Prepared for Takeoff, Allegedly open Closed

wearing

Misty rain fell sideways with the wind. Windows open at just the right angle whistled and creaked, and the sun hid behind a thick layer of light grey clouds, just a few rays poking through the haze. This type of weather had pretty low visibility, which happened to be why it was Wyatt’s favorite to practice under. It was just enough of a challenge without being a real problem. But Wyatt knew that whether there was a hurricane outside or an open sky and a blazing sun, he would’ve been out training because he’d just picked up his brand new broom: A Starsweeper XXI. With his broomstick in one hand and his goggles in the other, he made his way to the training pitch as fast as a person could go without running.

After lightly placing his Starsweeper on the ground, he pulled on his goggles, tightening them to fit. With an extended hand, he firmly said, “up,” the broom hitting his palm before he was done with the syllable. He got on the thing carefully, not sure how this new broom would feel or move. But he’d find out.

He kicked off from the damp grass, immediately at top speed. Wyatt felt like he was moving so fast that time couldn’t keep up with him. He forgot how hard it could be to breathe with too much wind shoving itself down his throat, but allowed himself to be moved by the curiosity of how much faster he could go if he moved with the breeze. A sharp right took him straight to the quidditch stadium, and he would’ve torn right through a Hufflepuff banner had he not pulled up in time. The broom had responded to Wyatt’s diversion as if it were multiple steps ahead of the decision, shooting upward without the slightest change in speed. After he was over the stands, he righted himself on the broom and continued with the wind.

It was like going from a go-kart to a race car. Sure, his Nimbus 1700 was fast, but it wasn’t the best you could get. This was. Oh, and the quality of his Silver Arrow was top-notch, but it didn’t have that capacity for borderline-reckless speed. This did. When Wyatt looked down, he started to realize how far he was getting from the castle. With some effort, he turned, going against the wind and toward the direction he came from, periodically checking his compass to make sure of his path. On his way, he swooped down by the lake, leaning slightly to graze the water with his fingertips. If he lost his balance, his broom would probably go on without him, leaving him to doggy paddle with whatever lurked in that muggy old lake, but Wyatt didn’t worry at all. Eventually, he found himself back at the training pitch.

He started his descent but was far more used to an easy, slow, graceful dive. He wasn’t yet familiar with this broom, and while he could handle himself without falling off, he would hardly call his control graceful yet. This became exceedingly clear when he came down a little rougher than he’d hoped, stumbling off his broom after the landing, tripping over himself for a few steps before collapsing on his side in the field of the pitch, which was becoming more and more muddy by the second. He groaned from the ground, from the pain and the mess, but ultimately pieced together that all of his bones were intact.

Pushing himself back up, righting his hair, and wiping some of the thicker clumps of mud from his arm and leg, Wyatt checked on his broom—which had not a scratch on it despite the fall—and his wand—which was, like his bones, still intact. A part of Wyatt thought that his broom took a millisecond longer to respond to his “up” this time, as if nervous for their second flight after Wyatt’s performance in their first. But it was about time for another go, Wyatt decided, broomstick in hand, as he made his way toward a more optimal launch spot.

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