"No way in bloody hell is that wretched looking thing cursed!" The words practically lent themselves to falsehood as Benedict headed towards the case of brooms their team had been allowed to practice with.

"They are, they are!" piped up one of his team mates, which elicited an eye roll from Ben. He was a newbie, so Ben felt the urge to give him a clap upside the head. "What, you don't believe me?"

"Not in the slightest!" he replied, scoffing and reaching to grab his own broom. His hand was blocked by the team mate, who had a glint in his eye.

"Then you practice on it, Sterling."

The dare really only needed to be extended for Ben to accept it immediately. He snatched the aforementioned broom out of the cupboard and marched onto the pitch. As he threw a leg over the handle of the broom, he tossed the rest of his team a ridiculous exaggerated salute before kicking off the pitch. The feeling of the air rushing through his hair was exhilarating as he swooped through the air.

The broom operated just fine - it was actually quite smoother than his current broom that he owned. He dove down to his team mate, shouting, "You owe me money, mate!" as he rocketed off further off the pitch, doing loop de loops as he laughed. He could hear his team mate shouting profanities at him, which just made him laugh harder.

He was only laughing for so long, however. The broom started to sputter like it was almost about to breathe it's last breath. Ben only had the briefest time to register that there was a good possibility he was about to go down, before he actually did.

Into an obliging set of bushes he went, and there he stayed, choking on leaves as he lay there.

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