Ari’s eyes went a little wide at mention of the broom being cursed. Merlin, he knew what the boys in his year were like, never mind the younger ones, they’d do anything no matter how stupid, but this was - well, reaching new heights. Ari had enough self-preservation not to comment.
And that reckless grin had him softening to the boy’s stupidity. Just a little. It explained the gaggle of onlookers down towards the pitch, anyway; Ari was struck by a touch of envy at the boy’s easygoing manner - and not just easygoing, but like everything came naturally. Flying, crashing, keeping a smile on his face, talking to strangers.
He had just been leaving, and Ari had quietly returned the smile, turning back towards where he’d so unceremoniously abandoned his Potions book. It was then the boy gave another shout, and Ari spun back on his heel just in time to see him fall over his feet again.
Oh dear. His first thought was something in the manner of pride comes before a fall, soon followed by a wince of worry, and sympathy. Ari didn’t move away, ready to offer another hand if the boy was not too proud to refuse it - and he was waiting to sneak a better look at the ankle; he had enough siblings who’d gotten themselves into scrapes to know a thing or two - but he couldn’t help saying something. “I think that might’ve been the curse at work,” Ari deadpanned, biting his lip so as not to smile and wondering whether the Slytherin would still see the funny side. Sprained - fractured, or even broken - it was still probably a lighter sentence than the poor broom had gotten.
And that reckless grin had him softening to the boy’s stupidity. Just a little. It explained the gaggle of onlookers down towards the pitch, anyway; Ari was struck by a touch of envy at the boy’s easygoing manner - and not just easygoing, but like everything came naturally. Flying, crashing, keeping a smile on his face, talking to strangers.
He had just been leaving, and Ari had quietly returned the smile, turning back towards where he’d so unceremoniously abandoned his Potions book. It was then the boy gave another shout, and Ari spun back on his heel just in time to see him fall over his feet again.
Oh dear. His first thought was something in the manner of pride comes before a fall, soon followed by a wince of worry, and sympathy. Ari didn’t move away, ready to offer another hand if the boy was not too proud to refuse it - and he was waiting to sneak a better look at the ankle; he had enough siblings who’d gotten themselves into scrapes to know a thing or two - but he couldn’t help saying something. “I think that might’ve been the curse at work,” Ari deadpanned, biting his lip so as not to smile and wondering whether the Slytherin would still see the funny side. Sprained - fractured, or even broken - it was still probably a lighter sentence than the poor broom had gotten.
