Jeremy Mordue
What about me?
Sat Feb 16, 2019 20:13
180.154.113.117

The day of Quidditch tryouts was finally here. For Jeremy, this was what school was all about. Much like children not really remembering learning to walk or talk, Jeremy could not recall learning to fly. Okay, he had some vague memories of having only a hover broom, and of father running along behind him helping him hold the tail steady. He remembered specific points in his journey to being the excellent flyer that he was today - mostly being gifted specific, increasingly better brooms, or successful ‘firsts’ with his coach - but he never remembered a time when he wasn’t doing it.

He made his way down to the pitch with his cousin, joining up with Nathaniel once they got there. There was very little point in trying to pretend he was nothing to do with his brother given that he, essentially, looked like a scale model of him. And anyway, Nathaniel wasn’t really that bad - he had standing here, as a Quidditch player, and as there weren’t separate house teams they were allies rather than rivals. He supposed that was sort of nice. So long as he got to show that he was better than his brother - which, if he got his desired position of Seeker, should be easy enough, because Seekers were the most important players.

His chances for that weren’t entirely excellent. The last time he had checked, there had been two other people signed up for it. He was pretty sure he could outfly a second year girl of dubious parentage. Winston Pierce was another matter. Even though Jeremy had plenty of arrogance, he knew who else counted as proper, and he knew that Winston outranked him. It didn’t necessarily mean that Winston was more talented, but even Jeremy had enough of a sense of perspective to realise that a sixth year might be better than him, even though he knew from his own family that Winston had not yet played this position for Sonora. Someone with their eye on the long game, of the intricate diplomacy of the Pureblood world, might have seen how this work out in his favour. If Winston got the position on the A team and Jeremy got it for the Bs, then he could essentially be Winston’s protégé - the older boy would be expected to work with him for the time when he took over. Two years as secondary Seeker, forging a really close and decent connection with an influential Pierce… Jeremy was not such a person. Jeremy was used to getting what he wanted, and what he wanted was Seeker, and it annoyed him that someone else was quite likely to get it and that then he’d have to smile and pretend to be pleased for them.

It wasn’t just that he wanted it, he needed it. Both of his roommates were heirs, which meant he had to be something that was better than that. That was nearly impossible. Being heir was pretty much like being the best, even though you only got it through stupid luck of your stupid parents and stupid birth order. It didn’t rely on talent, like Quidditch, which meant that Quidditch could totally count for more (conveniently, Jeremy’s logic always arrived at the thing that he was good at being worth the most). Neither of his roommates had signed up. If Jeremy was winning Quidditch matches for the whole school, he would be a hero.

They started out with a race. The coach said it wasn’t a race but obviously it was a race. Jeremy was quite decent at pacing a run, having spent enough time training. This was harder though. They hadn’t been divided by age group. Obviously he couldn’t be expected to beat seventh years, could he? That didn’t seem fair. He was able to keep a decent pace, he knew not to sprint, though he probably pushed himself harder than necessary to be out at the front. He stretched (it was hard to win at stretching) and got ready for the broom race.

Jeremy had a lot of advantages on his side in this. He was well-trained, having spent most of his life getting private coaching. He also had a top of the line broom. He was small, which was both an advantage and a disadvantage - he had less weight to give him momentum, but also less to slow him down. He could weave and dodge more easily than some of the big players. Size was an advantage in situations where it was acceptable to push people out of the way. Had Jeremy been big, he probably would have decided that the race counted as such an opportunity. As he was small, he hoped it didn’t. If any of the Muggleborns tried it, he could call them out with technical terms like ‘cobbing’ which they probably wouldn’t understand well enough to try to argue against.

Luckily, tattling on anyone to the coach proved unnecessary. Jeremy was able to get through the race on what he regarded as pure talent. He would have been the first to agree that money couldn’t buy talent, because it meant that everything he achieved was down to him, not his family’s gold. And perhaps it was true, to a degree, that there was a level of innate ability - some people were more physically co-ordinated than others, or naturally more daredevil or capable of making the necessary split second decisions. But taking that talent and nurturing it via private coaching, and sitting it on a top of the line broom had to give it some advantages that definitely came from gold rather than anywhere else.

He was pleased to see agility tests, though less pleased to see them ending with Chasing and Beating skills. Those didn’t matter when he was here to try out for Seeker. What was the point in making everyone do them? He almost asked whether he had to, but he caught Nathaniel giving him a Serious Look that said his brother had heard and correctly read the small impatient sigh he had given and was warning him not to make a fuss. He narrowed his eyes slightly at his brother for judging him (a fact made only more irritating by the fact that Nathaniel was actually right) and resolved to do the stupid tests for the stupid positions that he didn’t even want.

The obstacle courses were one of his strongest points. Seekers needed to be agile and fast, and so his training had involved a lot of this sort of thing. Jeremy’s attitude was to go as fast and as close as he could. Speed was absolutely of the essence when you were a Seeker. If you jostled one of the less important players on your way down, who cared? Therefore he didn’t think it mattered if he bumped the odd obstacle. Fast won out over neat and clean every time.

He picked up a Quaffle and threw it at a goal. It was thrown hard enough and accurately enough that it reached the goal. He also caught the ball when it came back because he wasn’t some physically malco-ordinated toddler who was still learning how to use their own limbs. Throwing was easy. Catching was easy. Both were boring. His attempt to bat a ball through the goal was less accurate. The ball was lighter than the bludger, so his relative lack of physical strength didn’t count against him as much, but the older kids were definitely hitting them harder. His ball also went wide. Well, so what? It was going to be someone else’s job to protect him. He finished this segment of the tryouts by returning the ground in a break neck dive, which he pulled out of a couple of feet from the ground. It wasn’t quite grass-brushing Wronski Feint closeness but it was definitely impressive for his age, and he wanted to make sure everyone knew he could do that, just in case he didn’t get another chance to show it.

Though he suspected, of course, that he would. There would be a Seeker tryout and it ought to involve diving. He waited whilst the coach went through the lesser positions, assigning them their boring tasks. Saving the best till last, obviously. Except then… there wasn’t even an announcement of what they would do. Jeremy knew the coach couldn’t watch them all at the same time, but everyone else had been told what they were doing. There wasn’t going to be much point to all those warm ups if they stood around long enough to cool down again.

He made his way over to Winston, who was obviously also at a loose end now.

“What are we supposed to do?” he muttered irritably. Then remembering that, just because he knew who Winston was, and just because it was painfully obvious who he was related to, didn’t mean they had actually been introduced or anything. “Jeremy Mordue of the Oregon Mordues,” he added politely, extending his hand.

  • Here to winWinston Pierce, Tue Feb 12 12:11
    Winston understood the purpose of jogging as part of the warm up. That didn’t mean he liked it. It was tiring and it made him sweat, and sweat made him stink, and he didn’t like being smelly. So he... more
    • What about me? — Jeremy Mordue, Sat Feb 16 20:13
Click here to receive daily updates