orion moore could easily be described as confident.

usually, he was sure of himself in a more quiet, almost steady way. he never boasted, never acted like he was the best. he just held himself like he knew what he wanted from life. he was the mediator in friendgroups, the person everyone turned to for advice or comfort.

but on quidditch match days, he was straight up cocky.

sitting in the great hall amongst his teammates, he had caught you, his (on the pitch, because nobody could dislike him off of it) rival’s, eye. a smirk had tipped onto his lips, amusement dancing in his hazel eyes.

now the teams made their way down to the field to warmup.

“ready to lose?” the ravenclaw seeker mused, his blonde hair already windswept from the last practices his team had done that morning. in one hand he tossed a snitch from another game up and down- he brought it to every match, a good luck charm of sorts.

it certainly worked. whether or not his team won, he always caught the snitch.