Flight of the First Years [1st-Years & Staff Only]

[Guest]

The sun had risen and shined through a breach in the clouds making it a chilly nine o'clock in the morning, Professor Bernard waited patiently near a clear grassy knoll at the North-Wing of the castle, dressed lightly in quidditch training equipment, his thick-cloth red robe brushed lightly against his ankles from a light breeze which lingered in the air, he was levitated on his broom two-feet above the ground perching himself upon it.

In the distance he could see his class walking too-slowly for his liking towards the designated training area, noting that should he yell loud enough that they would hear him and would abide his every word. Though he had hoped to remain patient their child-like steps may make his lesson lose five minutes of valuable training time. With one deep breath, he bellowed across to his students. "If you nitwits don't get here within one minute then it'll be you who makes up for it in detention! Move those chunky ankles! Now!"
The superior officers from Samuel's military days always did compliment Bernards ability to have the viscous tone of a drill-sergeant.