Fire with Fire PV Jesse Marotta Closed

Jesse rose off the ground, a gentle breeze ruffling his hair and the setting sun casting a warm glow across his face. Experimentally, he shifted his weight to the left. The school broom moved fluidly beneath him, responding instantly to his touch. Another subtle movement and it changed directions. Jesse couldn’t help but grin, his eyes alight with the same fiery passion they held when he ran down a football field knowing he would score. Finally. Jesse had struggled in his classes for weeks. The spells that came so easily to others were trickier for him. His enchantments were too weak, the fire under his cauldron too hot, his latin pronunciation just a little off. But this, flying a broom? It came to him as naturally as breathing.

He flew in a casual circle mid-air, casting a look around the courtyard to see if anyone had noticed. A couple students glanced up at him but most were in their own world, talking or reading or staring at the brilliant sunset. He could easily envision being on the Quidditch Pitch instead, crowds gazing up at him and cheering him on. Leaning forward, Jesse zipped towards the pink clouds that painted the sky overhead. The wind rushed past, cool against his skin and whistling in his ears. He felt alive.

The closest to flying he’d ever been before was commanding a school broom into his hand, but it still felt somehow natural to take to the skies. He hadn’t flown far, but already there was adrenaline pumping through his veins. He felt strong, felt invincible, and when a girl across the Quidditch Training Pitch shouted about a race, it was inevitable that Jesse would accept the challenge.

“I’ll race you,” Jesse called out. He landed on the ground in front of the girl and dismounted, flashing her a cocky smile. “But I’m good for a first year. If you’d rather race someone a little less talented, I understand.” He was used to goading on opposing sports teams, and the instinct came back to him at once now that he faced a challenge. His boasts were somewhat unfounded - after all, he had only just learned to fly himself - but the thrill of having flown was such that he could have believed himself capable of anything.

“The name's Jesse Marotta, but I’m sure you knew that already,” Jesse told her loftily, running a hand through his hair to mess up his curls. “What’s your name?” He knew she was a Gryffindor girl in his own year, but Jesse was infamously terrible with names, forgetting most the second after he heard them.

interacting with @layla tipton

6:30 pm
mid-late september
quidditch training pitch

A challenger made himself known quicker than she had anticipated.

Her broom dropped onto the grass beside her again, her attention having broken to instead fixate on him. The boy had messy brown hair and an overconfident smile, two things that made her presumptuously conclude that he would be an arrogant opponent. His bold statement— claiming he was "good for a first year" and "talented" —made her bristle. She gave him a tight-lipped smile in response.

"Jesse Marotta. Marotta... let me think." Layla tilted her head as if contemplating, but shook it after a few seconds, the painfully sweet (and painfully forced) smile still sitting on her lips. She couldn't hold back on any taunting remarks, though, so she continued, tossing a quick verbal jab in his direction. "No. Doesn't ring a bell. Perhaps... you weren't memorable enough? If we did meet, I mean."

It was mostly true. She'd seen the boy around, but the names she recognized mostly belonged to other pureblood students and their families. She assumed, then, that he was just wizard-born or perhaps even muggleborn. That wouldn't stop her from making use of her own name; or, more aptly, the family names of both her parents. "Layla Lee-Tipton. Also a very talented first year. I think I will hold my own just fine."

With a flip of her long hair over her shoulder and another haughty look in his direction, she held her hand out. "I'll try to remember your name if you win this race, Marotta. But no playing dirty. Shake on it and we'll race. Deal?" And there it was again. That sickly sugary smile, dripping with saccharine sweetness and sarcasm. It was clear the young girl would take it personally if she lost. It also meant she was going to try her hardest not to.

@jesse marotta

You weren’t memorable enough. The words struck a chord, and Jesse’s smile faded fractionally. How could he not be memorable? He was loud in his classes, skilled in virtually every sport, and had stellar hair on top of it all. Surely it was impossible not to notice him. He felt suddenly eight years old again, waiting with his coach an hour after all the other kids had been picked up. Jesse, honey, I’m so sorry. With everything going on we forgot all about your game. Oliver’s leaving now to get you.

Jesse shook off the memory, his cocky grin returning. “I don’t need to play dirty to beat you,” he boasted. He reached out and shook on it. “If you’re a half-decent flier I might remember you too, Lee-Tipton.” The surname was unfamiliar to him. As a muggleborn, Jesse knew little of well-known pureblood families and the influence they held.

He glanced around the grounds, shielding his eyes from the setting sun with one hand when he squinted up at the castle. “Race to the top of that tower and back?” Jesse asked, pointing to the furthest of the Hogwarts towers. It was a longer flight than Jesse originally intended, but he had excellent endurance as a result of playing so much rugby and football in his lifetime. A longer race might be even more in his favor.

“You want a few second’s head start?” Jesse goaded, tone sickly sweet. “I wouldn’t blame you.” He flashed her another arrogant smile. He had missed this, trading gibes with someone just before a game. With a competitive streak a mile wide, Jesse couldn’t stand losing at anything he had a knack for. He had to win this race.

He mounted the school broom once more, hovering just barely off the ground beside Lee-Tipton. His hands tightened around the handle, sights set on their faraway target. Jesse glanced back at her and said, “If you’re ready, let’s go in 3…2…1…”

Interacting with @Layla Tipton

6:30 pm
mid-late september
quidditch training pitch

Layla likely didn't notice the way Jesse's smile every-so-slightly subsided after her comment. Even if she had, though, it likely wouldn't have stopped her from ragging on her newfound rival. Feeling forgotten was not a displeasure she had ever faced back home. In fact, something about being at Hogwarts made her feel much too small. She was just one small person in a sea of hundreds. The fact that Jesse didn't recognize her either solidified that suspicion, but what he said after also brought a small smile to her face. If you’re a half-decent flier I might remember you too, Lee-Tipton.

Half-decent. Hmph. She'd never allow herself to just be halfway decent. She'd show him.

As he brought a hand up to shield his face from the brilliance of the setting sun, she mirrored the movement, dark eyes squinting to try and catch sight of the midway point he had selected for their little contest. It was certainly far. It was also certainly higher up than she'd expected. Not that such things would stop her— she was being fueled purely by her need to get rid of the arrogant grin that Jesse kept flashing her way. She gave him a nod of agreement, but it was quickly followed by a roll of the eyes as he continued on.

"Marotta, my friend," the brunette cooed, tilting her head his direction, her words imbued with the same overdone sweetness as his. She batted her lashes at him in a ridiculous and mocking show of innocence. "I don't think it's me you should worry about. But thank you for the offer. So... chivalrous."

With a somewhat unsteady movement (one she hoped with all of her he didn't notice), the young Gryffindor swung her leg over the broom and situated herself. She could already hear the way her heart rate sped up as Jesse began the countdown. Her heartbeat was strong, bounding, making itself known by accompanying the rush of blood in her ears.

"3…2…1…” With only a second's hesitation, she leaned forward on the broom, causing it to raise up into the sky. It wobbled a bit at first, but she persisted, willed it to move faster and farther and something about that seemed to help. It shot forward, whipping her hair into hair face. Alright, mental note: tie my hair up next time I want to fly. Layla tossed her head back, a genuine, exuberant laugh bubbling from her chest and taking flight with her into the evening sky.

"You know—" she called to her opponent, raising her voice to be louder than the wind and the roar in her ears, "—this is fun! And much LOUDER than I expected!" As she spoke, her eyes darted around, trying to catch sight of Jesse somewhere in the bright colors that spread across the sky.

@jesse marotta