If the fall doesn't kill you...

Allen stepped on the white field, the crunch of snow familiar to his ears, even though they felt numb at the moment. He gripped his broomstick in his hand, a gift from his grandparents that he received when he first arrived in London a couple of years ago. He hadn't had the time really to learn how to fly, so it was probably the best thing to do at the moment. He wanted to join the Quidditch team and perhaps gain some popularity amongst the school, a dream that he usually had that he assumed would never become a reality. Yet he would at least try.

Allen toke a deep breath and shifted his glance towards his broomstick. Despite wearing some heavy clothing, boots, and gloves, he felt as cold as an icicle, and not in the good way either. He was out of his mind, thinking about flying in such cold degrees. Yet he had convinced himself when he thought that it was only the beginning of December, so it wouldn't be that bad to fly today. Better late than never.

Allen held out his broomstick and remembered what the flight instructor had told him. Keep your stance well and mount your broom!. Allen did as what he remembered, almost as if she were guiding him at that moment. Kick off of the ground with a gentle tap, and do not lose control!. That part was difficult for him, as he was too nervous. "Okay," he muttered to himself "come on Allen, you can do this." He gulped and kicked off, instantly feeling a sense of vertigo. Yet he was off. 'I think I can do this,' he thought to himself, scared out of his wits.

Allen slowly progressed forward, inch by inch every couple of seconds. It drove him insane that he was even doing this, what with no supervision nor flight instructor. This was something...good though. He liked flying, he liked being in the air for whatever fear he faced. It was exhilarating. "Just don't look down," he murmured to himself, knowing full well that he was talking to no one but him. He was losing his mind, yet it felt good. Allen leaned forward a bit, this time going downward and a little bit faster.

"How do I turn," he said to himself again, his broomstick coming up to a spectator stand. Quickly, he leaned to the left on instinct and narrowly avoided the stands...at a slow moving speed. He would've laughed at himself if he wasn't in a position to get hurt. Now Allen felt like he wanted more. He leaned forward even more, going faster. He kept going at his constant speed, going no faster than what he felt comfortable. "This is awesome!" he exclaimed, thinking he was alone.

But suddenly, something caught his eye. A person? He thought he was the only one here. "Uh hello!?" he exclaimed, flying past her and circling. "Sorry-about the-unpleasant-chat but-I don't know- how to- stop!" he said, trying to make sure he could hear her as he circled.

Allen still continued to fly in circles, not fully knowing what to do at this point. For all he knew, she was possibly a prefect or something, inspecting the area to see if any rabble-rousers had been on the field, pranking or something. He didn't think it was against the rules to fly on the field unattended, but the more he thought it over the more it sounded like that was a fact. Allen decided he needed to land now, to avoid getting into trouble or something. Boy wasn't he paranoid.

Allen shifted his weight to the right, trying to make a jackknife maneuver to the ground. Yet, his form was flawed however and ended up doing a barrel roll, flying around in circles-but he was upside down. His long hair dangled from his head as Allen began to feel sick. The blood flowed to his head and he could feel his insides begin to churn. "Oh bloody hell..." he said, trying to swing his way back onto the broom. Yet it was to no avail. He let his legs unwrap from the broom, leaving his dangling in the air, still circling. This time, he pulled on the back end of the broom and ended up stopping it.

For such a skinny person, Allen had some incredible upper body strength. He continued to hold onto the broom, attempting to pull himself up. If there was one thing he failed in gym, it was a pull up. He looked down, much to his own regret later on, because he looked down and suddenly felt as if he was dangling at about 75 feet when in reality he was hanging at about 30. "Oh god," he said, suddenly feeling like his arms were becoming pasta. "Don't you dare quit on me now!" he muttered to his arms, feeling a sudden spike of energy.

Allen blinked a couple of times and barely heard what the girl had said, but he could make out 'swing your legs'. "Umm," he said, feeling sort of confused "okay!". He began to (somewhat awkwardly) swing his legs back and forth, his grip loosening with every swing. "Ah hell!" he exclaimed, knowing full well that this wasn't working. Suddenly, a sense of fear rose in him, knowing that he would certainly be hurt if he fell. He swung again, this time his back parallel to the broomstick. During this split second moment, he threw his leg out, hoping to catch the back of the broomstick.

He caught it.

Now Allen pulled himself back onto the handle, hovering gently in the air. He could feel his head pulsate and his arms shiver. That had been a close call. Hopefully something like that wouldn't happen again. Allen began to inch himself on the broom near the front and this time went into a dive. "Oh shi-!" he exclaimed and was flung forward. His body landed softly in the snow, his face buried in the cold. He knew he was going to get sick after this. He pulled his face out of the snow, looking at his broom which had landed in front of him. It didn't seem to be damaged. "Never again..." he said to himself, his thoughts on flying.

Allen rubbed his forehead, feeling a sharp pain running throughout his head. He must've landed on his skull, since the snow would've taken most of the damage anyway. He grunted, pulling himself to his feet, his entire body covered with white powder that clung to him like glue. "I'm fine," he said, dusting himself off "just a sharp headache, but no worries. Thank you for the idea by the way." He referred to when she shouted to him with directions, if she hadn't been there, he might've been hurt worse. His brain shut down whenever he was in danger like that.

He walked over to his broomstick and knelt beside it, taking a careful examination of the broom itself. He lifted it from it's white coffin and checked for any splinters or cracks. A large one run along the circumference near the front, the damage suffered from the dive. It probably would've been worse if the snow hadn't been there. "Well I should probably get this fixed," he said, wiping off the snow that covered the bristles on the bottom. "Never flying again for a while, that's for sure.

He turned and looked at the person, noticing immediately that she had white hair. That was...strange, yet appealing. "Sorry about the...incident," he said, making an awkward face that resembled embarrassment and a feeling that he had done something wrong "I'm not exactly an adept at flying yet."