earlier than usual, leaning into turns before instinct naturally called for them. By the time she emerged back into normal airspace, Marina’s broom jerked forward with sudden freedom and she almost smiled despite herself. Almost.

Then she spotted the gold shimmer ahead.

Absolutely not.

…which naturally meant she flew straight into it.

Acceleration slammed into her broom so suddenly her stomach dropped clean through her ribs, wind tearing loose strands of blonde hair back from her face as the broom surged beneath her with exhilarating aggression. A startled laugh escaped her before she could stop it, sharp and breathless and genuinely real for the first time all morning. The speed loved her immediately and Marina corrected hard into a sweeping curve around one of the hoops, pulse kicking faster now for an entirely better reason.

For a few glorious seconds, she forgot to be angry at the world.

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