"Hey, Richie, the Quidditch team is starting their open tryouts and practice this afternoon during the free period. You going?"
Anthony blinked, pulling Richie into the group's conversation.
"I heard a massive crowd is going. Mostly just people wanting to see those physics hypotheses tested out in real time."
"Seriously, since this morning, there have already been upperclassmen getting into screaming matches because they can't agree on the math."
"Something about the interaction between magical aerodynamic drag and a broom's slipstream..."
Anthony wasn't exaggerating. Even now, at the far end of the Ravenclaw table, two older students were completely ignoring their lunch, aggressively waving parchment full of complex equations in each other's faces. They were practically spitting as they argued, desperately trying to prove their respective theories right.
Behind them, a small crowd had formed, split into two factions that occasionally shouted out supporting variables to back up their chosen side.
"I'm definitely going," Terry said, looking incredibly hyped. He couldn't care less about the physics experiments; he just genuinely loved Quidditch.
"What about you, Richie?"
Richie thought about it for a second and shook his head. "Nah. I've got a few books I need to get through."
"Oh. Alright then."
The guys didn't push it. They all knew Richie was basically a library addict. It was just a practice session anyway; missing it wasn't a big deal.
Right after they finished eating, just as the boys were about to head back to the dorm for a quick nap, Joel pulled Richie aside into a quiet corner of the Entrance Hall.
"Hey, Richie. I want to introduce you to someone. This is the captain of our house Quidditch team, Razeem Gideon."
"Razeem, this is the guy you've been losing your mind over all morning. The Seven-Pointed Star, Richie Harland."
Joel turned to Richie with an apologetic look. "Richie, please forgive me for telling him you were the one behind the notice board."
"He's just been relentlessly whining in my ear all morning. If I didn't finally tell him, I swear he was going to follow me into the bathroom."
Richie looked up at the massive, visibly trembling sixth-year standing in front of him and instinctively took a step back.
Unfortunately, he wasn't fast enough.
Razeem closed the distance in two massive strides, swept Richie off his feet, and crushed him in a terrifying bear hug, locking his powerful arms right around Richie's fragile neck.
"Oh, Harland, you are literally my savior!!"
Tears were actually welling up in Razeem's eyes.
No one understood the suffocating pressure and absolute misery he had endured over the past five years.
Back in his first year, he had watched Ravenclaw win the Quidditch Cup—and by extension, the House Cup. From that moment, Razeem swore he would make the team and proudly stand on that podium just like they did.
But exactly like Richie had diagnosed, Ravenclaw's academic culture had mutated into something overwhelming. Quidditch became "a distraction."
Over the next few years, the team's performance completely nose-dived. Razeem finally made the roster as a Beater in his third year. But he wasn't some generational talent capable of carrying the entire team on his back.
He couldn't stop the bleeding. Ravenclaw's Quidditch legacy continued to slowly rot away.
For five years—five straight years—Ravenclaw had finished dead last, or at best, third place. Razeem hadn't sniffed the podium once.
And just like that, he was a sixth-year and the team captain.
He had been wallowing in absolute despair until this morning, when he woke up to find the exact miracle he'd been praying for plastered on the common room notice board.
"Harland, I'm going straight to Professor Flitwick to ask for permission to paint that poem across the wall of our locker room!"
"We're going to keep crowdsourcing academic Quidditch theories! We'll use the data to build our tactical playbooks!"
"This year, we are taking back everything that belongs to us!!"
"Harland... Harland?"
At that moment, Richie was dangling limply in Razeem's massive arms, staring blankly ahead, completely dead inside.
This was so humiliating. Being totally immobilized by another guy's bear hug with absolutely zero way to fight back... his pride as a grown man was in absolute tatters!
Unacceptable!!! He had to start working out immediately. He needed to eat more, lift weights, and grow to at least six feet tall! He was never letting himself get manhandled like this again!
Noticing the kid had completely gone limp, Razeem got confused and slightly loosened his grip.
Seizing the opening, Richie immediately scrambled out of the hug, dropped to the floor, and rapidly backed away.
"Haha, my bad, my bad," Razeem apologized quickly, noticing Richie's incredibly dark expression and realizing he'd come on way too strong. "I'm just so hyped."
"I've told you a million times, Razeem, you belong in Gryffindor," Joel joked. "You're built like a tank, you're obsessed with Quidditch, and that girl you like is..."
Hearing Joel about to spill his secrets, Razeem panicked and slapped a hand over the prefect's mouth.
After Joel aggressively promised to keep his mouth shut, Razeem slowly let him go.
"You're an absolute menace," Joel muttered, wiping his mouth in disgust.
Razeem turned back to Richie, finally getting to the point.
"Since you went out of your way to engineer this massive master plan to revive our sports culture..."
"You must absolutely love Quidditch!"
Razeem flashed a massive, blinding white smile. "Don't worry, man. The team is going to make sure your hard work pays off!"
"That first-year Gryffindor, Harry Potter, just made their team as a Seeker. There's literally no reason you can't do the same!"
"Richie, you have to come to our practice this afternoon."
"We're going to give you a private tryout. If you've got the skills, you're on the squad!"
Razeem looked at Richie, clearly expecting the kid to jump for joy.
Instead, Richie just shook his head.
"I appreciate the offer, Captain Gideon, but I really have no interest in playing Quidditch."
"The only reason I did all that was..."
Feeling their intensely curious stares, Richie swallowed the word "drunk" that was resting on his tongue and swapped it for something much more socially acceptable.
"...because I wanted to help!"
"I saw the four prefects stressing over the team's morale last night, and I just wanted to offer some constructive feedback."
"I honestly had no idea they'd actually agree with me, let alone post it on the notice board."
"Oh. Is that it?" Razeem nodded, visibly deflating for a second, but he quickly bounced back.
"Well, if you don't want to play, you still have to come watch us practice this afternoon!"
"Come see the ripple effect your strategy is having on the team!"
"Trust me, we aren't going to let you down!"
Razeem aggressively patted Richie on the shoulder, completely refusing to take no for an answer, quickly waved goodbye to the two of them, and jogged off.
"Oh, don't let the golden retriever energy fool you. Out of everyone in the house, Razeem is usually the most grounded guy in the room," Joel said nostalgically, watching the massive captain walk away. "I've rarely seen him lose his cool like that. He's just incredibly happy today."
Hearing that, Richie let out a defeated sigh.
What else could he say?
He'd just go watch. It felt wrong to crush the guy's genuine excitement.