Crash Course in Gravity
Date. 03/09/2025 | Dialogue. #1E361C | Tag. @Frederick Buckley
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Going into his second year at Hogwarts, Gabriele arrived with goals. Nothing to do with getting better grades, or learning more spells(though he definitely should), but to get accepted into the Quidditch team. Gabi was finally old enough for try-outs, and while he wasn’t exactly the best broom flyer around here – neither was he particularly passionate about the sport (he didn’t even have his own broom yet) – but he was determined to make it. If for no other reason than to prove to everyone that he could. If fucking Avis Greymond could be a Ravenclaw whatever-postion, so could he! Gabriele could already taste the triumph if he managed to beat her in her own sport. Would serve her right. And it would be kind of hot to see her fuming. That was besides the point.
Having a hobby that didn’t include bullying his brother and smoking in the Astronomy tower would be good for him in hindsight. That wasn’t the reason he wanted to learn to fly decently; if someone had suggested others would benefit from this little side quest, Gabriele would have dug his heels into the ground and refused to do it. Simply out of spite. As of right now, no one had told him shit. But it would certainly help his restless (and reckless) spirit to have something to take out some frustrations on, that wasn't another person.
The first Wednesday afternoon of the school year, Gabriele picked a dusty school broom from the cupboard and marched down to the Quidditch pitch. Since he wouldn’t be caught dead here early in the morning, he had no choice but to practice after classes were over, which meant he was not alone. Whether it was the team practicing or other students with a similar goal in mind as Gabi, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter – he wouldn’t let an audience stop him. Yeah, falling on his ass would be embarrassing, but being over-confident in his own skills definitely helped in his decision to expose himself for potential public humiliation.
He dragged the broom onto the pitch, giving it a once-over like he was inspecting it like that bald idiot’s wares he’d seen in Rome that summer. The handle was splintered in places, the bristles fanned out like a haystack after a hurricane, and there was a mysterious sticky patch he made a mental note not to touch again. Perfect. If he couldn’t fly well, at least he could blame the broom.
| Sta: 7 | Eva: 7 | Str: 5 Wis: 5 | Arc: 10 | Acc: 7 |
Crash Course in Gravity
Frederick Buckley hadn’t even finished unpacking his trunk in the Gryffindor dormitory before deciding on his first adventure at Hogwarts. Sure, the castle seemed full of secrets, moving staircases, hidden passages, and endless corridors to explore, but the one place he had to see with his own eyes, and soon, was the Quidditch Pitch. He’d seen pictures of it before, the ones his father had shown him, and often imagined what it would be like to stand there, that glorious field with its towering goal hoops and stands, students cheering for their Houses, and players darting after the Quaffle at dizzying speeds. To Fred, it was one of Hogwarts’ most iconic places, almost as important as the Great Hall itself.
He didn’t quite know how he was going to get there, but that wasn’t really a problem. With a bit of courage and shameless curiosity, he asked a pair of older students for directions. They gave him a few simple instructions: go straight down a long corridor, cross the courtyard, and then follow the path that wound across the grounds. Fred thanked them quickly, not wanting to linger too long and make it obvious he was just another lost first-year. And since he hadn’t made many friends yet, he decided to try and find the field on his own.
All the way there, he walked with a spring in his step. As he went, he imagined himself flying one day on that same Quidditch field, wind whipping through his hair, the crowd roaring in excitement. But then, as he neared the edge of the castle grounds, another thought struck him: how was he even going to get a broom to fly? He probably should’ve asked the older students that, too. Maybe the school had some to lend? That seemed likely enough, still, it would’ve been smart to ask before walking halfway across the grounds. “Next time,” he promised himself. For now, just seeing the pitch with his own eyes would be enough.
Except, when the field finally came into view, Fred’s excitement faltered. This wasn’t it. The open space ahead was far too small, more like a practice pitch than the grand stadium he’d seen in his father’s photos. It was just a grassy field, its goal hoops made of plain wood, the grass worn thin from use, with no stands or massive gates in sight. For a moment, disappointment flickered through him. Had he misunderstood the directions? Or had the older students played a trick on him? Either was possible, he’d heard Gryffindors sometimes got teased.
But then Fred noticed the brooms. Half a dozen students were scattered across the field, some still on the ground clutching their brooms, others already airborne, wobbling dangerously close to each other. One boy in particular looked determined, gripping his broom like a sword and muttering something Fred couldn’t quite hear before mounting it. Freddy’s frown lifted. So this was some kind of training ground! Not the real Quidditch Pitch, but maybe the place where beginners practiced before being thrown into the real deal.
“Still pretty cool,” he murmured to himself, his eyes now bright with interest. Still trying to take in the place, careful not to step in anyone’s way, he walked slowly along the edge of the field, watching everyone’s movements and attempts, committing it all to memory. To him, even just watching flying practice was fascinating.
@Gabriele Ricci-Armani
He didn’t quite know how he was going to get there, but that wasn’t really a problem. With a bit of courage and shameless curiosity, he asked a pair of older students for directions. They gave him a few simple instructions: go straight down a long corridor, cross the courtyard, and then follow the path that wound across the grounds. Fred thanked them quickly, not wanting to linger too long and make it obvious he was just another lost first-year. And since he hadn’t made many friends yet, he decided to try and find the field on his own.
All the way there, he walked with a spring in his step. As he went, he imagined himself flying one day on that same Quidditch field, wind whipping through his hair, the crowd roaring in excitement. But then, as he neared the edge of the castle grounds, another thought struck him: how was he even going to get a broom to fly? He probably should’ve asked the older students that, too. Maybe the school had some to lend? That seemed likely enough, still, it would’ve been smart to ask before walking halfway across the grounds. “Next time,” he promised himself. For now, just seeing the pitch with his own eyes would be enough.
Except, when the field finally came into view, Fred’s excitement faltered. This wasn’t it. The open space ahead was far too small, more like a practice pitch than the grand stadium he’d seen in his father’s photos. It was just a grassy field, its goal hoops made of plain wood, the grass worn thin from use, with no stands or massive gates in sight. For a moment, disappointment flickered through him. Had he misunderstood the directions? Or had the older students played a trick on him? Either was possible, he’d heard Gryffindors sometimes got teased.
But then Fred noticed the brooms. Half a dozen students were scattered across the field, some still on the ground clutching their brooms, others already airborne, wobbling dangerously close to each other. One boy in particular looked determined, gripping his broom like a sword and muttering something Fred couldn’t quite hear before mounting it. Freddy’s frown lifted. So this was some kind of training ground! Not the real Quidditch Pitch, but maybe the place where beginners practiced before being thrown into the real deal.
“Still pretty cool,” he murmured to himself, his eyes now bright with interest. Still trying to take in the place, careful not to step in anyone’s way, he walked slowly along the edge of the field, watching everyone’s movements and attempts, committing it all to memory. To him, even just watching flying practice was fascinating.
@Gabriele Ricci-Armani
Last edited by Frederick Buckley on 8 Nov 2025, 18:01, edited 1 time in total.
Sta 8 | Eva 8 | Str 6 | Wis 5 | Arc Power 4 | Acc 10
Abilities: Evasive Maneuvers, Keeper's Catch
Crash Course in Gravity
Date. 03/09/2025 | Dialogue. #1E361C | Tag. @Frederick Buckley
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Mounting the shitty school broom, he adjusted his grip and seat before taking off. A bit too fast probably, because the whole broom wobbled beneath him. Gabriele wasn’t a total noob though, he’d been to all flying classes last year. It must be the broom's fault for being in such a bad condition. As for his own skills, it was just a matter of laps around the training pitch for him to get comfortable again. After the second lap, Gabriele leaned forward and shot through the air in challenging speed, getting a bit ahead of himself. As usual.
Ten seconds later – ten seconds for him to feel like fucking king of this earth – the broom tilted sideways, and Gabriele nearly head-butted the dirt. He caught himself with his boots and landed in something that looked suspiciously like goose shit. “Merda,” he hissed, brushing at his shoe. Literally.
Some older students were snickering across the pitch. "It was just the fucking broom. I sucks ass!" The Italian deflected to explain his fall. Gabi gritted his teeth, mounting the broom again. He wasn’t giving them the satisfaction. If he had to eat grass fifty times in a row, he’d do it—so long as the next time, it was Avis Greymond’s smug face in the dirt instead. Contrary to popular beliefs, he didn’t hate her –she hated him. For whatever reason he couldn’t even remember. It probably started with that potion, but to be honest, it felt like he had all odds against him even before then. It could be boiled down to: girls, man. Enough fucking said.
Just as he was about to shove off again, he noticed someone lingering at the edge of the field. Some kid. Looked younger than him, probably first year. The boy was staring at the brooms like they were bloody dragon eggs. Gabriele narrowed his eyes. “Oi, you.” He jabbed a finger toward Freddy, voice carrying over the grass. “If you’re here to laugh, at least do it loud enough so I can hear it. Otherwise quit creeping like a stalker.” The words sounded sharp, but the crooked grin tugging at his mouth revealed that he was just teasing.
| Sta: 7 | Eva: 7 | Str: 5 Wis: 5 | Arc: 10 | Acc: 7 |
Crash Course in Gravity
Frederick had been standing at the edge of the training pitch for a while now, still watching intently as everyone took turns daring to lift off the ground. The Quidditch training field looked enormous compared to the backyard at home or his cousins’ garden, where he usually flew, but not so vast that he couldn’t notice one particular boy almost faceplanting after an overly bold takeoff.
The laugh escaped Fred’s mouth before he could stop it. He bit his upper lip and raised his eyebrows, turning his head to the side to pretend he was looking at something far more interesting nearby, but the right corner of his mouth refused to obey. Shoulders shaking, he tried to breathe deeply, to get control of himself. He really did try to hold it in, honestly, but of course, it didn’t work.
When he heard the voice calling him from across the grass, Fred froze for a second before turning toward the older boy. Instinctively, his first urge was to get out of there, but a spark of defiance flared in his chest instead. He felt his face heat up, freckles standing out even more, not from embarrassment, but from the thrill of being noticed. And when he caught that faint glint of mischief on the older boy’s face, something in Fred eased. Maybe Gabriele wasn’t angry after all, maybe this was an invitation.
He squinted slightly, a small, closed-mouth smile forming as he answered the call, letting a bit of nervousness slip into his voice, “I wasn’t creeping… it’s not my fault your broom’s got worse balance than a drunk troll. Hard not to laugh when you almost made friends with the grass.” Satisfied with his comeback, Fred’s grin widened, mischief sparking in his blue eyes as he stepped closer, stopping a few paces away. “But hey, if it’s part of the training, maybe you can show me how to land like that too.”
The words kept spilling out before he could think twice. Gabriele’s broom looked ancient, splinters along the handle, a few broken twigs at the end, but it was still a broom. The first one Fred had been close to at Hogwarts, and his chance to actually fly. Even if it meant eating dirt like Gabriele nearly had, it seemed far too good an opportunity to pass up.
@Gabriele Ricci-Armani
The laugh escaped Fred’s mouth before he could stop it. He bit his upper lip and raised his eyebrows, turning his head to the side to pretend he was looking at something far more interesting nearby, but the right corner of his mouth refused to obey. Shoulders shaking, he tried to breathe deeply, to get control of himself. He really did try to hold it in, honestly, but of course, it didn’t work.
When he heard the voice calling him from across the grass, Fred froze for a second before turning toward the older boy. Instinctively, his first urge was to get out of there, but a spark of defiance flared in his chest instead. He felt his face heat up, freckles standing out even more, not from embarrassment, but from the thrill of being noticed. And when he caught that faint glint of mischief on the older boy’s face, something in Fred eased. Maybe Gabriele wasn’t angry after all, maybe this was an invitation.
He squinted slightly, a small, closed-mouth smile forming as he answered the call, letting a bit of nervousness slip into his voice, “I wasn’t creeping… it’s not my fault your broom’s got worse balance than a drunk troll. Hard not to laugh when you almost made friends with the grass.” Satisfied with his comeback, Fred’s grin widened, mischief sparking in his blue eyes as he stepped closer, stopping a few paces away. “But hey, if it’s part of the training, maybe you can show me how to land like that too.”
The words kept spilling out before he could think twice. Gabriele’s broom looked ancient, splinters along the handle, a few broken twigs at the end, but it was still a broom. The first one Fred had been close to at Hogwarts, and his chance to actually fly. Even if it meant eating dirt like Gabriele nearly had, it seemed far too good an opportunity to pass up.
@Gabriele Ricci-Armani
Last edited by Frederick Buckley on 8 Nov 2025, 17:31, edited 1 time in total.
Sta 8 | Eva 8 | Str 6 | Wis 5 | Arc Power 4 | Acc 10
Abilities: Evasive Maneuvers, Keeper's Catch
Crash Course in Gravity
Date. 03/09/2025 | Dialogue. #1E361C | Tag. @Frederick Buckley
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So, this little first year was a bit cocky, Gabriele noted with slight amusement and a spark of challenge. He didn’t like people laughing at him – unless he was actively trying to be funny, but to be butthurt over a first year was kind of pathetic. Even for him, who admittedly got defensive over any minor inconvenience.
The boy moved closer, the Italian sizing him up as he crossed the patch of grass between them. Ma che cazzo. Where did all these tall first years come from?! The boy was probably taller than Gabriele, who was on the shorter end of average for his age, but he must be younger nonetheless. Kind of cute, too. In a nerdy kind of way. Maybe he was a Ravenclaw, they were all fucking nerds, and some of them cute. His mind instinctively wandered to Avis Greymond, the hot and super nerdy ice queen of Ravenclaw. Again. He clearly couldn't get her out of his mind.
Staring all googly-eyed at brooms was a dead giveaway that this must be his first year. Which also told him that the boy probably never had sat on a broom before, giving him no reason to worry that he’d somehow outshine him. Gabi might be short, but he was not a fucking pussy. Teasing him would not go by unpunished. Suddenly, things turned into a competition. It was clear to him that the other boy was excited at the prospect of flying, but question was if he was better than Gabi.
“Wooow. You’re a bit cocky for a first year. You clearly have no idea who you're talking to, but alright rookie. Let’s see if you’re much better.” Gabriele tossed the rotten school-broom at the boy to catch. With his hands free, he crossed his arms, striking an unimpressed pose, albeit with a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “At least I’ll have a laugh at you when you eat dirt.” And if he turned out to not be half-bad at flying, he’d bully him into teaching him some tricks and tips. Though doubtful. Otherwise the kid would have been first out there to show off.
“Impress me and I’ll show you some cool tricks. If you deserve it.” Exactly what that would be, he wouldn’t know until then. He didn’t really know any tricks, most likely he'd just wing it when things came to that, but this guy didn’t know that. “What’s your name? So I know who I’ll should be making a loser cake for later.”
| Sta: 7 | Eva: 7 | Str: 5 Wis: 5 | Arc: 10 | Acc: 7 |
Crash Course in Gravity
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
| Date: 03/09/25 | Word count: 494 |
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| Date: 03/09/25 | Word count: 494 |
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Fred closed the last few steps that separated him from Gabriele, feeling the older boy’s eyes sweep over him from head to toe, as if weighing him on some invisible scale. Now there was no turning back, pretending it wasn’t about him and walking away would only make him look like a coward.
He wasn’t the fighting type, never had been. But he also wasn’t someone who backed down from a spark of conflict. Deep down, he often ended up in situations like this because his playful nature worked like a magnet for them. At the same time, though, that same humor usually saved him, pulling him out before things got too serious.
Standing in front of Gabriele, Fred listened to the first comments with a raised eyebrow. He chuckled quietly, because in the end, the one overflowing with confidence now was the older boy himself. “How did you guess I have no idea who I’m talking to?” he said, trying to force a surprised expression, but his face betrayed him: the playful smile had already crept in before he even finished the line.
The broom flew toward him, and Fred had no time to think. He caught it with his right hand, fingers closing around the rough, worn handle. Up close, it looked even worse: cracks, loose straw, the look of an object that had survived decades of unlucky students. He passed it from one hand to the other, examining it carefully. He wanted so badly to fly, but he couldn’t help thinking: sweet Merlin, this piece of junk will kill me before I even leave the ground.
Gabriele’s taunts pulled him out of his inspection. Fred laughed again, this time tinged with sarcasm, resting one end of the broom on the ground and meeting the boy’s gaze. “Who’s the cocky one now?” he asked, though there was no hint of a fight in his tone. On the contrary, he seemed to be having fun with the situation. “But alright. I’ll take the challenge.”
Fred took a deep breath, letting his mocking grin soften as his focus returned to the broom. It wasn’t inviting at all. Still, there was no way he would waste the chance. He adjusted his grip on the handle, feeling the awkward weight and the uneven texture beneath his fingers. Posture first. His father’s voice echoed in his memory. He saw himself back in the backyard, the wide grass stretching beyond the low fence. His father holding his own broom, patient, repeating each instruction calmly: “Firm hand, but not stiff. Shoulders loose. And above all, confidence. The broom responds to what you feel, not just what you command.”
Fred swallowed hard. Maybe this rusty thing wouldn’t respond to anything but gravity, but it was worth trying. He positioned himself on the left side, just as his father had taught him, and murmured the command softly. The broom quivered before springing into his palm. He gripped it tightly, adjusting his stance, and looked at the boy before mounting the broom. “Come on, I think I deserve to learn something, more than just a cake. You’re way too defensive, tough guy,” he joked as he got ready. Deep down, he was terrified of making a complete fool of himself, but hadn’t he come there with that very goal? Careful what you wish for.
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| Interacting with: @Gabriele Ricci-Armani |
| Interacting with: @Gabriele Ricci-Armani |
Sta 8 | Eva 8 | Str 6 | Wis 5 | Arc Power 4 | Acc 10
Abilities: Evasive Maneuvers, Keeper's Catch
Crash Course in Gravity
Date. 03/09/2025 | Dialogue. #1E361C | Tag. @Frederick Buckley
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Gabriele's smirk only widened at the first year’s display, clearly enjoying the mix of determination and nervous energy radiating off him. He held and examined the broom as if it was either cursed or God, taking way too long to mount it. Curse was definitely more accurate, considering the state of that shitty school broom. It was still usable, though; Gabi had managed a few laps on it earlier without dying. Barely.
He rolled his eyes at his comment about deserving more than cake. “For what?” he shot back, tone dripping with teasing disbelief. So far, he hadn’t seen much worth rewarding. Gabriele gestured impatiently at the broom. “You at least gotta sit on it first. Are you gonna get up or not?” If he was going to just stand there, he might as well show him how it’s done… and hopefully not almost face-plant in the mud and goose shit again. Some part of him was itching to get back up there, just to prove to himself that he wasn’t complete shit.
“Here, let me show you how it’s done.” He glanced around, spotting a student who’d just landed on a much nicer broom — sleek, polished, clearly expensive. Gabriele couldn’t tell the exact model, but he knew he wanted it. Just for a minute. Maybe two. Without hesitation (or permission), he stormed up, snatched it straight from the boy’s hands, and swung a leg over in one smooth motion. “Hey! What the fuck, man?” the other student barked, but Gabi barely spared the owner of the broom a glance. “Relax, I’m just borrowing it. Someone gotta teach this guy how to fly,” he said, already pushing off the ground. It responded like a dream, allowing Gabi to gain some of his fragile confidence back as he soared through the sky in a dramatic arch, his long curls whipping in the wind.
Circling back, he hovered above his Gryffindor trainee and looked down on him, looking cockier than ever on his new, fancy broom (that was definitely not his own). “Are you coming or not?” he called down, smirk widening, challenge glinting in his eyes. Behind him, the broom’s furious owner was shouting, pointing, maybe even threatening to hex him if he didn't come down immediately — Gabi didn’t care enough to listen. He only shot him a dismissive wave before leaning forward and racing off again, daring the first year to follow. On the school broom, the guy didn't stand a chance against him, he thought smugly.
| Sta: 7 | Eva: 7 | Str: 5 Wis: 5 | Arc: 10 | Acc: 7 |
Crash Course in Gravity
〚 •• ✎ •• 〛
| Date: 03/09/25 | Word count: 480 |
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Frederick had just mounted the broom, fingers tightening around the rough handle, ready to take off, when the older boy’s voice cut through the air again, another teasing jab, another provocation. Before Fred could even roll his eyes or answer back, Gabriele had already marched off toward another student, one Fred was fairly sure he didn’t even know, and in an act of pure insanity, snatched the boy’s broom right out of his hands.
Fred froze, one foot still planted on the ground. He blinked once, twice, as if trying to make sense of what he’d just witnessed. Then, a disbelieving laugh escaped him. “Mate… is he insane?” he muttered under his breath, glancing from the furious boy, who was shouting all sorts of threats, back up to the curls flying through the wind above him. Gabriele was already a blur against the sky, slicing through the air with reckless confidence, as if he owned the entire Quidditch pitch. Fred shook his head, a crooked grin spreading across his face despite himself.
He watched, caught somewhere between awe and exasperation, as Gabriele arced around in a wide loop, his stolen broom glinting in the sunlight. When the older boy came diving back toward him, slowing just enough to hover in challenge, Fred could already guess what was coming. “Are you coming or not?” Gabriele called, voice carried easily by the wind, that same grin, infuriating and infectious, tugging at his lips.
Fred’s grip on his own broom tightened. He could feel the older student beside him still shouting, livid, and for a split second he considered explaining himself, that he had absolutely nothing to do with the theft. But when he looked back up, Gabriele was waving cheekily before shooting off again, and something in Fred snapped, not out of anger, exactly, but out of sheer, restless defiance.
“Fine,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. Then, with a firm push against the ground, the school broom lifted off, wobbling dangerously for the first few feet before finding its rhythm. The air rushed against his face, cool and sharp, and his heart leapt. He leaned forward just slightly, remembering the lessons from his father: keep the hands steady, don’t fight the broom, trust the balance.
The old broom shuddered, but obeyed. Bit by bit, Fred found his control, the vibrations smoothing out beneath his grip as he rose higher. Gabriele was already a few yards ahead, but not out of reach. Fred leveled the broom and gave chase, the corners of his mouth curling into a grin. “I can’t believe you actually did that!” he called, raising his voice over the wind. There was disbelief in his tone, but also laughter, that same spark of thrill lighting in his eyes. He might’ve thought Gabriele was out of his mind, but he had to admit, it looked like fun.
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| Interacting with: @Gabriele Ricci-Armani |
Sta 8 | Eva 8 | Str 6 | Wis 5 | Arc Power 4 | Acc 10
Abilities: Evasive Maneuvers, Keeper's Catch