No Handouts
| —— |  here for a long time, know i'm here to stay don't need a handout, i can hold my weight summary, this thread is happening on OCTOBER 19TH, 2025, in the MORNING with @MAISIE GEMMELL / wc: 632. When Harlan was asked to help with drumming up more interest for Quidditch by giving out some pointers for flying, the Gryffindor thought that they surely were incredibly desperate. Of course, Harlan knew that he was a fairly good flyer and showed it during practice but he never showed that well when it came to the games. His mind flashed back to the Broom Race when he was more a comet, burning through the track thanks to his own backfired spell, then doing anything remotely worthwhile. Luckily, the Quidditch match was a little better than that. So he woke up before the sun and took the time to polish the Silver Arrow that he had gotten last year in the quiet moments of his dorm room before the lion's den awoke and started their typical ruckus. After returning back to Hogwarts, there was something about Gryffindor that he had started to understand more than just that they were seen as the idiot brazen jockheads. There was far more to them and the different ways that courage and bravery manifested within each of them, but it was there, even if it was entirely misled like some of the prefects that were chosen. He felt his own bravery in the quiet spaces, the injustices that he spotted and couldn't handle allowing them exist if he had anything to say about it. Harlan never considered himself a hero or wanting the spotlight exactly for those reasons, but perhaps the ascension of the Montgomery clan would come through those means instead of the rubbing of elbows and social climbing he was prompted his whole life for. Decidingly skipping breakfast and getting himself down to the Training Pitch, Harlan carried his Quidditch bag and broom in his hand as he rushed his way down the labyrinth of a castle until he spotted the student that had set this whole thing up. " So Harlan, you'll help them with flying, hop on a broom with them and observe on how they could be tighter, cleaner, ready for some of those crazy maneuvers we often see in Quidditch. " Nodding in understanding, Harlan offered a thumbs up in response as he mounted his broom for a moment to hover twenty feet from the pitch to see what exactly he wanted to see these students do. There was the Whomping Willow to the far right, the sun in their peripherals, and the goal pitches just far enough away to make for a decent sprint and corner turn. That'd make for a good test of agility, reaction, and maneuverability. Of course, this wasn't Quidditch if he didn't cause a little opportunity for mayhem as he returned back down to the grass and opened his bag with a devilish grin. From the opening, charmed bludgers began to spit themselves out of the bag until ten bludgers all with different commands spread themselves out within the sky to add to the complexity of their little test. If this was meant to test them, Harlan wouldn't hold back any spell casts to soften the blow. As he turned around, fairly proud of his little test that he created, a small crowd of students of various years that had been sent over to him had faces of mixed emotions like excitement, fear, and nervousness as they saw what they were about to do in the name of practice. " Don't worry, it probably looks scarier than it is. " He offered a big grinned smile to help ease some of the nerves. " Well, maybe. " A light chuckle as Harlan moved himself closer to the group. " For anyone who doesn't know me, i'm Harlan Mongtomgery. Fourth year Chaser for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team and we're here to show you the joys of Quidditch. Any takers eager to prove themselves first? " | —— |
No Handouts
Maisie did not, she felt, need rudimentary flying lessons. She's done quite well in the unofficial Quidditch and broomracing matches she'd been in—far surpassing any performance she'd had on the duelling piste. And that was why she came out to the training pitch. She had to know if it was just sheer dumb luck, or if the cold truth was that she was a better flier than a duellist.
She clutched the Silver Arrow she'd won in a newspaper raffle in her hand as she approached the pitch. It was different than normal she thought as the Whomping Willow loomed to one side and the sun strode high in the sky. None of this seemed to phase her—it was not like three of the same Hufflepuff wands were pointed at her.
Her eyes did widen at the sight of the bludgers, which seemed to spread out across the field. She remembered them well enough, and that they were about as much fun as a triple Flipendo. With her index finger, she tried to count them and assess the risk, but even with a squint, it was no easy task.
Yet, as the bludgers zoomed, she could see some of the other students were afraid. "Immobulus," she cast at one that was hoovering uncomfortably near the ear of a terrified first year. It was one bludger, and one spell. She hoped it wouldn't draw the ire of any of the organizers. She just didn't see much point in frightening the young ones. That was the kind of thing that caused her peers to freeze on the duelling piste, and frankly, she was over it.
It was about that time when one of the organizers, an older boy, spoke to them, insisting it wasn't scary. Somehow, she doubted that would quell the fears of those who'd truly been startled. His name was Harlan, and he was a real Quidditch player like Avis, just with more experience. From his physique, he seemed like he could fly for miles. That seemed like a good person to assess her skill.
When he asked who would go first, she replaited her hair as she waited a few seconds for any eager beavers to go first. It would be smart to get some sense of the course. But when few seemed as keen (perhaps the bludgers really had been frightening), she stepped forward and summoned her courage: "I'll take a whack at it."
After all, she'd come here to know.
@Harlan Montgomery
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No Handouts
| —— | here for a long time, know i'm here to stay don't need a handout, i can hold my weight summary, this thread is happening on OCTOBER 19TH, 2025, in the MORNING with @MAISIE GEMMELL / wc: 443. Perhaps it was the rushing adrenaline coursing through Harlan's veins or the crisp smell of the Quidditch Pitch in the morning, but Harlan was itching to test every single student who had been willing to test their own mettle when racing towards a Quidditch goal. Standing proud, limbs outstretched as he held his broom upright while scanning the various expressions against the student's faces until a shorter witch stepped forward with the courage of a lion. " Love the confidence. " The teenager offered a nod of support as he started a casual round of applause from the rest of the students as he took a few steps closer to her. " And what's your name, year and house ? " Harlan had grabbed a bewitched notepad to take the notes so he could focus on ensuring everyone could get on their broom safely and work their way through the obstacle course to the goal. " And perfect, the Silver Arrow. Someone's not playing around. " It was impressive to see that type of broom or a firebolt with some of the students who weren't a part of a sport. " Okay, this is gonna be easy. I'm going to have you mount up, take to the sky, and i'll throw you a quaffle. " Harlan placed his own Silver Arrow right next to him while he kicked at the bag that was on the floor and a quaffle came spitting out. " All you have to do is dodge the bludgers and throw the quaffle into the goal. " It seemed easy enough, right? " Except, i'm going to race you to the goal post and if I get there in time, you'll have a keeper ready to slam your quaffle right out of the sky. " A smirk, a subtle look down at the witch as he attempted to stoke the fires of her ambition to make the younger student feel the pressure to perform. " If you're ready, kick off and we can begin. " The Gryffindor kept one hand holding the Quaffle and his free hand extended outwards ready to beckon his broom to his grip for him to race off in this battle of speed, agility, and accuracy. If this girl was any good, she'd know that a straight line would be the easiest way to the goal, but that the bludgers currently flying int he skies seemed to be designed to actually make that path the hardest with obstacles to dodge consistently. That's what Quidditch was, split second decision making and sticking to the plan. It might've been a rough way to test them, but this wasn't an easy sport — none of them at Hogwarts were made for the cowardly or squeamish. | —— |
No Handouts
She met him right in the eye as she stepped forward. "Love the confidence," he'd said. With a slight nod, she could only agree half joking and half seriously, "Well, when you have nothing to lose, I'm pretty sure confidence is the only thing left." The brunt of her string of duelling losses had burned her that much that it was only her sheer belief—or what was left of it—that pushed her through most sporting events. The question was which sporting event.
"Oh," she added, "Maisie Gemmell. Ravenclaw. Second Year." Her brown eyes drifted over to his notepad. Great, now there would be even more proof of complete and utter failure. Still, she kept hold of the broom. Speaking of which, she clarified, "I won it actually. The paper had a raffle a few years back." It was perhaps the only thing she'd won during her twelve years on this planet—and that was by sheer dumb luck. Since then and certainly in school sports, luck had not been on her side.
But he said this was gonna be easy. In fact, he made it sound easy from the way the words rolled like rainwater off his tongue. Even the way he handled the quaffle itself seemed easy—like he was made to do it. She wondered if her wand had every felt that way in her own hand. Still, she listened to this easy task.
But there was a twist—of course. She should have considered it considering the bludgers earlier and how they'd set the tone for today's activities. Quickly, she did the math: go fast and have an empty hoop, or go slow and avoid bludgers. But seemed to have a nearly equal cost/benefit analysis. But there was one thing that was extremely evident to Maisie even if it wasn't to literally anyone else here: there were no spells. No Minnie trying to Incendio her; no Emily trying to Flipendo her; and no Costanza trying to murder her both mentally and physically. And for the moment at least, the bludger and the hoops were preferable.
"Got it," she replied as she gripped her broom and swung her leg over on one side. And for a moment, she looked straight ahead at those golden hoops. She'd get there. Sure, there was a race technically, but really this was just her: Maisie against herself.
So, with a breath, she steadied herself and took off.
The air was crisp—refreshing from being stuck in the duelling club and it's four walls that seemed to draw closer and closer in a deadly embrace as the rounds went on. The stray hairs on her neck raised as she gained speed and the flutter of her eyebrows reminded her where she was. For a second, she waited for a whistle or something—like they do in muggle school—but in the absence of that, she'd move. It didn't take a genius to realize this older, very real Quidditch player could get ahead of her without breaking a sweat.
She tried to keep her eyes ahead of her as much as possible, checking the periphery every few seconds just to be sure. There was at least one close call in which she had to tug on the broom hard to avoid one of those bludgers. And in that moment, her breath quickened and the broom slowed. But she knew she couldn't let that stop her. Somewhere around here, Harlan was watching. And he might have been one person, but these flying outings felt much bigger than that. There was a lot riding on this—literally.
Best press on.
@Harlan Montgomery
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