While one's instinct was surely to act with frustration at such a commotion, Richard had long trained his frustrations to abate when other people were involved. For showing frustration was no way to make good contacts. Not that someone who'd fling a Quaffle at him was necessarily top of the social food chain.

Richard got swiftly to his feet and grabbed what parchments he could, looking up to glance at a freckly girl he recognised to be a Gryffindor a year or two below him. He reached into his robe pocket to grab his wand and shoot some summoning spells at some of the pages getting caught up in the breeze, his chest paining him as he imagined someone reading his secret words.

"Don't... read that... thanks", he murmured as he reached out to swiftly take some of the pages the girl had caught, realising a little late that don't read that was a very tantalising invitation. Richard attempted to change the conversation quickly as he continued gathering papers; "what happened? With the Quaffle I mean. I understand you Quidditch players are supposed to be in control of the things."