Edgar Cloggs did not so much remain in one place as haunt the air between moments, silver whistle dangling from translucent fingers while he zipped through the scrimmage with all the restless energy of a man who had died before learning how to sit still — or perhaps directly in the middle of motion itself. One moment he drifted near the hoops, the next he spiraled upside down past a collision of Chasers, coat tails fluttering through a bronze shimmer entirely unaffected by the laws currently tormenting the living.

“Excellent flying, Scamander.” The ghost shot sideways through a Fast Zone for emphasis before reappearing near the center pitch. “You cannot teach that sort of competitive hunger.”

And, more importantly, she looked delighted while doing it.

A bark of laughter escaped him moments later as Miller tore through the air upside down, still somehow talking. “Miller, if you mistake one more Fast Zone for the Snitch, I am going to demand you have your eyes examined by the School Healer!”

Cloggs slowed midair near the commentator’s tower, ghostly form reclining lazily onto nothing at all as his eyes tracked the two Seekers carving matching paths across the pitch after the flicker of gold. Amstern cut a cleaner line through the air, movements efficient even while adjusting between distortions, while Miller pursued with all the restraint of a firework launched indoors. And to the boy’s credit, relentless pursuit did occasionally compensate for technique… if the person ahead made a mistake. But if the ghost were wagering actual galleons, they would be on the Ravenclaw.

A Bludger screamed past Barrington moments later.

“Excellent adjustment under pressure, Barrington.” Almost simultaneously another CRACK echoed just behind him. “Well struck, Melo-Dreamer,” Cloggs called, drifting backward through a silver shimmer with his hands clasped neatly behind him as the Bludger veered sharply away.

He drifted through the open air, attention flicking briefly toward the pair of orange-clad Keepers hovering near their hoops.

“Healthy attitude,” Edgar remarked dryly to Patterson. “Try not to become so invested in outperforming one another that you forget the Quaffle exists.”

Then came the third year Slytherin’s near-disaster of a takeoff, the spinning recovery, and the distinctly accidental THUNK of bat against something solid.
Cloggs hovered for a moment and a Bludger shot through his head immediately afterward.

“Delightful swing, Dreamer. Entirely unclear who you intended to hit, but...”

The ghost corkscrewed upward again as another bronze shimmer swallowed two players at once.

“Good positioning, Crawford,” Cloggs noted as the Hufflepuff moved herself into scoring space rather than chasing the Quaffle blindly.

His attention shifted briefly toward the seventh year Slytherin, Rose, circling with bat in hand, visibly uncertain but still in motion. Her being her already put her ahead of others who talked themselves out of trying at all.

A sharp blast of silver whistle cut across the chaos of the pitch.

“Ten minutes remaining, hopefuls!” his voice rang across the air. “If there is some final act of brilliance, recklessness, or athleticism you intend to demonstrate, now would be the time.”

____________________________

ORANGE TEAM __________________ TEAL TEAM
Bailey Crawford ______________________ Zephyr Amstern
Diallo Dreamer _____________._________ Calliope Barrington
CJ Miller ____________________________ JT Forsfelle
Conner Patterson __________________.__ Marina García Massey
Tiana Patterson ______________________ Diego Melo-Dreamer
Beatrice Porter _______________________ Tiffany Rose
Levi Singh-Phora _____________________ Viano Thanatos-Misra
Ariel Scamander ______________
______________ ______________

____________________________

OOC: Due to site difficulties over the past 24–48 hours, tryouts will remain open for approximately 24 more hours. Please do not forget to submit your questionnaire for both Quidditch and Gobstones by then as well, so your characters can be considered for their house teams.

Wesley was so excited to be back on his broom. It had felt like forever since school started and since he'd last been in the sky, and the second his feet left the ground, everything else seemed to disappear beneath him. Up here, there were no crowded hallways, no awkward conversations, no anxiety pressing down on his chest. Just wind, speed, and the endless stretch of open air.

This was where he belonged.

He dipped lower before pulling sharply upward again, testing the responsiveness of the school broom beneath him. It wasn’t nearly as good as the one he’d trained with back at Ilvermorny, but it still answered him well enough. Wesley weaved around the obstacles with growing confidence, feeling that familiar rush ignite in his chest as cold air whipped against his face.

For the first time in days, he actually smiled.

So when Cloggs called them all back in, Wesley visibly deflated. The excitement drained from him almost instantly, though he obediently guided his broom downward with the rest of the students.

He needed this.

Not just flying, the team.

After getting a taste of real Quidditch last year at Ilvermorny, sitting in the stands wasn't something he could settle for anymore. Watching from the sidelines felt impossible now that he knew what it was like to hear the roar of the crowd while racing across the pitch.

“Team Teal, beater.”

Wesley blinked before glancing down as his bib shifted colors. Teal. Definitely not his colour. He resisted the urge to grimace and instead gave a short nod toward the other boy volunteering as Teal’s second beater. He really needed to start learning people’s names around here instead of mentally categorizing everyone as “that guy from Potions” or “the loud one from Charms.”

Still, none of that mattered once Cloggs signaled them back into the air.

The second Wesley’s broom kicked upward beneath him, instinct took over.

A beater’s bat felt comfortably solid in his hand as he climbed steadily higher, hazel eyes scanning the pitch for movement. Somewhere nearby, he could already hear the sharp crack of bats colliding and the distant shouts of players positioning themselves. The bludgers were chaos incarnate — violent little cannonballs with minds of their own.

And Wesley loved it.

The whistle blew.

Everything exploded into motion.

Two beaters immediately broke toward the backspin bludger, but Wesley ignored them completely. Let them fight over scraps. His eyes locked onto the lone bludger streaking towards the group of players.

Perfect.

Wesley leaned forward aggressively, broom surging ahead beneath him as wind roared past his ears. He intercepted the bludger hard from the side, matching its speed for half a second before drawing his arm back.

His fingers tightened around the bat handle.

Then - WHACK

The sound cracked across the pitch like thunder.

The impact jarred straight up Wesley’s arm, but the bludger launched away with brutal force, spinning violently toward the Orange goal posts. A savage grin flashed across his face as he followed through with the swing, watching the iron ball tear through the air directly toward the Keeper.

If it landed cleanly, the poor guy was going to feel that tomorrow.

~~~

OOC: so sorry I'm late to the party, I couldn't post yesterday!

The crack of bat against Bludger rang sharply across the pitch and Edgar Cloggs’ head turned almost immediately toward the source just in time to watch the iron ball rocket away from the teal clad boy with alarming force.

“Now there is commitment, Blackwell.” The ghost swept sideways through the ball’s wake, translucent coat tails snapping violently behind him from the speed of it.

The Bludger tore onward while Cloggs corkscrewed upward above the pitch once more, silver whistle spinning lazily around one finger as the final minutes of the scrimmage dissolved into increasingly chaotic desperation. Chasers lunged for last-second passes, Beaters swung with questionable restraint, and Seekers still chased flashes of gold through distorted airspace like birds of prey.

Then—

PHWEEEEEEEEET!

“TIME!”

His voice boomed through the air as Cloggs drifted to a hover above the center of the pitch, arms folding loosely across his chest while the remaining enchanted balls slowed themselves obediently back toward their crate below.

“Ground your brooms and return the equipment. Bibs to the box you took them from, they'll turn white again once you slip them off.”

His pale gaze swept slowly across the gathered students — flushed faces, windswept hair, grass-stained trainers, adrenaline still practically crackling around half of them. Glorious

“You all came here today and flew. Some of you flew intelligently. Some of you flew recklessly. Some of you managed both simultaneously. All in out, outstanding showing today. You all should be proud of yourselves.” One translucent hand adjusted the silver whistle where it hung against his chest.
“Selections will not be made hastily. I will review what I observed today before discussing rosters with your captains accordingly. So, for now, well done, hopefuls. Now get yourselves cleaned up for lunch. I heard they are serving some sort of pasta and you'll all want to have those carbs after this morning.”

OOC: Thank you all so much for coming out to tryouts and for throwing your characters so enthusiastically into the chaos of enchanted airspace, bludgers, and Edgar Cloggs.

There were genuinely so many fun moments and character interactions throughout this thread and it was an absolute delight reading everyone’s posts.

Please keep an eye on both Merlin’s Beard and your PM boxes over the coming days for roster announcements and other Quidditch-related bits and pieces!