Quidditch is always serious PV Kirkstone Closed

Arthur, was rather more placed into the ideas and concepts that quidditch was, not necessarily being interested from being introduced. His father and grandmother were both close to the sport but his father was far stricter for some odd reason. He would accompany his father to his grandmother’s house which had a small sized quidditch pitch. Placing him as a young boy to watch him play and take notes. There were so many moves and tricks that deepened the idea of flying like his favourite keeper defence the double eight loop or a starfish and stick move. Arthur had eventually developed a strong passion when introduced to the Tutshill Tornados by his grandmother who told him of the matches she went to as a young girl.

The truth was he wasn’t just interested in the sport, he was interested in the brooms. The cushioning charms that were made in the 1820s that made them comfortable. The way that a player needed the mind to control the broom not by complete power but at a light touch. Everything about the brooms that especially made him believe the reason that was Roderick Plumpton had a Silver Arrow (which was faster true) but since Roderick could easily manoeuvre it, it meant the possibility of him succeeding at leading the Tornados to five consecutive League Cups, and played Seeker for the English National Quidditch team twenty-two times shouldn’t really have been a surprise since he had a mind to control the right broom.

His father recommended to check the Hogwarts pitch as soon as he could, so he complied even as the weather was which seemed to be full of misery. However, was it a good day to fly? Indeed, it was. Arthur let out a small chuckle. Arthur was wearing a Tornados badge under his Hufflepuff scarf. It features the double gold 'T' against sky-blue background which seemed to completely shine against the soft yellow of his scarf.

Of course, he only got the opportunity to fly completely once, his mother and father had always been reluctant for him to, even as a muggle she agreed on waiting to fly when he was older. He did have one experience where his grandmother, being a very rebellious woman, gave him a broom just for a try out. He felt pleased to know he could fly at an alright level. Thank Merlin for his grandmother being a stubborn woman when come to his magical learning.

By the time he reached the pitch, he could see it was nearly empty, just a few onlookers in the stands that were taking in the decent size of the pitch he would assume. He just decided to sit and open his book, Quintessence: A Quest letting the atmosphere of the stadium take over his mind.

Tag: @Arthur Kirkstone

5-1. 6-8. 3-7 ran the odds down the sides of the page for the matches of the week. Ruthie’s eyes scanned the list down looking for Portree—the only team that mattered. Second from the bottom, she found the match: the Pride vs the Tutshill Tornadoes. She tried to recall the last match-up the two had had: close, an edge-of-your-seat kind of match. Even though you could argue Tutshill really only gained popularity after winning the league, Ruthie had to concede that they weren’t worth underestimating. Even from these Hogwarts grounds, Ruthie felt her face collapse slightly as she ran through predictions of what might be.

Considering the matter, the Ravenclaw started to walk around with one arm still on the pitch railing. As she did so, she started to look out more thoughtfully along the pitch and consider who else might have taken the time to visit this hallowed ground. At first they just seemed like aspirational Quidditch dreamers, not unlike herself. Some had brought reading like the book she kept hidden in the satchel by her side. And one, was a particularly large book, Quintessence…something or other. She hadn’t heard of it before nor had she recognized the owner, though the boy looked around her age. She wondered if he was in advanced classes, or checked it out for extra reading.

But as she strained her head to try and read the subtitle of the book, the wind kicked up just enough that she could spot a pin badge under his scarf. It wasn’t just any pin badge. She could have sworn it was lettered in the shape of a ‘T’ and the coloring was just right to match that of the rival Tutshill team. Bringing her hand up to the purple Portree scarf around her own neck, she considered the possibility. In Arisaig, she’d lead a secluded life, and even then Scottish fans tended to sway either for Portree or Montrose, essentially splitting the country in half by coastline. But an English team, an English fan, that was not something she had yet come up against. And she had to admit, she liked the challenge of it.

Twirling a strand of hair in her right index finger, she called out to him, “Are you wearing a Tornadoes badge?” She didn’t really consider that she was interrupting a good read, or even her early questions of the book’s origins. She had a new focus. Besides if he was reading ahead, he must be bright and she’d welcome that in debate. Portree was the best team in the league, she had no doubt. She hung onto her scarf confidently at her place by the rail while her Ravenclaw robes seemed to billow around her small body as a breeze swept through the stands.

Ather or ether and also called quintessence, is the material that fills the region of the universe above the terrestrial sphere. The concept of aether was used in several theories to explain several natural phenomena, such as the traveling of light and gravity.
Arthur read the words slowly in his mind, how fascinating it must be to actually fully grasp a concept like that. Arthur’s clock sleeve was half way down his hand so that his fingertips brushed the pages. And when his messy hair just blew into his face a little, he would just puff it out of his face. However, when it seemed like it was completely in a soft embrace of the quietness of the stadium, the sudden voice almost startled him.
Arthur cautiously gave a glance to the person who had called out to him, he was quite sure if he heard her correctly, she had called out: ‘Are you wearing a Tornadoes badge?’. He almost shut down on that, why should someone know- to get better information out off so he could be judged tremendously. She was a Ravenclaw, Arthur had notes, like his entire family side, that could mean she was just quite good at noticing things like his badge. However, she had questioned the fact he was wearing it, so what would be the reason she would be wanting to gain the knowledge of him. Arthur’s eyebrows burrowed in thought and debate on whether he should answer the question. It was out of question to ignore it, but didn’t he promise himself he’d try to be a little less like a… well like he had nothing to lose. Well probably his entire existence and sanity.

He sat up straighter to get ready to answer the question, when he noticed something that made him feel like almost smiling. A portte fan, of course the scarf meant that she must support them. Arthur never really had a choice about his team he supported but preferred to admire the Tornadoes as having their own outstanding set of skills to display. She must be asking just because she was interested in Quidditch and all, which he would gladly answer the question too.

With a little bit of a stone-cold voice, Arthur replied to her, “Are you wearing a Pride of Portree scarf?” Arthur came back at before adding, “Yes I wear the badge of the incredible Tornadoes,”. Arthur shut his book with a snap and rested his hands upon it looking at the girl. He gave the appearance he thought perhaps a little cold, but it was better than nothing. At least, she didn’t see how his mind was functioning, everything in his system telling him not to trust, not to trust. I trusted Alfredo, Arthur barked out in his mind, perhaps this girl could provide excellent at debating on the best of the best- because a Ravenclaw that loves Quidditch in his life were all strong people, perhaps definingly by wit.

Ruthie was right. Ruthie had to be right. She was that confident in her eyeing the blue badge the boy wore atop his Hufflepuff robes. And if she was, and he was as passionate as a badge might suggest--oh, how she'd love to get into a real Quidditch conversation here at Hogwarts, her first at the school. And with a Tornadoes and Pride match on the horizon! It was something serendipity could not have concocted better.

He answered her question with a matching question before confirming his allegiance. His incredible allegiance. Throughout, his word were cold and considered. They seemed to lack passion and fervor despite the badge he wore. "I have that privilege," she replied, not really considering that his question was probably at least partly rhetorical. And if it was all just rhetoric, what did he really think of her support of the Isle of Skye team? Did he think her daft?

Before she could think on it seriously, she heard his book--the Quintessence thing--snap shut and she felt his eyes on her. Good, she resolved. She wasn't after male attention; she was too young for that. Instead, she was looking for Quidditch conversation. Real conversation and debate with someone who knew and understood the sport thoroughly.

Reaching to her side, she pulled out the Prophet, which she had folded over to the match standings.
"Have you seen this yet?" she gestured to the paper, "Exhibition match this week. We'll playing opposite sides of the pitch." With a friendly hand, she extended the paper out to him in case he too happened to be interested in statistics or betting or perhaps both.

As she did so, she finally got a good look at the boy's face, but it was one she couldn't really place. Perhaps she may have run into the Hufflepuff in potions or herbology, but not to speak to. She considered briefly introducing herself in the moment, but instead offered a challenge, "Tutshill players better get their rest. Skye is a challenging climate, with fierce winds and unrelenting rain, and so are our players." She recalled the last time she had crossed the ferry across from Mallaig to Skye. The waters had been rough and the tourists loud, but Skye was always an enchanting place and she would always believe in the power of the local team she'd come to adore.

Despite this passion, she wished he had a comeback. A good one. Or anything at all. Living tucked away on Arisaig, Ruthie didn't have the exposure to the magical world she might have liked. And she yearned for a partner-in-crime when it came to Quidditch, even if that person was an English fan.

Tag: @Arthur Kirkstone

Arthur couldn’t believe that through the confident eyes that could have sliced a Chudley Cannons fan into two before they would be able to utter a word. He shifted himself to consider if he should at least give what this girl really wanted, to have her team obviously be great and she wouldn’t be wrong. He witnessed his father argue with a Pride supporter before, Arthur’s eyes glistened with amusement, his father had lost fairly by the point not only where the supporters were very well though out people but Quidditch was a sport that relied more than what the players had to offer.

He had almost snorted at her, ‘I have that privilege’, like she joined for the honour of supporting the team. He would have wondered if she was just like his father, which would be such a shame since then the point of Quidditch would be missed for the complete adoration of the team. That they mean so much to her for that love of a team for being part of her world. He hoped that it wouldn’t be like that, that she knew really the point of supporting a Quidditch team, yes for the enjoyment of the unexpected wonderful players, but to know what is great about the sport itself.
She handed him the Prophet, he knew that there was a match, his father hadn’t stopped talking about it before the day he hopped on the train to Hogwarts. He already got himself a ticket, which almost made Arthur cringe that he would be calculating all the statistics. Arthur hummed as he looked at the paper. “Looks like a pretty good match this time round, doesn’t seem like any Jelly-Fingers Curses would be used,” Arthur gave what should have been a joke but more of a bland statement.

“If the Portee players were any more confident, all their heads would be cabbages. The Tutshill players would certainly get their rest knowing that they can deal with petty weather as they very well have the skill to do it. Besides after in another week you can see right there, you’re going to be playing the Montrose Magpies, can your team really risk showing off when that team gets to really read you out and use a range of tricks to counter your team’s style. Besides our new seeker is going to leave you unsure on how to tackle the Tornadoes differently especially if our seeker understands how to use a broom better than your seeker,” Arthur winced at the last sentence, he didn’t mean that the seeker just had better skills than theirs because the Pride played fairly well in his opinion, he wasn’t like his father in terms of saying ‘all of them were useless’ but he still supported his team.

“It’s hardly daft to follow how confident Portee is and it’s nice to see teams that have strong faith in themselves but you have to recognise that their confidence could be their downfall this time. They do have a good amount of skill but they have to think when to use it” Arthur added factually, well his father had thought of all the reasons that they would lose, especially since it could have been a repeat of what happened in the Pro-Quidditch British & Irish League Championship of 1938 where Tornadoes lost to Pride and Pride lost to Magpies. If the prides tried to repeat themselves, they could put themselves into a risky position where the Tornadoes could gain an advantage.

Though he wasn’t passionate for his team, he was passionate for Quidditch, it just happens the team he supports he happened to grow up with. Without a doubt a moment later, a shudder crawled up his spine, since when was he comfortable to discuss with another the joys, he found in Quidditch.

It was a grey day, but it looked like a good match. At least that was the assement put forward by her companion. Ruthie couldn't disagree; it was likely to be close the day the Pride met the Tornadoes. But jelly-fingers...when on earth was the Quidditch community ever going to get past the jelly-fingers episode? Pride supporters knew that Arrows' seeker McBride had definately hit Cotton with the curse, but wasn't it time to move past that by now? "Just a nice, clean game," she replied succinctly. It was only in the seconds afterward that she realized she was talking to the real deal: someone who knew not only the ins and outs of the team they supported, but of the league more generally. He had to in order to make such a reference, whether serious or comical. In that moment, the young Ravenclaw realized she was not just here for debate. She wanted to get to know this boy. Anyone who could keep up in this level of detail where Quidditch was concerned was worth keeping around.

But it was just at the moment when she had this light-hearted insight that his words came back to her with as much ferocity as her own had done. If there was one thing he seemed to see as a weakness in Portree it was over-confidence. To be fair, the name 'Pride of Portree' wasn't exactly humble. They were confident from the get-go, but you had to be when you came from such a small foreign place. "Quidditch is 80% mental. If you think you're going to lose, you will," she explained, gripping the rail thoughtfully as a smile crept upon her face. Even with harsh words, she was enjoying this. "Over-confidence could be a problem, you're right, but I'd rather be over-confident than underprepared and afraid. That's just asking for rogue bludger injuries." She had to admit she wasn't as well versed in Tutshill's record, aside from that massive loss to Ballycastle in 1993, but she imagined every team might have a match where they felt unready.

"As for Montrose," she paused, recalling the times when they lived on the east coast and her mother supported the Magpies briefly, "that's an old rival. The correct half of Scotland knows how to deal with them." Funny how quickly the Greers had been able to acclimate to the west coast. Still, she wasn't worried about Montrose. They had had plenty of match-ups in the past, many exhibitions. And at least they were Scottish, even if they were representing the lowlands.

What was more important, as was true of every sport played in Scotland, was beating the English. Tutshill was an excellent place to begin. As a Ravenclaw, Ruthie knew that beginning anything started with information. "So, you've got a new seeker then," Ruthie said, stepping closer to the boy, eager to learn more of his Quidditch insight. Considering the strength of his comebacks, she knew he had a good head for facts and stats. Outside of debate, she liked the prospect of having someone to geek out with when it came to the greatest sport of all time, even if they did have startlingly different ideas of who the greatest team might be.

Arthur seemed to wince suddenly, almost viciously at the tone of the girl asking about the new seeker. He almost snapped and was willing to get up to walk away. However, he held himself back and just replied with a cold tone.
“ I agree with a nice clean game, and Quidditch is far more than mental- far more than you or father would ever seem to realise. Bludgers can be dodged. The weather put aside, fear out the window, heart made of steal. When you fly a broom, it isn’t just flying, that broom holds itself as another way for a wizard or witch to flow the core of their magic through and direct that wood rather like a wand for a spell. If a player can seem to do it, do it… u h do it a little more that can make them far more successful than others. I would assume you know Catriona McCormack, your team’s great Chaser, she’s absolutely fantastic since the way she arches her back give a flow through her broom and seems like if you were to ride a horse that would it work. Another example actually, Galvin Gudgeon, yes the one who had the snitch literally bounce of his nose twice, if his fans looked at how he road his broom rather in a low length sitting he was allowing the broom to give him absolutely less awareness of the area around him and his speed far too much- it wasn’t because he lacked skill- he just failed to understand the best way for a seeker to be- far more up right, unless speeding to catch the snitch which should be how a chaser flies, to spot the snitch the seeker grasp the broom closer and perform more sharp turns!” Arthur, eyes widening at the sudden spurt of information, this time he felt far sicker than he had ever done in his life. His fingers felt like they had been hit by that very spell to have jelly fingers. His mouth paled to a chalk like colour and he finally stood up.

Flashbacks, to when his father had quizzed him on every team in the league came rushing through, the terror if he got one question wrong and had to watch as his father made him watch again and again the way the team was successful with memories and images. He felt light headed remembering exactly how the referees survived and that exactly the date Cyprian Youdle died in 1357 because of a curse. The fact he had to keep the secrets of all the teams still to him, the ideas he had continued to make his strange characteristic develop into something that he hated. His father thought this behaviour he had was very useful for making him a strong quidditch fan. He wanted to escape this girl, she probably thinks he was stupid and worthless to talk to for his different ideas to his father. He knew how much that book his grandmother gave him was important in shaping his ideas. Still standing he dropped his head, his hair falling over his face like a curtain shutting after someone looked through a window. He curse all that he was, he would never be able to be good enough to talk to this girl about a sport his heart loved but his mind hated.

What was remarkable was how cold her companion seemed to be throughout this debate. This mannerism seemed in sharp contrast to the words that came out of his mouth, words marked with precision and accuracy that they had to be born from passion. It was a juxtaposition she found odd and fascinating.

Unrelenting, she listen to his tirade--his exceptionally long tirade. Mentally, she kept a note of every point as he made it. More than mental, more than mental. Hah! Of course there were physical elements to the game, as in any sport, but those physical elements were always bound by mental confines like concentration or confidence. Catriona McCormack was a name Ruthie knew well. She knew what she could do. In fact, she was someone Ruthie aspired to be, thinking that Chaser would be a good role to play on the team. But the boy didn't stop there, he provided 'another example' as he called it, in the form of Galvin Gudgeon. The boy told the story of Gudgeon and significant catch of his.

She began a rebuke: "Of course flying isn't just flying. To fly, to really fly, you have to soar. That comes from knowing your broom, your environment, and most importantly, knowing yourself. McCormack or any of the players you cited would know the importance of self-awareness and emotional intelligence on the pitch..." But her voice trailed off when she saw the boy's face drop.

Ruthie wasn't sure what was going on between the way the boy's eyes widened and the color seemed to sallow from his skin, but something was definitely off. "Are you okay?" she asked him as she watched him stand up for the first time. Her words had always been truthful, but this simple question had a softness to it that her previous dialogue had lacked. Where there had been passion, there was no vulnerability and, for the first time since arriving at the magical school, concern for a fellow pupil. She had yet to meet many people. She had yet to engage in a stirring conversation. This was the closest, an episode the toed the lines of rival, debate, spirit and perhaps even friendship.

Out of care, she took a step forward, but then retracted it back. She didn't know how to engage. If she could keep going, keep arguing, she would. And yet, she couldn't help but feel something had shifted in their conversation with the boy's long diatribe. She didn't know whether to reach out and offer a friendly hand. She didn't know what to say or not say. Previously, she'd really only seen emotional struggle from her sister, Kristy, and that was typically remedied with pumpkin juice and a match of gobstones where she let her win. Right now, she had neither of those tools. Instead, she sat down on the closest bleacher. The boy's head was dropping now. "Quintessence, huh?" she tried to make conversation, referencing the book he had brought with him. As a Ravenclaw, she should want to talk about books, but somehow she'd rather stick to Quidditch as it came more easily. And yet Quidditch seemed to shut down her companion. She blinked, staring out onto the pitch and thought perhaps that might be the better tact: "It'd be great, wouldn't it? To play?"