Diagon Alley has been decked out in the most splendiferous fashion for this event, as if no expense was spared in the preparation and decoration for this event. Along the roofs of each of the shops are small fairies, sitting and chatting amiably to one another, apparently quite pleased at being chosen to hold a variety of colored glass balls, enchanted to glow. These little lights create a dim, festive atmosphere throughout the alley. Many of the same fairies fly above holding their small globes proudy and fluttering with smug looks on their tiny faces. Small tables dot around the alley, off to the sides, all swagged in blue and purple fabric with a pale cream tablecloth underneath. Each table has a tea tray with seven tiers, each progressively smaller than the one below it. On each of these tiers, varieties of truffles, small cakes and various novelty candies are arranged in a beautiful fashion. Simple chairs, with padding that matches the table cloths are arranged around each of the tables, though no plates or silverware is apparent. Each place has a cloth napkin, in the same cream of the tablecloth, with blue and purple stripes on each edge. A string quartet is at one end of the alley, manned by an up-and-coming musician from France who seems to constantly look slightly green. Other than the external decorations, the alley itself is unchanged, using only the decorations and lighting to change the atmosphere of the alley which is so familiar to many of those hoped to attend.

Flouncing about rather excitedly, Eva seems to be checking every truffle on every table as she makes her way around the alley, glancing only momentarily now and then back at her husband. “Please keep the movie going as constantly as you can,” she directs to the young woman in charge of the quartet with a wave of her hand, spinning around and then stopping. Every thing is perfect. “People should be arriving any time now,” she tells him and strides over to Tom.

Among the first few to arrive is Rosemary Pantall, her curly red hair reminiscent of her oldest daughter pulled back into a sleek bun atop her head, held in place with a sparkling silver hairpin. Jet black fabric is cut close to her figure, flattering her shape, and held at the waist with a black sash, fastened with a silver clasp under her bustline. It is evidently a new robe, for it is in very near perfect condition and as she stops to chat with a close friend of hers, she gestures to her robe with one delicate hand. It is only a moment after this that she flutters over towards Eva, offering one hand to the woman with a smile. When she speaks, it is with a smile and a distinct sort of accent, the kind of one who is raised in a lower-middle class area and is trying without success to sound more high-class. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Fallon. I can see you have put so much effort into the occasion, it’s positively delightful.”

Having been present at the site of the soiree for some time to help Eva make the last-minute preparations, Tom Fallon is feeling like he is definitely in the mood for a party. With all his children out of his charge until tomorrow morning, Tom presently stretches his arms above his head, sighing as if breathing in the atmosphere. The place does look beautiful, and so does Eva, he notes, with a glance in her direction as she addresses him. Tom himself is not as opulently dressed, but does have a cleaned-up air about him. The majority of his clothing tonight is black, with material at each hem in a gold colour, rather matching the embroidery of Eva’s dress. “About that time?” he asks, checking his pocket watch out of habit more than actual curiosity. “You look beautiful,” Tom says, suddenly and a bit awkwardly. As Rosemary comes by and greets Eva, Tom steps back and just stands, hands behind his back.

Dressed in a blue and bronze dress, almost seeming an homage to her house at Hogwarts, Noémie apparates into Diagon Alley, holding her plain navy mask in her hand. Hers is on a stick, for ease of removal at her whim. She pauses just where she has come in, watching the fairies flutter about and taking in all the fantasy created while she waits for her escort to arrive.

Angelina Whynn never mastered the art of parties and social gatherings, despite the number of then she’s attended. The young woman is clad in a dark violet colour, the dress itself a bit more revealing than what Angelina considers couth (that is, her upper arms are visible). Her sister assured her it was in fashion, though, and so Angelina arrives, as self-conscious as she ever has been. Dresses were so complicated. Men had it so easy. And then there was Martin, who looked stunning in anything he wore. Angelina had helped him choose his attire. Perhaps she was meant to be a boy? That’d be strange. Eventually snapping out of her reverie, Angelina stands alone at the edge of the action and hopes that Martin will arrive soon, too.

It is only a moment afterwards that Joseph makes his way in, choosing to walk in from the Leaky Cauldron rather than apparate. His robes are, of all things, a mixture of pale pink and dark brown; the latter predominating, but the cuffs and hems the former. He seems quite comfortable in this robes, perhaps because with his full-face mask, reminiscent of a clabbert, there is a strong chance that no one will quite identify who he is. Rather than make his way immediately to Noémie, however, he hesitates at the edge of the action, offering Angelina a charming smile (quite hidden behind his mask, but reflected in his eyes) and offering a quiet, “A beautiful woman like yourself should not linger on the edges shyly.”

Picking his way through the alley strides a regally costumed figure. Decked in plum, leaf green, and midnight blues, the costume is an ornate thing befitting the royalty he has chosen to represent. The plum-wine cloak drapes languidly on his frame, coming to a whispering halt just above the back of heels. A midnight blue tunic is half-open, revealing his pale chest and a sash of silver wraps around his thin waist. Leaf-green breeches fit his form and are lost to the high topped indigo boots he has donned. Daniel has given up his blonde curls lieu of a gleaming sheet of silvery hair, it is quite possibly a wig but it is also possible that it is of magical design for the event. To complete the costume he wears a mask that covers the bridge of his nose and dips to hide his high cheekbones, it sweeps up into a grand crown of leaves and feathers that covers the top of his head. Oberon, King of the Faeries, has arrived and immediately moves toward the Queen of the event – Eva. “Oh Queen of the evening and her royal consort,” indicating her husband, “it is an honor indeed to be among such companions. I trust all is well in the kingdom?”

“All is well, yes, as you can well see,” Eva tell Daniel with a grin and a wave of her hand. “It’s time for everyone to arrive of course,” Eva tells her husband and then turns to Rosemary with a grin. “Good evening,” she tells the woman. “So good of you to join us!” Eva turns, grinning to herself a bit and then grinning wider to those around her as more people make their way into the alley. “Welcome everyone!” she exclaims loudly and takes the skirt of her dress with her hand, reaching out to slip her arm in Tom’s so that she can make her way around, and, likely, be shown off.

Closely in tow behind his father Daniel, Tommy Darian is dressed in what looks like a ruffled pink and purple suit with a similarly colored jacket and beret. The thin mask that covers only his eye area, leaving the rest of his small face free is a darker shade of purple than his outfit and the edges are fringed with small iridescent feathers that seem to change colors every few seconds. Everything about the little boy’s look screams refinement today and even his hair has been doubly curled giving him the appearance of a little girl’s doll. And obviously it’s a little uncomfortable and he can be seen tugging at the tight collar of his shirt mumbling softly in protest, that is until he see’s how Diagon Alley has been decorated and just how many people have shown up for the Soiree. Clearing his throat Tommy tugs on Daniel’s cloak gently to get his attention, speaking up in a careful and practiced tone. “Father, do you think I might have a fairy as a pet?” Obviously his eyes had wandered over them first as they are still lit up with curiosity leaving his worries about his attire far behind his boyish curiosity.

Grinning to Daniel and the other guests, Tom nods in response to the man’s question, not commenting on his getup. Tom‘s own mask was laying on a table somewhere, and he makes a mental note to procure it soon. However, as little Tommy arrives, Tom lowers himself to one knee and pulls a lollipop from a pocket, offering it to the boy. “Hey there, what’s your name? Don’t eat this yourself,” Tom warns, a glint in his eye. “Give it to one of your friends. As soon as it gets wet, it pops and squirts green goo everywhere. A real crowd pleaser!” he exclaims, standing again and taking Eva’s arm. “Time to make the rounds, then,” he says, grinning and starting to walk.

Panic! Angelina Whynn actually takes a step back as Joseph speaks to her, glancing around nervously and scanning escape routes. Help, a clabbert is talking to me… help, someone is talking to me, thinks Angelina as she tries to be brave and musters up a weak smile. “Oh, I… I’m not on the edge, really I’m just… well, waiting? For someone?” she almost asks, wondering if she even knows this man. “Martin Rathe? I… I don’t know if you know him but… you might know him, so… well, I’m just waiting,” Angelina finishes, biting her lip and taking a deep breath.

It is not quite clear which direction Erica slipped into the party from, but her pale costume is ethereal in the evening’s light. Her face is expressionless, her mask the likes of a Greek statue. Not even her eyes show through the mask. Nor do her lips move as she greets those she knows as she passes. Plaited hair stays firmly in place, looped near the crown of her head to fall only to her shoulders before winding to the crown of her head again. Her white robe reflects the light along the street but is dull compared to the brilliant glistening of the scissors resting lightly upon her left hip. And when she greets a guest masquerading as a hill giant (albeit smaller than actual size), her voice is flat and rings hollow as she says, “Good evening, William?”

Not seeing her boyfriend just yet, Noémie strides over to a table and picks up a small truffle examining it idly for just a moment before taking a bite of it. Apparently the bloom is thoroughly off, for Noémie doesn’t even flinch as she sees Joseph sidled up to her former Quidditch captain. She doesn’t hesitate to make her way over, though, putting on her happiest smile at seeing both. “Hello, Angelina!” she greets the former Ravenclaw, merely glancing at her boyfriend as she cuts in.

Turning his head marginally to look upon the small child at his side, a dagger’s flash of a smile slides over Daniel‘s lips. “The faeries would not like that and I do not think that it would be good fortune to imprison my people tonight child. Speak of this another time when their ears are not so perked and perhaps you shall have a different answer.” Twitching the cloak just out of the way of Tommy’s fingers, he nods an imperious farewell to Eva and Tom as they move to make the rounds. Searching the crowd, he quietly sizes up the masks and the costumes and only when he’s satiated himself visually does he begin to make his way through the crowds with a predatory air. Smiling vibrantly, he speaks little except in passing greetings and a few words to those he might actually recognize.

“Joseph Wexler,” the clabbert-faced one introduces himself. “If I am not mistaken, dear saint, you — oh, hello, Noémie.” He stops abruptly, turning to face her and offering a small smile to her in turn. Indeed, he seems to treat his girlfriend much the same way as he would treat any other member of the opposite sex, regardless of their relationship. “You do look lovely this evening.” He smiles again, holding out a hand to her, to take hers.

Having been given a prank lollipop, Tommy‘s eyes widen to massive proportions even under his mask. “Wow thanks!” Says the boy excitedly as he looks to joke candy over inspecting it thoroughly before remembering his manners. “I’m Tommy Darian.” He says and pauses a moment to look at Daniel for approval “And it’s a …. pleasure to meet you sir. Tommy finally finishes the greeting sounding as though he was struggling to pronounce every single word correctly. He slips the candy away into a pocket and looks up once more at Daniel with a small smile and a nod. It looks like he plans on asking again about the fairy.

“Oh, Noémie,” Angelina breathes, actually feeling the relief flood over her. There was no solace like that of a familiar face. “Gosh, I haven’t seen you in ages. How’s the Quidditch team doing? Saphia wrote to tell me that we– or, I mean, that you won it this year. It’s excellent! Did you beat the others by a lot?” Angelina asks, though not before glancing around and scanning for Martin once more. Where was that man?

Adorned in his black dress robes (and his green tie–oh the joys of green!), Martin Rathe practically runs into the West End of Diagon Alley. A white mask that covers Martin‘s entire face smiles ironically out at the crowd. Thick black eyebrows and a similar moustache have been painted onto the mask along with a goatee on the chin and a small amount of rouge which has been applied to the cheeks. A black wide-brimmed hat rests on his head. Martin‘s eyes are his only recognizable facial feature. The rest is covered. Peer through the crowd, he spots Angelina and glides towards her , Joseph, and Noémie, “Greetings Darling.” He winces at the pet-name–he’s been trying new ones out for weeks and none seem to come easily. ‘Dear’ sounded old, ‘honey’ redundant, and ‘darling’ forced. “I’m sorry I’m late–I was held up. . . just reviewing some old case files. . .” He frowns behind the mask, even his eyes frown behind the mask.

“We creamed them,” Noémie tells Angelina with a grin. “We’ve missed you, though. It isn’t the same without.” She pauses, nodding to Martin. Of course she’s familiar with him. They’d gone against each other only the year earlier in Quidditch. She takes Joseph’s hand, glancing to him again only momentarily. He seems somewhat cowed at being caught in such a way, though it is no secret that he behaves this way, even to Noémie. “How have you been? What are you doing now?”

“Hello,” Eva greets Erica, though the name of the woman is unknown to her and begins to make her way out around the alley, greeting several people as she passes them. “Savor those tarts; I made those earlier today. Only the finest ingredients,” she tells one of the patrons who is looking over a strawberry tart whilst in conversation. “Isn’t it lovely, Tommy?” Eva asks her husband with a wide smile. Old habits die hard, apparently. “This night should never end.”

“No one agrees with you more than I do, love,” replies Tom with a laugh and a little squeeze of Eva’s arm. “An entire night off from the children. Listen, I can hear myself think,” Tom comments wryly, still leading her among the crowd. “There it is!” he exclaims suddenly, detaching himself from his wife just to run to one of the tables and grab his mask (also on a stick, and resembling a jester’s face with rosy cheeks). Taking Eva’s arm once more, he grins and puts the mask to his face. “Are you amused?” he asks.

“Good evening,” Erica politely replies to the hostess as she passes. Turning back to the hill giant, she takes a second guess. “Frank? Come on, now. Just fess up and I won’t hex you.” The hill giant’s laugh booms and echoes against the store fronts. While her masked complexion remains demure, her small hands clench into fists. In that lifeless voice, she finally says, “You think you’re so clever, Tate, but anyone could recognize that obnoxious laugh, regardless of a costume. Good evening. I have other people to greet.” A tart is plucked from one of the many trays of goodies as Erica makes her way through the party. Tate’s laugh dies abruptly and he takes a few steps after her, despondently, “Oh, Calwern. Don’t pick tonight to be a prickly pear. Lighten up.” Erica doesn’t even look at him twice as she works her way further into the crowded area.

Motioning behind him to keep his son nearby, Daniel begins to casually gesture to some of the crowd, speaking in low tones to Tommy at his side. Passing by the alabaster woman with the hollow sounding voice, he stops and does a visible double take of the creature. A pleased smile spreads over his lips, lapping upward to his eyes and spreading out across his face. “The fates themselves are with us tonight boy, stay close and keep watch.” Indicating Erica, he points out the scissors to the child and then dips his head toward the lady in question. “Madame, is the mortal issuing offence to you? If so, I could have him removed if you would rather not cut his thread short tonight.”

Simply glowing once Martin finally shows up, Angelina sighs, almost faint with happiness as she latches herself securely to his arm. “About time,” she whispers, though the rebuke seems to be light and scathing only in a teasing sort of way. “Noémie said that Ravenclaw just massacred the other Quidditch teams this year,” Angelina recounts happily to Martin, smiling. “It looks like Slytherin will just never win!” Feeling warm and much less exposed now that Martin is here, Angelina is able to calm herself down somewhat.

It doesn’t take long for Tommy to stray away from Daniel and the other adults to go and get better acquainted with the many sweets out for the taking, although just as he does he is motioned back. Taking a tart himself before he returns to Dan’s side all smiles and busily chewing on the sweet. A giggle rises seeing the scissors and though he’s not as well versed as Daniel there symbolism is obviously not lost on the child either. “You’d better be careful, she might cut your’s.” He comments softly through a mouth full of tart.

“Ms. Ribouet, a delight to see you here,” Martin soothes shortly after his minor rebuke. He smirks at the idea of Slytherin never winning and shakes his head, “Sweetie,” he winces again, “you forget that Slytherin won when you were Head Girl. Perhaps they couldn’t win under me, but Mister Morris did a fine job of keeping everyone at practice and in-line.” He pauses and then adds, “I was preoccupied with other things. . . like the House Cup.” He shrugs and then grins at Joseph and Noémie. “Tell me, who won House Cup this year?”

“Tate Worthing? Offending me?” It is the closest Erica‘s voice comes to having any inflections. “His only offense is that his thread is too long and he doesn’t know what to do with it.” The woman puts clenched fingers together and begins to slowly draw them apart, a grey thread materializing between her hands. Her head tilts to look at it before she puts her palms together and it disappears. “Now yours, our gracious host,” Erica begins to draw her hands ever so slightly apart and there is a dark, variegated glistening for but a moment before her palms come together again, “I suspect is much more interesting.”

“The way of the fae is always more interesting, but alas our threads either stretch on for an eternity or are soon cut short.” “I suspect mine is all knotted up, but it is not even Oberon’s place to stare upon his own thread.” The smile hangs, caught for a moment and then melts away as he finally realizes what Tommy has said. Reaching down and placing his hand upon the child’s head, Daniel gives his son a gentle pat. “I suspect you are right Tommy. When dealing with the fates one should always be most careful, no matter how tempting they may be.”

“Oh, very, love,” she tells him and chuckles. “Very fitting.” She grins as she says this and greets several more people. She then makes her way around again, standing near the door of her shop. “That one is blueberry,” she tells someone looking quizzically at a candy. “Careful with those, though, they fizz in the center.” Eva grins widely and glances toward Erica and Daniel. “What a quaint costume,” she remarks to the man near Erica. “Is that meant to be… a giant of some sort?” She doesn’t wait long for a response, though, greeting another person who has tapped her on the shoulder. “Tommy, do you mind?” she asks her husband and detatches her arm as she makes her way over to a table to schmooze with some people nearby.

Having finished his tart Tommy pats the crumbs away from his face and smiles giving the strange woman his best bow. “Hello, it’s a pleasure ter meet yer Miss.” He says just a little too quickly not hiding his accent as well as before. Standing up again the doll-boy stops a moment to straighten his mask which came a little crooked with his bow. “Father is dressed up as a fairy, see?” He ask’s softly as if Daniel were invisible, obviously grasping for anything to converse about as there weren’t many children at the party other than himself.

Smirking, Tom eventually sighs and replies, “I guess I don’t mind and will set you free…”, but Eva is already walking away. As he is not very well-acquainted with many of the guests at the party (raising so many children had a bit of an effect on one’s social network), Tom makes his way over such that he is standing fairly nearby to the little Tommy. “Pssst. Psst, Tommy Darian,” whispers Tom, wondering if the boy will hear him over the constant chatter of those surrounding them.

Tate Worthing turns slightly, a half eaten bonbon lightly held in one hand and a bit of chocolate at the corner of his mouth mixing with raspberry sauce on his lips. “A hill giant to be exact,” he explains to Eva, delighted that someone took interest in his costume. “You can tell a hill giant from a forest giant by the difference in their gate.” But, lo and behold, Tate is only as good as his job as a giant researcher for the Ministry. A boring and long winded one at that. “Of course, there are less noticeable but considerable traits you can also use to tell them apart.” Those of which he begins to detail at length.

“Gryffindor did,” Noémie responds begrudgingly, as if she is rather displeased by this. “We won the Quidditch cup again, though. Quite thoroughly, I might add.” The girl grins, not even realizing that she is repeating herself. “How have you both been?” she asks them, looking at Joseph a bit awkwardly. Maybe it had been a bad idea to come after all. The girl leans in closer to him, biting her lip a bit, the awkwardness of this encounter’s situation getting to her a bit.

Erica Calwern‘s head turns and she stares in the direction of Tate for some time before looking back at Daniel and his child. Not tilting her head down too far to regard Tommy. “The pleasure is mine,” she replies. “And your father does make a stunning Oberon, I dare say. Though I’d take care with fairies as much as with fates. Neither are predictable company.”

“Oh, right, Walter,” Angelina muses, smirking. “I’d almost forgotten about him. I suppose you must see him fairly often at work. Luckily for me, I’m no auror cadet,” she says. Clearly, not many have put Angelina in the much-hated spotlight like the former Slytherin Morris did (save for the two other Slytherin girls whom Angelina tries to keep from her thoughts), and Angelina‘s not quite forgiven him for it. Now isn’t the time to dwell on the past, though, thinks Angelina as she looks again to Noémie. “We’ve been… pretty well, wouldn’t you say?” she asks Martin. “Well he… he proposed,” she says, nervously raising her left hand for Noémie to see. “We haven’t set a date yet, though,” she adds, smiling almost in a defensive way.

“You speak the bitterest of truths m’lady.” Another nod of his head and Daniel almost bows, but doesn’t quite. “But they are both much better company, however short or fickle the duration, than the coarse giants and their bumbling ways.” A snide sneer curls contemptuously directed at Tate and then flits away again quickly. “The evening wears on and the sound of my people’s music draws me away. It was a pleasure to speak to you lady fate.” Drifting away, this time forgetting or choosing to not keep Tommy close by he wanders back into the crowd to exchange pleasantries with others.

“Gryffindor. . . interesting. . .” Martin wonders how many points Tallis and Suki lost Slytherin this year and if the prefects were intimidated by the pair. “Well, I’m sure that it was a close race. It normally is. It came as a surprise that Slytherin won last year.” He turns to Angelina and smirks behind his mask, “Yes, I see a lot of Walter. But we’re working together. . . it’s different. And yes, we have been doing very well.” His face flushes slightly as she shows off the ring. “Weddings are precarious events. So many people to invite! So many schedules to coordinate. I still think we should elope, but Angel’s parents wouldn’t be. . . impressed.” His eyes twinkle with mischief. He barely received consent. “The Ministry is pretty exciting too. I’m mostly examining old case files at the moment though. They need a fresh set of eyes.”

The smile crossing Tommy‘s face widens as the two adults talk and it only widens more when Daniel passes into the crowd, leaving him to his own devices. Just as he was about to again head to the sweets Tommy hears the older Tommy‘s whisper of his name and he turns to look curiously at him. “Oh Hello again Sir. It’s a bangin party ain’it?” No long trying to hold the proper accent that Daniel had been teaching him now that he is out of sight Tommy seems a bit more relaxed than before.

“Very banging, yes,” agrees Tom with a lop-sided smile. “Look, Tommy Darian, I was wondering if you could help me with something. You see, I couldn’t help but notice that stunning young woman over there,” he notes, pointing at a very young-looking blond witch wearing quite the revealing dress, who simply can’t be out of Hogwarts yet for how juvenile she appears. “I’ve never seen her before, but I doubt her father knows she’s here and dressed like that. And I think blokes need to stick together, don’t you?” Tom asks Tommy. “In any case, I was just finishing a new product at my joke shop when I left. It was a letter that, when opened, would blanket the opener in a kind of sheet, binding them in place. It’s brilliant, really,” muses Tom with a grin. “But she would think me quite strange, coming up and giving her a letter, don’t you? That is where you come in,” Tom says, pointing to the boy. “Would you give it to her?”

“Fascinating,” Eva cooes at the man and grins her most amiable grin, though she couldn’t be less interested. “Have you tried any of the truffles?” she asks and glances in Erica’s direction, almost helplessly while hoping that someone else will come to her rescue. Someone might need her attention, after all! “I assure you they’re excellent; made by my cousin Maura who is just over there,” she pauses, fluttering her hand in Maura’s direction, where she is chatting with a group of women, all seeming to listen intently. “And comprised of the finest ingredients.”

The smile crossing Tommy‘s face widens as the two adults talk and it only widens more when Daniel passes into the crowd, leaving him to his own devices. Just as he was about to again head to the sweets Tommy hears the older Tommy‘s whisper of his name and he turns to look curiously at him. “Oh Hello again Sir. It’s a bangin party ain’it?” No long trying to hold the proper accent that Daniel had been teaching him now that he is out of sight Tommy seems a bit more relaxed than before.

Nearly jumping at the chance to play a joke Tommy stands on his tiptoes shaking eagerly at the proposal. “Sure oie kid do that!” Pipes up the boy a little too loudly, he stops and looks around over his shoulder and then back at Tom with a smile. “Should I just hand it to her or should I tell her it’s from someone or what?” Because having a back story is always better than going into a mission unprepared right?

“Yes, well,” Noémie responds with a laugh. “It’s better, I suppose, than nothing. We’ve hopes for it this year. Little Odetta Croft was made prefect this year, too, can you believe it, Angelina?” Noémie shakes her head. “I’ve just had a letter from her this morning. Oh, you’re at the ministry?” Noémie seems to have uncorked her awkwardness to the point of being chatty at least. “The wedding,” Noémie gushes. “Oh, she deserves to have a beautiful wedding, Mister Foster,” the girl tells the older acquaintance.

Around and around and around she goes. Once Erica surmises she has done her social duties, she pursues Eva’s attention in more earnest. Slipping off her mask and becoming considerably more human by doing so, the young woman puts a hand on Tate’s elbow. “Tate, you’re having the hunt party this fall, aren’t you? Why not be a good gent and favor us all with a sweets basket. I am sure Mrs. Fallon here could put together something lovely for you.” Tate nearly blushes at Erica‘s direction. “You know I’m horrid at that sort of thing. I was thinking of asking my sister to arrange the food. I wouldn’t know what goes with what.” The look he flashes at Eva though might as well be the male equivalent of a damsel in distress.

“Fabulous,” says Tom, nodding excitedly. The man looks positively boyish as he holds out his hands to Tommy, saying, “One moment, I haven’t actually got it with me. I’ll be right back,” he assures the boy, disapparating instantly only to re-appear a couple minutes later, a pink envelope in his hand. “Right,” he says, getting on one knee again and whispering to Tommy conspiratorially. “I think what you should do is…” he trails off, rising to his full height and scanning the crowd. Coming back to Tommy’s level, Tom points out a dashing, fresh-faced young wizard, presently chatting with two other young witches. “I think you should say it’s from him. I don’t know if she knows him, so this might backfire. If, when you tell her, she reacts badly, just say that it’s an apology. Either way… it should work. All we need is for her to open it,” he says, finality in his tone. “Alright,” Tom Fallon says, handing the envelope to the little boy. “Good luck and Godspeed.”

Looking just a little more than surprised as the man disappears and then re-appears in front of him Tommy is silent for a moment and listens to what Tom has to say. When handed the pink envelope the boy holds onto it protectively as if it contained all the secrets of the universe and salutes the man as though he were a soldier headed out on a mission of the upmost importance. The small boy makes his way through the crowed passing stealthily as only a boy of eight can through a crowd of chatting adults. When he reaches the young lady who is dressed a bit more risque than the occasion requires he smiles to her and greets her. “Hello Miss, I was asked to give this letter to you by the gentleman over there.” He says softly pointing directly at Martin through the crowd. With what looks like a flattered smile the young woman takes the letter and thanks Tommy as he goes again to get away from her before the punch line. Just as he is halfway to the sweets an annoyed yell comes ringing out as the girl opens the letter and is blanketed by a large white sheet trapping her in place. It’s all young Tommy can do not to fall over laughing so he stuffs his mouth full of as many sweets as he can fit into it.

“Well, have her get in touch with me and I’m sure we could work something out,” Eva tells Tate with a grin of relief in Erica’s direction. “So how have you been enjoying the evening, er, ma’am?” Should she know this woman? Does it even matter? Eva greets another person nearby, smiling sweetly at a young woman who appears to have been goaded here on the whim of her parents who flank her on either side. “Tommy, what are you doing?” Eva hisses toward her husband, glancing only momentarily as the little boy departs. Her question is answered quickly as a young woman yells. “Oh, honestly, tonight of all nights?” she asks loudly, making her way over toward the woman in an attempt to help her, though others already appear to be attempting this.

“Merlin’s beard!” exclaims Tom exuberantly as the young woman protests the white sheet enveloping her. Smirking only slightly as Eva reprimands him, Tom races over to the scene of the action, putting a hand on the sheeted-lady’s shoulder. “Now, ma’am, there is nothing to fear,” Tom assures, projecting his voice as if he were hosting a program. Drawing his wand, Tom performs a series of spells on the sheet in an ‘attempt’ to remove it. As these tries seem to prove fruitless, Tom exclaims, “Odd, it seems as though this sheet doesn’t want to leave! Though, if I were the sheet, I wouldn’t want to, either,” he jokes, grinning still. “However, these things to tend to wear off at midnight,” he says, rather feigning true ignorance. In reality, he knows this will wear off at midnight. “I suppose the best I can do,” he says, raising his wand, “is make an alteration!” with a flick of his wand, the sheet changes in consistency and colour, matching the girl’s dress almost exactly, only with a much more conservative neckline. At the nervous clapping of a couple people in the onlooking crowd, Tom bows, opening his palm to the littler Tommy with a smile. He does flash a look of, ‘sorry dear, but look, it all worked out for the best..!’ to Eva, hoping he’s not in the metaphorical ‘doghouse’ for this.

Ivy Thornweld pries herself away from her family at long last, murmuring something about fetching a refreshment or getting air away from the crowd, and loses herself in the crowd. Behind her mask (decorated, like so much Catarina Thornweld has procured for her daughter, with emerald ivy leaves and vines) her eyebrows furrow together, and she heaves a lengthy sigh. Of all the places to be stuck with her parents and without a certain Frenchman. Besides which, she is here. And he isn’t. “Thank goodness,” mutters Ivy, her exposed cheeks flushing. Dressed in fairly light–both in color and design- dress robes, she at least looks good, if not, you know, particularly happy to be here. With a slightly bored expression (that is, what’s visible from the nose down sort of conveys boredom), she slinks through the crowd, trying to avoid anyone she might have to talk to, and also the spectacle with the joke sheet.

Blushing at Noémie’s words, Angelina does try to move the topic off of her wedding, though she’s not quite sure why. Further introspection might reveal to Angelina that she’s quite nervous about the idea of her wedding, and being the centre of attention for a whole day. All the same, Angelina smiles as she repeats, “Oh, Odetta Croft?” and nods. “A solid choice, that’s for sure!”

“It’s Rathe now, actually,” Martin corrects before pressing his lips together. “I had my name changed.” He nods at Noémie’s question, “Yes, I’m at the Ministry. I’m an Auror-Cadet. Not the most glamourous job, but I like it. Angel is also working for the Ministry.” Martin gives Angelina’s arm a squeeze. “And yes, Angelina deserves whatever her heart desires. She’s too good for me, I’m afraid. I’m certainly the lucky one.” He chuckles lightly as he quirks a smile.

“Thomas Gabriel Fallon, you know better,” Eva chastizes him and shakes her head. “I’m sorry dear. Have a chocolate, won’t you? It’ll help the anguish.” Eva looks sternly at Tom and then turns back to her previous company, only to be interrupted by yet another woman to her left. “Yes, ma’am, that does have chocolate in it. It’s chocolate on the top. No, I assure you it is just regular chocolate.” She smiles and starts to explain the recipe vaguely to the woman, her cheeks a bit red behind her mask which only comes down halfway over her cheeks.

Nodding and smiling along with the conversation, Joseph says very little, though his eyes wander through the crowd without any thought for the young woman by his side. His gaze falls on Ivy, or at least his full-face mask is pointed towards her, and he tilts his head slightly, watching her. Is that – well, only one way to find out for sure. He raises one hand to Noémie, the univeral gesture of ‘be back in a second’ and approaches Ivy. “Hey you.” He offers. “You look awfully nice this evening.”

“Darling, she’s fine!” Tom defends, wincing at her use of his full name as if he were one of their children. “Look, she’s fine,” he says again, nodding. Still, not wanting to press his luck or make another scene, Tom ducks out of view, sitting down at a vacant table and looking to try out one of the truffles. Ah, if Maura could do one thing splendidly, it was make chocolates, thinks Tom as he lavishes in the flavor of the tasty morsel. Deciding to remain on the down-low somewhat for the rest of the evening, Tom smiles as he sits, just enjoying the clean and happy environment.

For a moment, Noémie doesn’t notice that Joseph has gone, and continues on with the conversation. “Oh, really? Did Professor Rathe adopt you then? How peculiar! I imagine her children must think that quite… interesting.” The girl chuckles a bit nervously, unused to being alone at things like this. So many adults around, after all, and her still at Hogwarts. “She’s so quiet,” Noémie responds to Angelina’s comment finally. “I was surprised that they chose her, but I imagine she’ll be as good as any of us in the end.” It is a moment longer before she starts looking around for Joseph again. What could he be doing over there, and with her? “Will you excuse me a moment?” the seventeen-year-old begs off as she turns and make her way in the crowd over toward Joseph. The amount of people who seem to have suddenly stepped into her path, impeding her progress toward Joseph.

Ivy Thornweld eyes Joseph through her mask, trying desperately not to wrinkle her nose at the boy. After all, she’s only 99.9% sure who it is. With a mental sigh, she smiles back at him, eyes flickering through the crowd toward Noémie. “Oh, in this old thing?” Her smile gets a little bit sweeter and she focuses on… well, the mask in front of her. Rather than attempt a return compliment that will sound forced, Ivy just tilts her head slightly and takes perhaps a smidgen of a half step closer to Joseph. “Thank you so much. It is so good to see you here.” And she’s very, very bored.

Perhaps Joseph has noticed Noémie, and is just choosing to ignore her, perhaps he feels he is out of sight, or perhaps he has just forgotten about her completely. Either way, he does nod his head slowly and lean forward a tiny bit more. “Quite alright.” He offers, voice pitched slightly lower than before. After a moment, he adds, “How is it that you don’t have an escort here with you tonight?”

“Well, they chose me,” whispers Angelina in response to Noémie’s comment about Odetta being a quiet girl, though the conversation seems to have moved on and her remark was likely too soft to be heard by anyone except perhaps Martin. “S-should we sit down for a while, Martin?” asks Angelina before the two duck out, moving towards an empty table that appears to have most of its truffles still in tact.

Having finally remembered to put her own mask on, Rosemary Pantall swans around with her – appropriately – half-mask shaped like the face of a black swan, breaking off at the suggestion of a beak. As she overhears part of the conversation between Angelina and Noémie, she turns, seeking out someone to share her news with, beaming brightly. “Mrs. Fallon! Did I tell you the family news? My oldest daughter has been made a prefect this year. Rosemary, you’ve met her, haven’t you? We are, of course, very proud of her.”

Turning from the conversation she has just finished, Eva grins at Rosemary. “Oh, Kelly, yes. She’s friends with my niece, if I recall right.” The woman grins. “I am so glad to hear that! I’m sure she’ll live up to it wonderfully,” the confectioner tells the other woman cheerfully, apparently quite pleased about this fact, despite only generally knowing Kelly rahter than very personally.

Making her way slowly around, Noémie does not interrupt Joseph right now. If she’s looking right, that’s Ivy that she sees. Of course, Noémie can’t be certain. From behind a group of chattery women, Noémie spies at them, her brow furrowed. She’s heard rumors like this for months now, of course, and while they plague her mind, she has yet to face any of them directly. Keeping an eye on Joseph from this distance however, Noémie finds herself stewing and merely hoping that the girl she sees is not the one so unfortunately familiar from school.

To admit she came with her parents would be akin to social suicide, especially since she is technically a legal adult(or at the very least will be quite soon). Even if this is Joseph Wexler. Ivy bites her lip oh-so-slightly, “To be honest, I’m not sure. I could certainly…” her hand tenatively reaches out to his arm, just for a light touch, not to rest, “use one. My being alone is a horrible oversight of…” she flicks her eyes upward at his, “someone or another.” Ivy isn’t exactly giving him her Thornweld all, but then she’s heard that Joseph is not exactly the pickiest of boys. As this thought crosses her mind, she frowns, briefly. And then she smirks. He is, after all, supposed to be with Noémie. There’s even part of a slightly inappropriate giggle, which she sort of swallows by tilting her head again and willing herself not to blush.

“Oh, really?” Joseph replies, a smile tugging at his lips, however they are concealed behind his mask. After a moment, he pulls his mask away from his face – “Awful warm, isn’t it?” – and leans closer to her again, his tongue running against his lower lip just a little. It’s not exactly a display of his intention, it could be quite innocent… but it’s probably not, particularly as he then reaches out to take her wrist. He looks steadily into her eyes, almost expectant, if not inviting.

Ivy Thornweld spreads her (completely exposed) lips into something of a predatory smile now. Just who is doing the hunting here, anyway? Her cheeks, despite her best efforts, flush, as she tilts her head again–this time subtly upward, lips oh so minutely parted when she isn’t speaking. “It is, isn’t it?” Briefly she breaks eye contact, and then when her eyes focus on his again, she reaches her (free) hand up to perhaps brush back a lock of his hair. “Perhaps we should find somewhere… shadier?” This is not-so-subtle Ivy code for ‘Let’s do this where my mother won’t see and make a scene, if we’re going to bother’. Her rather intentionally shaped eyebrows raise, although the gesture is more hinted at through the movement of her eyes through the holes of her mask than seen. She makes no effort to either release her wrist from his or move, except to subtly straighten already good posture to make her taller, closer to him. Some sort of movement, anyway, and now her eyes are fixed as well. Well, she’s sort of done something like this one or twice. Okay… once. And she was really drunk at the time.

“Sure.” Smiling – though perhaps his expression is more inclined towards a mischievous smirk – Joseph tugs her wrist lightly, as an invitation to follow him, and begins to make his way through the crowd to a sort of shallow gap between two stores, big enough for the two of them, and private enough for such events, but not too far away from the soiree. Once there, he pulls her a little closer, reaching out to put one hand on her waist, and meeting her eye again, still smiling. “How’s this, then?”

Ivy Thornweld follows, with no few furtive glances around to make sure that they are not, at the very least, getting closer to her family. Still, she seems oddly at home in this slightly shadier area, pulling her mask up unto her forehead. Now, with her full range of expression, she smiles expectantly, eyebrows raised just a bit. “It will do nicely.” Pressing her lips together, briefly, she again tilts her head upward toward him, leaning her whole body in toward him, perhaps on purpose but more likely than not unconciously. She’s just not that aware… probably. “So–” is murmured as breathlessly as she can without sounding incredibly stupid. One hand reaches, again, to brush back his hair.

The two of them move out of her line of vision, and while she is temporarily distracted due to nearly tripping over one of the ladies who moves quickly into her path, causing a bit of a scuffle while she tries to get over to see what’s going on. After apologizing profusely, she manages to get over to a different angle, enough to see what is going on in the darkened awning between the shops. Noémie‘s eyes narrow behind her simple blue mask and she crosses her arms across her chest.

As Ivy draws closer to him, Joseph releases his hold on her wrist and slips his other arm around her waist, leaning forward a little more. At this point, there is little to do – not even poetry or complimentary word-spinning, after all, she’s already here in his arms – but kiss her. And kiss her he does, lips very slightly parted. Despite the slight opening of his lips, it is only fairly chaste, but with the option open for something more, if Ivy is amenable.

Ivy Thornweld is so amenable, because the worse it looks when (hopefully Noémie but certainly) someone enievtably spots them, the better. Besides which, even if it is, as stated, Joseph Wexler who, oh my, has snogged lots of girls including Noémie Ribouet–(at this point in the thought process the kiss or kisses or kissing as the case may be become rather fiercer and her hands meet around the back of Joseph’s head and dally with a bit of hair tangling for good measure)–anyway! Whom she doesn’t particularly fancy, the whole kissing while sober buisness is fun. So she might as well take advantage of it while she’s here. And, as mentioned, more is beter. Still, part of her is certainly thinking ‘and remind me to find someone good with memory charms because I do not want him leering at me in the hallways or across the library or accosting me for an encore later’. Mostly there’s kissing and trying to make it look like they’re both rather into it.

Gasping aloud as this happens, Noémie‘s cheeks color red, and her jaw sets angrily. She isn’t sure which person she’s more angry with at this very moment while she pushes through the crowd toward the secluded area that Joseph has snuck off to. She pulls her mask away from her face, crushing it in her clenched hand as she comes to stand right near them. “How dare you,” she breathes in an angry hiss, and it is not immediately clear to which person she is speaking.

Well – if this is the kind of thing Joseph‘s going to get from Ivy, he might well try and seek her out for an encore later. As he hears, registers, and identifies Noémie’s voice, though, he abruptly pulls away from her, cheeks flushed warm pink, and looks at Noémie. After a moment, he clears his throat and offers, “Um. I’m kinda busy, Noémie.” At this point, nothing he says can actually make it worse, right?

Ivy Thornweld has nothing short of a beam on her face as Joseph pulls away and she turns to face Noémie as well. It disappears into a steady ‘and this is what you get’ gaze, but she holds her tongue for now, tilting her head sideways and sort of leaning against the nearby wall. Her lips press together again, and she brings part of her bottom lip in to… not exactly chew on, but she’s hoping it will call attention to said lips, anyway.

“You– you– !” Noémie points at each of them, apparently so angry that she is at a loss for words. At Joseph’s comment, she rears back her hand and slaps Joseph squarely across the cheek, her eyes starting to well up. “Busy?” she asks him angrily, her voice high and strained. At this she turns and looks at Ivy, catching a glimpse of the smug look on her face. “Busy!” She reaches back and slaps Ivy, too. “You’re both — horrible! What’d I ever do to you to deserve this? You’re out there making out with all these girls and all this time I thought people were being malicious, and you! You knew better and just didn’t care! You… hussy!” At this, large tears make their way down each of her cheeks as she clenches her fists, looking from one to the other, her face now quite maroon.

“All these -” This seems to be all Joseph can manage in response, his hand flying up and clutching his cheek. “She’s only one girl, not a lot.” It is a weak protest, and he seems to know it – and at the same time, he seems not to care terribly that it is weak, more troubled by the fact that she’s crying and that he was caught out at all. “Noémie, it’s not like I’ve been snogging every girl in the school. And it’s not like you’ve never done it.” It is true that he hasn’t snogged every girl. Some weren’t amenable. And some were too young or too ugly.

“I’m the hussy?!” Ivy‘s voice is shrill, a side-effect from the shock of actually being slapped. “I don’t supposed you’ve heard what people have said about you, you brazen, man-st.. seducing trollop! Don’t blame me if you can’t hold onto your sweetheart for five minutes at a party!” Ivy yelling at Noémie is ridiculous on several levels, at least one of them being the amusing height difference. Like a chihuahua barking at a Doberman or something. “It’s not like I gave him a come-hither look or-or… invited him anywhere on purpose!! Don’t you blame me, when it is clearly your fault you’re just just…” and then she sort of listens to what Joseph has been saying. “… Clearly an idiot.” What does that make you, Ivy?

“What on earth do you mean by THAT?” She rebukes him, her eyes flashing at the accusation. “I haven’t so much as looked at another boy in that sense since we’ve been together! Not even once!” Noémie‘s voice is shrill as she says this and she turns her gaze to Ivy. “You — what — I — I have done NOTHING to deserve that. Take it back right now! You are being such a cow.” Oh, well said, Noémie. “You went along willingly, I saw, so don’t lie. You wanted to. Don’t you be calling me a trollop when all this is your doing!” Reaching up to wipe her face on the sleeve of her robe, Noémie shakes her head. “You are heartless and don’t think I’ve been oblivious to the rumors. So many different people get talked about that it doesn’t even matter whether it’s true or not, because it happens so often that some of them just have to be true and even one is too much. Joseph, you are… rotten!” The tears continue to fall readily.

“Oh, sure.” Joseph scoffs in response, though he seems increasingly aware that he is unbelievably in the wrong. “Not even looked, huh? I don’t believe that, not for a minute.” A pause, and he draws himself up a little taller, folding his arms and glaring at Noémie. “Besides, you’re a cold fish.” Well, compared to, say, Carrie Whittier. “You can’t expect me to stick around for that and not fool around a little.” A pause. “It’s not like I slept with her.”

Ivy Thornweld snorts. “I … yes you did do things to deserve and don’t call me a cow you clabbert!” That’s right, some sort of glowing monkey-type creature. Ivy folds her arms and glares at Noémie for a moment before readjusting to put her hands on her hips. “Anyway, you < commited this crime first, so don’t sob at me for paying you back in kind, Noémie Ribouet. It isn’t my fault you are a tr–>” halfway through speaking in French just because she can, Ivy sputters, stares and Joseph, and shudders. She’s bright red now, recoiling away from her partner in crime as she imagines the unspeakable horror of what they may or may not have done and what Joseph may or may not have done with other people. “Apalling!”

“{Don’t even start with me, Ivy Thornweld, it is not my fault this happened. You are the cow who decided to snog my boyfriend, and I have done nothing to you. Never!} I don’t even know {what could honestly be causing this! You are a vindictive, awful girl.}” She pauses from her half-French, half-English tirade and then glares at Joseph. “Don’t even! How have I even been a ‘cold fish’ as you say? Haven’t SLEPT with her?” Noémie‘s voice seems to rise a whole octave as she shrieks this, and now there is a small group forming around them, but Noémie doesn’t notice. “Don’t even insinuate things like that, Joseph Wexler! You are an attrocious cad! I can’t even believe you! Does this mean you’ve slept with someone else?” She pauses. “Oh, I don’t even want to know. You are disgusting.”

Meanwhile, the throng of people around are staring and at least one person here is in so much trouble when she gets home it isn’t even funny.

“Well, certainly not you.” Joseph replies, though it is hardly a witty response, and he glares at Noémie all the more furiously. “Aren’t you overreacting a little? If YOU’RE not going to, you can’t expect me to just, just wait around for you!” Never mind that he’s probably never actually propositioned her like that, or at least not in a situation where they had the chance, or seriously enough that they’d start looking for a chance. No, no, this is all about Noémie’s refusal to get that intimate, of course. “Besides, you were off talking to, to what’s her name, the ex-Ravenclaw, and Martin, and what else was I supposed to do?”

“{Honestly, I think you may have a problem larger than me dallying with your boyfriend},” Ivy says in what might almost be a sympathetic voice, if it weren’t for the dripping with disgust and still be angry part. “{But that you won’t admit what you did to me and insist on playing the victim here tells me that perhaps you deserve this problem.}” It just sounds cooler in French, alright? She scoffs at Joseph, then, and actually clucks her tongue in annoyance and tries to scootch away a bit.

from somewhere to the left comes a high pitched “Hey, watch it you big idiot!” A broad shouldered man wearing a somewhat small porcelain babydoll mask has spilled someone’s drink over the front of her dress. His mask has a clearly apologetic expression on it as he exacerbates the problem by dabbing clumsily at the spill with a dirty handkerchief. The woman eventually shoves him and stomps away. Casper sighs and continues to shoulder his way through the crowd as daintily as possible, The familiar shrill voice of an upset Ivy urging him forward.

“{What do you know of my problems anyway? And if you won’t even tell me what I’ve done, then I can’t very well admit it, can I?” The girl crosses her arms and glares at Ivy, her jaw set as she watches the girl attempt to sidle away. “You –” she starts at Joseph, shaking her head. “You should be with me, and talk to me, with me… it’s what people do! You saw Angelina with Martin!” The young woman shakes her head and frowns hard at her boyfriend, the tears not having quelled since they started. She doesn’t move, though, just keeping her arms crossed across her chest.

Scoffing again at the Ravenclaw girl’s words, Joseph shakes his head a little, looking upwards rather than at his (by now, probably ex-)girlfriend. “I brought you roses! I recited poetry for you! I gave you my ring! What else could you possibly want me to do, Noémie Ribouet? What more do you expect from me, if you’re not going to do anything for me in return?” Because everything she has done is discarded at this point, in his anger. “I gave you my ring, and you gave me a damn box of sugar. I recited poetry for you and gave you roses, and what did you do? Nothing, Ribouet, nothing.”

Ivy Thornweld really inches away now, trying to squeeze through the crowds of people (who are muttering things like ‘scandalous!’ and ‘shocking, aren’t they schoolchildren?’ and even ‘I guess you won the bet, what was that, three sickles five knuts?’.) At just the right moment she averts her eyes more upward, trying to see past some woman’s ridiculous hat and spots of all people — “Merde.”

“I’ll give you nothing and you can have your stupid ring back, you ungrateful wretch!” Noémie shrieks, wasting no time as she quickly removes the ring and literally throws it at his face. “You don’t deserve even what I did give you, you selfish cad. You’re awful and selfish and… horrible. I hope you rot.” Such angry words Noémie is throwing at him and she turns, putting her back to him, only to see the crowd gathered around them. “Oh, sod off,” she tells them rudely and starts to push through the crowd, just a bit behind Ivy, her face quite maroon and tearstained.

Finally making it over to the group, Casper raises his hand and begins to scold them in a very prefect-like manner. “Oi! You three! What do you think you’re doing making a scene like this!?” He places his hands on his hips and asks, “What’s going on Ivy? Noémie?” Noémie’s name is spoken in a more surprised tone, as Casper is rather dense and hasn’t seen this coming at all. “You three are embarrassing yourselves!”

Scrambling for the ring and managing to catch it before it hits the ground, Joseph does not offer so much as a token ‘Noémie, wait!’, slipping the ring back onto his own finger and shaking his head at her. Well, if word of this gets around, it’s going to be more difficult to find a date, that’s for sure. And it is probably for this reason, rather than the implied breakup, that causes him to run his fingers through his hair and mutter, “Well, sod it all. Hadley, get out of it.”

Ivy Thornweld almost literally tries to melt into the building or something. “{Oh merciless Fate, why do you torment me by sending Casper Hadley to this social event when he has the culture of a bag of green potatos, when you may well have known that I would, just to begin, be wearing the white dress robes, and to top it off end up kissing a Wexler in front of the world, it seems, in what has turned into a horrible mess, despite the fact that it makes Noémie Ribouet unhappy?}” A stream of unhappy French indeed, as she fumbles around to put her mask back on at the very least, and wishes heartily she had gotten a full face one. Almost as an aside–”Don’t talk to Casper that way.” is muttered in a very ‘because it’s my job’ tone.

“Casper?” Noémie sniffs disdainfully. “I am doing no such thing. It’s not my fault that this happened at all.” She says this quite confidently, giving a defiant look to a woman who is looking on with interest. This will surely make it into the Daily Prophet now. Noémie seems at a loss as to where to go and pauses just where she stands, hearing only parts and pieces here and there of what Ivy mutters from afar, understanding little of it in her emotional distress. Yes, Noémie appears to be quite lost.

Casper Hadley points a finger straight at Joseph and tears his mask off, revealing a frightening expression of disgusted anger. “You watch your tone, Cassanova, or I’ll see to it that you can’t chew solid foods for a month.” He firmly puts his hand on Ivy’s shoulder and looks her in the eye. “Ivy, quit speakin’ tongues, you’re not ‘elpin.” Then to Noémie, “I’m not blaming you, I just want to know what’s going on. Now, calm down and tell me what happened.”

“And you! Don’t talk to Casper at all!” Ivy is about as rational as an abandoned left shoe, as is typical, and should really think twice before yelling at Noémie again. But she doesn’t because, as demonstrated, a suprising lack of something usually referred to as common sense. All at once the re-masked Slytherin is waving her finger and shouldering to keep any space between the two at a minimum 100 yards. Or failing that, at least an arms length. She launches into, “Casper Hadley, I did not expect to see you here, what an interesting mask how is the sheepherding and the bar-room brawling goi-.” Oh, he’s touching her. She shuts up. And scowls a bit in a frankly obvious attempt to keep from doing something doubly foolish, like smile.

“The whole thing?” Noémie sniffs and then glances at Ivy, shooting a glare at the young woman. “SHE snogged HIM and they’re both rotten. He decided it’s over, I guess, so it is.” She sniffs loudly and wipes her face on her sleeve again, attempting to dry off her tear-stained face. It is obvious that she has been crying, however, so this attempt does very little to help her. “Oh, I don’t know.” She glares at Ivy hard, as if the girl were the whole cause of the situation.

Ivy Thornweld actually squeals, “I did not!! There was no such thing! You’re hallucinating! It was his fault! He started it! I taught you how to dance!” That is, she squeals in Casper’s direction. And then she goes really really really quiet and almost visably shrinks, horrified, shrinking backwards and looking very, well, small and scared, sort of like a trapped mouse. Her brain is just repeating a certain curse word over and over again now.

Casper Hadley looks shocked beyond words. However, he has quite a few to say. “Ivy? Ivy I can’t.. How could you?” There is a pregnant pause, long enough for Ivy to draw her own conclusions as to his meaning. “After all those things you taught me about civilized, proper behavior, here I find you of snogging someone’s boyfriend. And you!” here he points at Joseph. “How could you be so cruel?” looking back to Ivy, he breathes deeply. “Ivy, I’m very disappointed in you.”

“Cruel?” Joseph echoes, folding his arms across his chest. To an extent, he looks mostly like he wants to melt into the wall behind him, and more than a little intimidated by Casper, but he seems to be actively forcing himself into appearing at least moderately cool and collected. “What have I done that was cruel?” He raises his hands, rolling his eyes at the others in the vicinity. “Okay, I concede I was probably, uh, not very nice. But I wasn’t actively being cruel.” A pause. “It was pretty much over between me and Ribouet anyhow.”

“Over?” Noémie squeaks and turns to face Joseph again, both of her fists balled. “Maybe for you it was over. You… you… jerk.” Oh, good one. She turns away, only to find herself with Ivy in her direct view. Noémie, not knowing what to do, or where to go, and with many more eyes on her than she’d like, just stands, eyes downcast, criss-crossing her arms over her chest and now just letting the tears stream down her face.

Ivy Thornweld juts out her chin, eyes flashing despite the fact that her cheeks are blazing with some mixture of embarassment and shame. “Disappointed in me? Since when did you still care about anything I do, Casper Hadley? And..” she falters, momentarily, “and anyway, he was just Noémie’s boyfriend.” As if that justified or explained everything. Still, Ivy retreats as far against the wall as she can, trying desperately to keep her expression from going anywhere but ‘hard and cold’ now. Which is easier with the use of her mask. Under her breath, after Noémie turns, Ivy mutters, “Anyway, he snogged me, not the other way around.”

Casper Hadley clenches his fists and looks at Joseph through slitted eyes and down his crumpled, poorly aligned nose. “Wexler, you are really trying my patience. And I should warn you that I tend to burn through it a lot quicker when I’m dealing with spoiled, despicable weasely… children! who have no respect for those around them.” He casts a quick look at Ivy, the same contemptuous look on his face. “Ivy, I can’t believe… You’re more despicable than he is! What has Noémie done to slight you so badly that you would try and break up her relationship? Or is it that you just wanted Wexler that badly? Are you that out of control?”

Rolling his eyes at Casper (but while not actually looking at him, not wanting to anger him even further), Joseph turns back to Noémie, his voice quieting a little. “Yes, Noémie, over. You said yourself, if it’s not going to last, there’s no point.” Whether this is actually something she has said, some paraphrase of her words, or just what he has extrapolated from her nature is uncertain; he shakes his head slowly at her, and shrugs his shoulders vaguely. “It wasn’t going to last. I knew that.”

“It takes two,” Noémie retorts coldly, and stares hard at Ivy for a moment before turning away again to glance at Casper. Someone’s on her side, at least. Noémie doesn’t know any better than Casper what she’s done to deserve this, but surely she’s innocent in this! Obviously, it’s her, after all! Ahem. “You are a cruel human being and I wish I had never wasted all that time with you.” She pauses. “And I never said that. Don’t go putting words into my mouth. You’re awful and I hope I never see you again.” But, of course, she will. Over, and over, and over. Whether she likes it or not. Isn’t Hogwarts great?

Ivy Thornweld actually snorts, to her non-credit. “Wanted Joseph Wexler? Are you serious?” Ivy shakes her head, expression one of annoyed disbelief, tone rather disgusted. “What Noémie did is. . .” she sighs, eyebrows coming down together, even as part of her brain attempts to be rational. “Irrelevant. I am not out of control. He approached me, I didn’t do anything except fail to ward off the advances of an already wandering eye. And why should I? Don’t I deserve attention from someone?” Ivy‘s voice raises now, slightly shrill, but then tears rise as well and she looks away, unable (or, as is more likely, merely unwilling) to actually speak what it is Noémie did. Not that she’s avoiding it or anything. Really.

Casper Hadley folds his arms and looks crossly at Ivy. “Oh, you think everything is so easy. You think you’re completely innocent because you ‘just let him kiss you.’ Well I’ve got news for you. If you just let a rock fall on your head, you still get a bump. You knew they were together, and you for some reason think poorly of Noémie. That makes it malicious, and there’s no way to back out of that. Even worse, you’ve let yourself fall in with the worst kind of filandering slime.” Casper has found an eloquence that would probably make Ivy proud if he weren’t using it to verbally thrash her.

“Well, you though it.” Joseph responds, as though this clarification makes it all better. “I know you think things like that, Ribouet. It’s what girls like you do.” A somewhat annoyed expression passes over his face as he catches snippets of the conversation – The worst kind of philandering slime? The advances of an already wandering eye? – but he keeps it together, focusing on pushing his sleeves up and making them sit right (which must do wonders for his appearance, should he try to take on Casper – as if it weren’t enough that he’s smaller, he’s wearing pink) rather than on the conversation.

Ivy Thornweld scoffs openly, “Fallen in with him? What do you expect, that I will ever so much as give him the time of day after this? Joseph Wexler has served his usefulness to me.” Now she raises her chin, defiantly, “It isn’t as if I’ve made a promise to the boy by kissing him, after all.” Ivy‘s nostrils flare as her mouth gets smaller, and her arms cross in front of her as well, with an audible ‘hmph’.

Casper Hadley grits his teeth and drops into a vaguely combative stance. “Ivy Thornweld, you are the most despicable person on the face of the planet! How could you even think such a thing? Or even consider using it as a defense!? I used to think you just weren’t raised to be very nice, but even the worst parenting can’t produce something that vile.”

Offering a glare to Joseph as he makes this statement, and then a horrified look to Ivy, Noémie sputters. “Well, I — you are — the most –” She doesn’t appear to be speaking any intelligible language as she huffs at the two of them, offering a glance to Casper, one of pleading or perhaps just a look in passing, as she stalks off. “Mum! Muuuum!” she calls as she vanishes behind a group of gossipy middle-aged women. It is only a moment longer before she decides to leave completely, apparating out of the alley with a loud CRACK!

“Thank you.” Ivy is quickly working up to some rather ridiculous hysteria. “Thank you very much, you overgrown garden gnome! As if you, were it not for me, would even be able to string more than four words together without having to stop and think! The only reason you’re even defending that… that low class strumpet is because she took pity on you and was unable to find someone better to attend a ridiculous school function with, and too polite to mention that you are, in fact, nothing more than a troll in robes!” Ivy has step foreward now, flinging her arms out wildly. “You don’t get to call me vile, you ungrateful, wretched…!” Apparently having run out of words, the young woman turns on her heel and shoves through the crowd, ignoring any comments thrown her way.

Glancing between the three of them, it takes a lot of effort for Joseph to manage to sidle away with some kind of pretense of nonchalance – not much of a pretense, granted, for the having been caught out by his girlfriend, not to mention that oaf, Hadley, echoes in his step, his carriage one of sulkiness rather than of unruffled nonchalance. He offers no further words to any of them and, even though he strikes up a conversation with a recent graduate, his heart is hardly in his flirtations, now.

Casper Hadley looks a little dumbfounded, as everyone has disappeared. Shrugging, he chalks it up to experience and exits, too.

Keelan Walsh wears, for once, plain black robes with no hint of team affliation. This is rare enough at a game against Ravenclaw, but it seems she’s either had a talking-to or a rethink over the summer break about bias in Quidditch. Maybe her red robes were just dirty. At any rate, she’s standing underneath her umbrella in the center of the pitch, squinting out toward the locker rooms of each team, trying to spot red or blue robes coming through the downpour.

Riley Markham makes his way on to the pitch with a soft yawn, his pale skin sizably more alabaster than tanned under the chilling effect of all the rain. Broom draped avross his shoulders, he waits to kick off anxiously. Growing more nervous by the minute.

Nervously Andy walks onto the pitch, his broom in hand and his robes getting soaking wet in seconds. Looking up to the dark clouds he mutters to Keira “Hm, great.” Then his hands slip into his gloves as he lines up with his teammates, waiting for Keelan’s initial whistle blow.

Boyce Gardener follows behind Riley quietly, trying to hold on to the excitement he felt in the changeroom, and dismiss the nervousness that was trying creep up in to his belly. He carries his broom much more traditionally, though the damp air keeps causing the broomhandle to slip from his fingers.

Quincy Matthias lumbers out onto the pitch, making some crack about the weather to his teammates and hoisting his broom over his shoulder for now. The rain doesn’t otherwise seem to bother him, though he uses his spare hand (beater bat tucked under an arm) to push hair off his forehead.

Rhian says, “Good afternoon everyone, students and faculty alike. Today is a lovely autumn day, if you are a duck perfect for the first Quidditch game of the 1927-28 year. I am Rhian Brecon, your announcer for this year, and for those of you unable to see, I’ll make sure to tell you everything that’s happening. Today’s game is Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw and as this is their first game of the year, I will give you a quick listing of the roster. For Gryffindor, the Chasers are 3rd year Andy Carver, 5th years Keira Sanguine and Tobias Raleigh, their Beaters are 4th years Kelly Pantall and Quincy Mattias, with the Keeper the 3rd year Briony Wexler and their Seeker and Captain, 4th year Gabriel Goden. For Ravenclaw, who this year comes to try and hold onto the Quidditch Cup they won last year, their Chasers are 4th year David Mildren, 5th year Prefect Bailey Williams and 3rd year Boyce Gardner, the Beaters are 5th year Prefect Tegan Madison and 3rd year Riley Markham, their Keeper being 5th year Laney Abbott and their Seeker and Captain, leading them once again, 6th year Prefect Noémie Ribouet. The official for today’s game is Professor of Herbology, Professor Walsh. We now wait for both teams to come brave the weather as we are now, so let’s get this game underway.”

Making her way out into the pouring rain, Noémie appears to be in quite a mood today. Her face is set seriously, and her eyes squinted, though this could likely be caused by the amount of water cascading down into her face. Coming to stop near Keelan, she does not look at the captain, instead looking in the direction of where the Gryffindor team is to join them. The rain does make it difficult to see what, exactly, is going on, and Noémie finds herself biting her lip while she looks around, rather hoping that the snitch won’t be quite so hard to see when it comes time to begin.

David follows the other members of his team, muttering against the rain and how it might affect the game. He carries his broom under his arm, hoping that it won’t behave as it did during that practice, when it suddenly stopped midair for no reason. That should not happen, though, since he had it looked over by the flying instructor, who reassured him that it should fly fine from now on. A bit nervous about the match, David stays silent and waits for the game to begin.

Laney Abbott is more nervous than anything, and keeps pushing her glasses up her nose with her free hand. Her broom is clutched hard in the other, and more than once she redoubles her stride to stay with the rest of the team, lips pressed into a thin line. Still, a “Lovely, I’ll just divine where the Quaffle is in the mess and block it that way.” escapes her lips in a sour sort of mumble.

“N– I’m su– no, Bri — c’mon, you–” Gabe starts as he walks out to the pitch, trying to sneak words in while Briony chatters at him quietly on their way out to the pitch. “You’ll be fine, I’m sure,” he tells his friend and then falls silent as the two of them come out, their red robes easily dampened by the sheer volume of water falling upon him. Squaring off in front of Noémie, his nervousness is not easily hidden, especially as he turns away from Briony a bit, perhaps to hide this very fact from her.

Trailing behind Keira and Andy, Tobias nestles on his broom a last time. It’s his first match in the main team and now it comes to a close against last season’s champions Ravenclaw. Quiet as usual he hides his excitement quite well, except of a trembling left eyelid.

Not to be left out of the intial comments, Kelly Pantall holds onto her broom, bat, and, like everyone, gets very wet.

Following Gabriel out to the pitch, once she is finally coaxed into silence by him, Briony starts to fidget. Her broom in one hand, and the other hand shoved deep into her pocket, she shifts from foot to foot while glancing around at the rest of her team.

David Mildred is about as grumpy as the other teammates about the foul weather, and doesn’t mince her words about it. She is rather in a foul mood today, for no apparent reason, and twirls her bat around, ready to play with the bludgers and send them over to the opponents.

Keira Sanguine looks almost annoyed at the water as she makes her way out to the pitch, though the smirk on her lips seems to say that she might know a bit more than she’s letting on. Glancing behind her, the smirk fades as she realizes who is following her. She’s got to do well this game. She just has to.

“Doesn’t seem all that bad to me,” Riley murmurs, sincerely, as he drives his hands in to his pockets. Both of which are wrapped in suede gloves, so that the scars of his left hand don’t catch on the fabric of his robe pocket. “Could be worse. And they have ter play in the same muck.”

Usually easy-spirited, Bailey does not look quite so easy today. The conditions are not the best for Quidditch, especially not for the first game of the season, and, with only a glance to Tegan, he goes to stand next to David, holding his broom with a rather tight grip.

“Alright, let’s keep our formation close and I…ahm…want to see clean passes. Don’t give away quaffle possession to easily. Just like in the practices. We can do that!” Andy tries to encourage his fellow chasers, finishing with a weak clap and wrings out his robe for the first time. The match hasn’t even started yet and he’s wet to the bones already.

Keelan Walsh smiles, though the gesture is merely polite. “Well, it can’t be lovely weather all the time. Okay, Captains, lets get the handshake through so you can start this game, shall we?” She watches them, gives a small nod, and turns to open the box of Quidditch balls, folding up her umbrella and setting it down. A click releases the Snitch from it’s special holder, and away it flies into the rain. Then Keelan takes hold of the Quaffle and calls, “On your brooms?” before blowing the whistle and tossing it into the air to get the game started. A few moments later, the bludgers are released, and Keelan mounts her broom to watch for fouls.

Laney Abbott is in the air and traveling toward the Ravenclaw hoops at the sound of the whistle, and soon hovers before them, waiting for Chasers to come her way with a Quaffle to, hopefully, block.

Swing his broom from his shoulders and mounting it in one easy motion, Riley turns and nods to Tegan — communicating that he understood their practiced tactic of knight at dragon. He was the knight who defended his teammates, she was going to start off being the one who grabbed a bludger and attacked.,

Quincy Matthias and Kelly rise into the air and spread out a bit, wielding the bats and watching (or at least attemping to) for bludgers to hit at the Ravenclaw team.

Reaching out to shake Gabriel’s hand, Noémie doesn’t wait long before getting herself onto her broom afterward. “Alright, keep it clean, and play hard. Remember what we practiced, everyone,” Noémie tells her team and as soon as she hears the whistle, she flies upward, though not too high. She wants to see where the snitch goes, after all, so that she has more chance of catching it.

Biting his lower lip, Boyce takes off in to the air after mounting his broom — almost slipping off it from the rain. He seens to grow a bit more confident once in the air. He’s ready.

Gabe Goden shakes Noémie’s hand as she offers it and then turns to his team. “Er –” he pauses as Andy begins to tell the team a quick last minute pep talk. “What he said,” Gabe tacks on and hops onto his broom, keeping a close eye on Noémie, though his attempts to keep up with her are rather obvious.

Following his teammates, David kicks off the ground starts to take some speed, making a direct flight towards the quaffle, which he grabs deftly before flying towards the Gryffindor goals. He makes a silent nod at the other Ravenclaw chasers to indicate them to be ready for a pass should the need arise.

Flying upward, Keira makes an attempt at the quaffle which has been released. Reaching close to David, Keira‘s face is set and she reaches out with intent to blatantly steal the Quaffle from David, though this does cause her to lose balance a bit and she has to slow down in order to gain control over her broom again.

Andy mounts his broom and sets up to shoot for the quaffle once it’s tossed up into the air. He sees the ball flying upwards and accelerates, but doesn’t reach it, since David has been more agile this time. Andy orientates again and chases the Ravenclaw.

Making her way up to the goals, it is not long before there is a small crowd headed toward her, and Briony looks almost fearful as she rubs her left wrist carefully, biting her lips while she gets situated more carefully in front of the goals, at a slight slant rather than straight on.

Nodding in silent agreement with Riley, Tegan pushes her broom forward and flies directly towards the nearest bludger, which she sends towards the pack of Chasers going after David, notably Andy.

Tobias gets into the air and hesitates a bit to go for the quaffle, since Andy and Keira are already racing for it. He stays back, turns around and is flying in front of David now, trying to guess where he is going.

Rising up quickly, Bailey is too slow to even be in contention to get the quaffle. This time, however, it appears as if a Ravenclaw has gotten it, and this bolsters Bailey a bit. Making his way down the pitch in an attempt to catch up, he swerves wide around Keira as she slows down and reaches out with an arm to let David know that he is currently open.

Kelly swoops in and knocks a bludger toward a streak of blue that will probably turn out to be Boyce, while Quincy takes flight, however slowly, toward the sound of another bat cracking, in order to attempt to intercept the other bludger, though he doesn’t yet.

Boyce Gardener moves notices Bailey postion himself and moves further up field to provide Bailey a passing lane ad possibly an attempt a a score., moving at a moderately quick speed but holding a fair amount of control. He is completely ignorant of the bludger sailing at him.

Feeling that the Gryffindor chasers are getting a bit too close to him, David makes a pass at Bailey, before continuing towards the goals to prepare the field for another pass.

Not being aware of Bailey, Andy stays behind David, coming nearer inch by inch he is now at his heels, but still not able to reach for the quaffle. As David passes, Andy notices that he’ll only be able to cover the Ravenclaw now. Bailey is too far away already.

Reaching out with his hands wide, Bailey makes a clean catch and begins to fly forward in an effort to catch up to Boyce. The older boy swerves a bit and then flies in to toss the quaffle to the younger chaser as he crosses in front, making his way diagonally away for a moment before coming back behind David and making his way around to hover behind a bit, in case the quaffle needs to be passed out again.

Riley, however, is very aware of the bludger that has been hurtled toward Bailey. Laying low on his broom in an attempt to keep the rain from blinding him, he darts foreward. Reaching out with his bat, he bunts the bludger away from Boyce almost at the last moment, before wheeling back and hitting it toward Keira. Though his aim isn’t dead on, exactly, it’s a right sight more sharp than last year, and definately sail in the general direction of his hopefully distracted target,

Seeing David’s pass, Tobias tries to intercept the ball, but it’s too well thrown, so that his finger just get the quaffle’s gust. He dashes down to hassle Bailey now, but too late, another pass he could not reach. “Keira, watch out!” Tobias points at the bludger and keeps flying next to Bailey, to cover him.

Shrieking a bit, Keira turns her broom and tries to get out of the way of the bludger, finding this difficult as her broom hasn’t quite calmed down yet, and her broom is stuttering a bit as she tries to out-fly the metal orb. “You bloody beaters! Get over here and hit this confounded thing at those bloody Ravenclaw!” Several more sentences, riddled with obscenities follow and the girl’s face gets quite red while she tries to get control of her broom still.

Quincy Matthias is in the path of the bludger at last and aims it with a powerful crack of bat-on-ball back toward the Ravenclaw Chasers with a grunt. Kelly flies for the other bludger, a bit peeved that Riley redirected it.

Freed of the bludger he’d not realized he had, Boyce catches the quaffle on the tips of his fingers, nearly dropping it a few times because of his slick it was, and making his flight briefly jerky. He manages to get himself relatively under control, however, arching up as he comes at the hoops, before diving and trying to shoot over Briony’s head, hoping for a quick score.

Deciding to let her role as the dragon aside for a while, Tegan flies towards the chasers to prevent the bludger from hitting them. She is still a bit away from it, so she does not reach it immediately, but flies there the best she can.

Rhian says, “The captains come into the center of the pitch and shake hands before both teams are called to their brooms. Professor Walsh waits until they are ready before releasing the Quaffle, the two Bludgers and the Snitch. With the toss of the Quafle, Mildred is quick on his broom and manages to catch it. Ravenclaw has first possesion this game as they head down toward Wexler who waits at the goals she is guarding. Pantall manages to get to one of the Bludgers and hits it over at Gardner, who seems totally oblivious to it. The Ravenclaw Chasers seem in good form as Mildren passes the Quaffle to Williams and Williams in turn tosses it to Gardner.”

Kelly takes care of the bludger again, calling something out to Keira that is lost in the sound of the rain and noise of Quidditch, while Quincy tries (poorly) to keep pace with Tegan and prevent her hitting the other.

Reaching up with both hands as the Quaffle is tossed at her, Briony manages, for once, an easy block. The block is easy, but the catch is not, and she fumbles with it for a moment before getting a good grip on it. Tossing it outward, she aims it to Andy without a word, though a grunt does ensue.

David Mildred groans as well, but for another reason, as he sees that the quaffle has been blocked. He immediately starts to chase Andy, hoping to get the quaffle from his hands.

Rhian says, “Markham manages to notice the Bludger flying after Gardner and hits it away back over to Sanguine. However, Gardner is having a slight issue with the Quaffle while he flies. Mattias takes the other Bludger and hits it in general at the Ravenclaw Chasers, though Tegan is attempting to protect her team’s Chasers. Pantall goes after the Bludger that is chasing Sanguine, attempting to keep it away from the Chaser. Gardner, now in the clear, attempts to score… But is stopped by Wexler, but it is only batted to Carver to head down back the other way.”

A short smile brightens on Andy‘s face, as Briony saves the first shot and gets a hold of the Quaffle. Flying for a second, then seeking one of his fellow chasers, Andy finds Keira at his side and instantly flings the Quaffle to the girl, noticing David behind him. Andy then performs a hard turn, to force David to slow down and get Keira an advantage.

Finally reaching the iron ball which was flying towards the Ravenclaw chasers, Tegan swings her bat and sends the bludger towards Keira. “Take that!”

Tobias slows down and lets his broom drop a bit to avoid the crowded field. He shoots forward and heaves up again, so that he finds himself in front of Keira now.

For a moment, Noémie thinks she’s spotted the snitch. While she begins to fly toward the gold fleck that she thinks she has seen, it is a moment before she realizes that she has a bludger following her, and her course is altered in order to avoid the orb that is hot on her tail. “Riley, Tegan! Someone” she shrieks in a rather undignified fashion, flying downward through the action in hopes of losing it.

Rhian says, “Pantall finally got the bludger that was after Sanguine away, and now it heads off to Ribouet, give the Seeker something to do until the Snitch is spotted. Meanwhile, Mattias is trying to stop Madison from getting at the other Bludger, but she manages to get it away over at Sanguine, who just recently got the Quaffle from Carver. Carver is trying a nice move though of attempting to block Mildred from persuing Sanguine as she barrels her way to Abbott.”

David Mildred narrowly escapes a collision with Andy Carver as the Gryffindor does a reckless turn right in front of him, and dives to avoid him. He lets out a shout of rage as he does so. Keira is already far from her, but noticing the bludger flying towards her, he decides to anticipate her (very likely) pass to Tobias and flies directly towards him instead.

It takes Riley a few moments to divine the location the bludger, having heard the sound of a bat striking it, but unable to see it for all the rain. Sailing upward quickly, he chases after Noémie — not quite able to keep up with her in all the rain and wind (he did have more wind resistance, naturally). But he could get close enough to send that bludger away. His aim is off, though, for the angle he had to strike it. It sails off in no particular direction toward friend or foe.

Keelan Walsh pulls up short on his broom to change direction, sweating a bit even with the rain coming down. He and his broom are not the fastest on the field, and it’s likely that the bludger will inflitrate the Chasers before he makes it. Kelly remains, for the moment, on the lookout rather than the offense, thanks to the rain unable to see the result of her last hit.

Quincy Matthias pulls up short on his broom to change direction, sweating a bit even with the rain coming down. He and his broom are not the fastest on the field, and it’s likely that the bludger will inflitrate the Chasers before he makes it. Kelly remains, for the moment, on the lookout rather than the offense, thanks to the rain unable to see the result of her last hit.

Laney Abbott starts to get a bit more nervous as she squints through the rain and detects scarlet blurrs moving toward the Ravenclaw end of the pitch. She begins to bob vaguely in place on her broom and her grip tightens around the handle.

What has she done to get the bludgers flying toward her today? Keira Sanguine has only barely managed to get the Quaffle secured under her arm and started on her way to the Ravenclaw goals before another bludger is directed at her. Looking over her shoulder, she checks to see if there are any other Chasers available, before she notices Tobias in front of her. Chucking the Quaffle quickly, with a shout of “HERE!” Keira swears a little more and veers away so as not to direct the bludger to Tobias.

Beginning to grin as his bet has paid off, David begins to chase Tobias, closing in to him as every second goes by. Had he gone for Keira after his near-miss with Andy, he wouldn’t be so close to the Gryffindor chaser as he is now… David has good hopes to at least bother him a good bit if he tries to throw the quaffle.

Tobias looks over his shoulder and receives Keira’s well-metered pass. He zooms up into the zone, heading for the left hoop and attempts a score. He dekes to puzzle the keeper, but notes David then and flies out of the zone again, throwing the Quaffle to Andy.

Making his way down the pitch, Bailey seems to think it a good idea to stay close to Andy now that David has gone after Keira, leaving Boyce to follow Tobias. As the Quaffle is tossed to Andy, Bailey sees his opportunity, and flies forward a bit, as well as his broom will let him. This is just in time, as he manages to get a grip onto the red orb, turning quickly and flying as fast as his broom will take him in the other direction. He is headed straight for the Gryffindor hoops with the slick ball.

Quincy Matthias is belatedly in the fray and with a very wet smack, sends the Bludger flying in the opposite direction, hopefully scattering at least some of the Ravenclaw Chasers, now that they’ve recovered the Quaffle. Kelly scans the skies for the other and zips toward it, sending the Bludger toward the Ravenclaws as well.

Seeing Bailey crossing in front of him, Andy‘s flying becomes unstable and he can’t avoid him stealing the ball from Gryffindor. Changing into defensive mode again, he shoots away to follow Bailey and gets a hand on the Quaffle, pulling at it.

Noticing the smooth work done by Bailey, Boyce does his best to tag Tobias and prevent him to follow the Ravenclaw chaser and intercept the quaffle.

Rhian says, “Markham manages to get the Bludger away from Ribouet with ease, but where it went, I don’t know… Matthias has also managed to get the other bludger away from the Gryffindor Chasers while Sanguine tosses the Quaffle to Raleigh. Raleigh now takes a chance to pass it to Carver, but wait… Williams has managed to intercept the Quaffle and the field now turns around to head to the Gryffindor goals.”

Gabe curses loudly as Ravenclaw gets hold of the Quaffle again, and the Gryffindor pulls her broom around, making a hard turn to try to follow down to the other end of the pitch in an attempt to retrieve the quaffle for her own team and scoring.

Keira curses loudly as Ravenclaw gets hold of the Quaffle again, and the Gryffindor pulls her broom around, making a hard turn to try to follow down to the other end of the pitch in an attempt to retrieve the quaffle for her own team and scoring.

A second later, David turns his broom and flies in Andy’s direction, attempting to hinder him and prevent him from catching up with Bailey.

Tobias slows down and ponders if he should go and dive into the bunch of chasers, threatened by both bludgers or wait where he is to receive a pass, should Andy really get the quaffle from Bailey.

The situation is a bit dire for the Ravenclaw chasers, since the two bludgers are directed towards them. Noding to Tegan, Riley Markham decides to take the bludger, which he reaches easily enough. The bludger is sent away from the pack of chasers in a matter of seconds. On her side, Tegan has more difficulties to catch the other bludger, and reaches it just as it was going to hit David, but as she does so, she prevents him from tagging Andy correctly and nearly collides into the Ravenclaw boy.

Tugging back at the Quaffle as Andy attempts to grab it back from him, Bailey growls a little and says something rather unintelligible as he tries to fly over a bit, pulling both the quaffle and his broom at once while he yanks again, finding this difficult due to the wetness of the Quaffle.

Andy pulls and turns the Quaffle in Bailey’s arms and hands. A tough opponent, as Andy isn’t the strongest of boys after all. But then his arms slips through and prises the ball out of the Ravenclaw’s grasp. A quick look and the Quaffle is on it’s way to Tobias again, who seems to have been sleeping at the zoneline.

Back and forth, back and forth! Keira turns around again and makes a rather sour comment under her breath before yelling, “Make up your confounded minds!” The chaser makes her way back down the pitch and pushes her auburn hair out of her face, looking quite irritated.

Rhian says, “The two Gryffindor Beaters seemt o have a vengence for the Ravenclaws as both Bludgers are sent to the Ravenclaw Chasers. Gardner attempts to block Raleigh from following while Mildred tries the same thing with Carver, but it fails as Carver tries to steal the Quaffle away from Willaims. With this rain, it seems overly difficult to keep a good grip, and it seems that it succeeded as Carver pulls the Quaffle from Williams and tosses it to Raleigh, the closest to the goal.”

The Quaffle is pried away from him as just as a bludger connects with the Ravenclaw’s leg. “AUGH!” he shouts loudly and grabs his leg. This prevents Bailey, at least for the moment, from following the group of chasers who have turned and headed toward his goals while he — rather babyishly — rubs his leg, his eyes pricking with tears, though he’s not about to show them.

A bit surprised Tobias prepares for the catch, does well and whirls around towards the Ravenclaw hoops. Maybe his first goal for Gryffindor, today? With a small groan he tosses the Quaffle towards an empty ring, hoping that the keeper won’t get it at that speed.

Quincy Matthias gives momentary chase to the Bludger, hitting it neatly toward Noémie, while Kelly guards of her own group of Chasers, intentionally or not, in case a Bludger heads their way.

Laney Abbott‘s lips have been moving at a nervous under-toned mumble for the last few moments, as if the rain weren’t distracting enough, and so she doesn’t move fast enough, and the Quaffle soars past her outstretched hands through the hoop, bringing bright red splotches to the Keeper’s cheeks.

Letting out a loud “WHOOP!” as she hears the clang from the other end of the pitch, Briony seems to be ready to jump up and off of her broom. The game, however, is not over, as the Seekers are both still prowling about, flying this way and that, and Briony does not move off of her broom, instead, getting situated to prepare for another shot, should it come.

Rhian says, “Raleign manages to get the Quaffle, and before anyone can stop him, he turns around and tosses it to the goals. Abbott can’t seem to get there fast enough and Gryffindor scores… It is now Gryffindor-10, Ravenclaw-0. Though the game isn’t over yet… Williams has gotten in the leg with one of the Bludgers while the other one seems to be going after Ribouet once more.”

Riley Markham glances a few differant ways, trying to make out shapes in the rain that had long since gave up trying to sting his eyes in a more worthwhile pursuit of hoping to freeze them. The bludger, however, can hardly be missed as it sails past his head directly toward Noémie. Wiping his eyes with his sleeve, Riley grabs his broom, pulls up, and gives the cannonball chase.

Unclenching his teeth again after the loud scoring sound, Andy throws his hands into the air. “Yes! Great shot, Raleigh!” He backs up again to be ready for more chasing and scoring.

“I scored.” Tobias looks into his empty hands and to the score board. Then he flies back again to set up for defending.

Boyce Gardener swoops in behind the Gryffindor hoops, snatching up quaffle (much more easily than the last time) and looping back hard — Bailey and David both seemed rather close, but he didn’t reckon he could he bank hard enough in the rain without falling off his broom to give himself a good go at it. Chosing between the two, Bailey and David — Boyce tosses the quaffle to David, trying to put himself in the airway enough to set up a pick for David to have a clear shot if he catches the red ball.

Having fully recovered now from his pain — or at least put it aside — Bailey makes his way around just in time to see a score go through for Gryffindor. A sour look crosses his face at this and he turns, flying toward the middle of the pitch and pausing as Boyce comes down. At the pass, he flies forward more, making his way toward the other hoops. They’ve got to even up!

Approaching Bailey again, Andy tries to cover the zone between him and David to prevent a pass to this Ravenclaw chaser.

Catching the quaffle, David quickly assesses the situation and the position of the chasers –both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. And then, he darts towards the Gryffindor goals, choosing not the direct path (which would probably sent him straight towards the Gryffindors) but choosing the right side of the pitch instead.

Heading for Bailey first, then trailing off towards David, Tobias tries to reach the Ravenclaw, but it’s still a long way to go. He didn’t see Andy on Bailey’s other side and lost a good amount of time, now.

Keira Sanguine flies down, a grin on her face. Sure, she doesn’t like her teammates, but it’s still her team, and a win for Gryffindor is a win for her. She tries to catch up to David, but her broom appears to have a bit of a stuttering problem, likely due to the rain, or perhaps her issues at the start just persisting on, and she has trouble catching up, especially as he swerves out to an alternative path.

It takes Riley a fair bit of effort to catch up to the bludger chasing Noémie — especially considering how graceful and fast Noémie could fly, even in adverse conditions. He was no slouch in the flying department, it was his best strength. But in this weather, it was killing him. Swinging, aming as best he can, he tries to arch the bludger at Keira. His bat begins to slip out of his hand, though, as he swings — and the bludger takes off in Gabe’s direction, instead.

The golden snitch has come into Gabe‘s view! He flies downward in pursuit of the little golden ball which e has only barely been able to see. The rain seems to have let up some and he makes his way downward, downward, making it only slightly closer to the little orb as it continues to stay just out of reach while he begins his chase.

Deciding to give the Gryffindors something else to think about than the quaffle, and cursing herself for having allowed a bludger to hit one of the Ravenclaw chasers, Tegan goes after the other bludger, which she intends to send after Andy. At the last minute, though, she notices Gabe’s dive and sends it against him instead.

Rhian says, “Ravenclaw heads back to the other end of the Quidditch Pitch with the Gryffindors chasing them. Markham manages to intercept a Bludger that was going after Ribouet, but turns and sends it toward Sanguine… What is this, seems that Goden has caught sight of the Snitch and has begun the chase. Madison has spotted this and sends the Bludger near her his way to try and change his attention and to loose the Snitch.”

The bludger, this time, doesn’t even register to Noémie as she spots Gabriel beginning to fly quickly downward. Flying before she even begins looking for it, it doesn’t take Noémie long to catch up to the younger boy, and she is flying neck-and-neck with him, her hand outstretched as if she is to be able to reach the little ball before he will. The snitch swerves this way and that, up and down, and it appears as if this chase is not about to stop soon.

Noticing that Bailey was totally covered by Andy, David has no option but doing the job himself. He approaches to the Gryffindor hoops the best he can, pretends throwing the quaffle towards the rightmost hoop but sends it to the middle hoop instead…

Bumping into Noémie a little — on accident, he promises! — Gabe makes a sharp turn as the snitch does, and overshoots it a bit in his excitement at being so close to possibly winning. His broom does not turn quite as well as he would like back, though he tries to catch up to the snitch and Noémie.

Keelan Walsh and Kelly almost simultaneously spot the double bludgers heading toward their Seeker and take off through the rain to try and stop them. Kelly, faster, arrives first and manages to deflect the Bludger, but Quincy is trailing behind.

Quincy Matthias and Kelly almost simultaneously spot the double bludgers heading toward their Seeker and take off through the rain to try and stop them. Kelly, faster, arrives first and manages to deflect the Bludger, but Quincy is trailing behind.

Reaching up as the Quaffle comes her way, Briony makes an attempt to catch it, but the Quaffle’s slickness does not help, and it flies through the hoop behind her. Briony does not look pleased at this, and scowls a bit as she retrieves the Quaffle, tossing it out to Tobias harshly.

Rhian says, “After some jostling, the Ravenclaw Chasers make their way down the pitch and right in front of Wexler. Mildred attempts to score, faking to one hoop and trying for the other. Wexler misses and Ravenclaw scores! It is now tied at 10 a piece. Bludgers are still flying around though as both Goden and Ribouet fly after the Snitch. Goben almost had it there, but seems to have missed.”"

Noémie hears the clang, but she doesn’t even know who it’s for as she reaches out, despite the jostling, and closes her fingers around the golden snitch. The little ball goes limp in her hands and its wings fold up again as Noémie holds it above her head triumphantly. The sixth year pushes her water saturated hair out of her face and flies down to the pitch quickly, hopping off of her broom and then holding both broom and snitch in the air in celebration. They’d won!

So close, and yet, so far. Gabe Goden flies down to the pitch, having nearly managed to get his hand around it before Noémie but not quite making it. He flies down to the pitch and looks up at his team, a bit disappointedly, before sighing. The captain doesn’t even wait for his team to come down before he makes his way off of the pitch, bound for the locker rooms. A nice warm shower sounds about right for the fourth year captain.

Rhian says, “Ribouet has caught the Snitch. Ravenclaw has won the first game of the year, and are on their way to a wonderful streak to trying to keep the Quidditch Cup. Final score is Ravenclaw-160, Gryffindor-10. Now what do you say to getting out of the rain everyone?”

Keelan Walsh blows her whistle signifying the end of play, and with less terseness then usual congratulates anyone who goes by as she collects the balls and returns them to their box.

Feeling quite disappointed, Briony flies down and lands soon after Gabriel has. She waits just a moment, intent to see how Kelly had done — after all, Briony couldn’t be watching the Beaters the whole game, could she? — and see if perhaps they had at least bruised up some of the Ravenclaws well enough. After she has caught up to Kelly, the girl makes her way slowly off of the pitch, whether Kelly is following her or not.

Riley cheers from his place Noémie lands, throwing his arms in to the air and whooping. “Yeah, Raaaveeenclaaaw!” Drifting down toward ground, pleased as hell to be done zipping around a too-cold sky in too-wet rain, Rilet leaps off his broom and cheers. Those practices had paid off. “YES!”

David cheers loudly, both for the ten points he managed to score than for the victory of the team, and quickly lands to celebrate with the other members of his team.

Boyce Gardener lands not from Riley, grinning and cheering “Yeth! Yeth!” Clapping Riley hard on the back, he walks over to congratulate Noémie on her catching the snitch. His first victory with the team.

Catching the quaffle as it is thrown to him, Tobias has only a moment to fly toward Ravenclaw goal before he hears that the snitch has been caught, and not even by his team. His disappointment is apparent as he flies down and hands the Quaffle over to Keelan, making his way inward. Perhaps he can talk shop with Gabe in the lockers.

Tegan Madison shakes her fist in the air. “YESSS!” she squeals, happy that Ravenclaw has won, and lands near Riley, David and Boyce. “Congratulations, everyone!”

Letting out a stream of obscenities, Keira Sanguine makes her way down to the pitch, looking sourly at the Ravenclaws, and then stomping towards the lockers. That no good Wexler, and that confounded Goden and Raleigh and Carver and Matthias, all of them were worthless. Yes, even Raleigh. The girl doesn’t head to the lockers with the rest of them, instead deciding to head into the commonroom and the girls’ bathrooms.

Cheering with the rest of his team for a moment, Bailey grins widely. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m going to go get dried off and head to the commons! I heard there’s going to be a wild party!” Without another word, the boy trots inside, waving a fist joyously above his head.

Quincy Matthias rather dejectedly, and with a good deal of squelching, dismounts and heads off to shower(as if being wetter was at all useful) or at the very least to dry off and sulk in the Common Room with everyone else.

Laney Abbott feels some of the good spirit at winning, though her only role in this sodden game was to let Gryffindor score. As such, her jubilation at her first Quidditch game being a win is tinged with self-mockery, evident with the rather closed expression of her eyes as she avoids the team and stalks off of the pitch, murmuring vague pleasantries that sound rather forced if anyone addresses her.

Grinning at her team, her demeanor much improved from the start of the match, Noémie looks quite pleased now. “Good work, everybody! We played beautifully!” Hearing Bailey’s comment, though, her attention strays toward the castle. “A party sounds about right, don’t you think?” the girl tells her team. “Come on, let’s celebrate!” Striding over to hand the snitch over to Keelan, Noémie turns, then, and runs inside. She doesn’t even stop along the way, instead going to the commonroom dripping wet. What’s a little detention in light of this cause for celebration?

Making her way out to the pitch, Noémie‘s face is set as she glances up at the sky, from which falls a light drizzle of rain. She has the usual Quidditch fare already set out — a box with a set of practice equipment, as well as some extra quaffles. Some curious bits of fabric are hanging from each of the hoops, a veritable rainbow of variety decorating, though Noémie‘s glance does not stray there as she instead sets her broom down and begins to stretch her arms over her head slowly, awaiting the arrival of the rest of her team.

Almost bouncing as she makes her way out to the pitch, Laney looks cheerful despite the weather. This behavior is especially unusual of the girl, and it seems as if she almost has an agenda in being so as she grins widely at the captain. “‘Lo, Noémie,” she greets the girl and drops her broom abruptly, mimicing Noémie’s movements of stretching, though her own are half-done and don’t seem to do much good for her.

Riley Markham appears on a the field a few minutes after Noémie, walking beside Boyce — the two classmates having holding a mildly interesting coversation about the finer points of Goblin speech. “You’ve almost got it, eh?” Riley says, placatingly. Trying, earnestly, not to laugh at the younger-but-in-the-same-year boy’s efforts. “All things considered.” As usually, his broom is draped across his shoulders, his wrists hanging limply over it, giving him a vaguely cross-like shape. His damp hair, mostly undone from the leather strap he attempted to bind it with, clings to his sundappled, but curiously pale features. Though it was clear he spent a good deal of time outside, he looked decidely more bleached than he had in several weeks. His quidditch robes bear the same general disregard for appearance as his school robes, wrinkled and dishevelled.

Striding out to the pitch casually, Tegan looks quite subdued today, in comparison to the angry atmosphere that has surrounded her the last several days. And, is that — does her hair look rumpled, too? Well, whether it is or not, Tegan appears to be tight-lipped, saying nothing at all as she joins the others on the team, throwing an arm up to start stretching it. After all, that appears to be the thing to do, doesn’t it? Yawning and trying not to grin to wide, the girl still says nothing, though she does look smugly in Laney’s direction.

“Gehthwackthwis? Gewthawaxthwis.. I don’th know, Marthum. I juwth don’th need’th to thwear that bad,” Boyce concludes, finally, giving up on the complicated and intricate pronouncation of Goblin vulgarity, before turning his gaze toward the sky. Adding after a moment, “Nawthty weathwer.” Waving to Noémie once their in range, he lifts up his broom as if eager to get in to the air, before turning his attention back to Markham. “Iwth good to know the meawnthing though, I thupothe.” Boyce says, sincerely. “Tho, thawt meawths awthho–”

Having just waved to Noémie himself with one hand, Riley‘s eyes widen and his gaze shifts back to Boyce, silencing the boy with a meaningful look and a small shake of his head. “Ixney on the eaningmay, eh?” He hisses, under his breath — the last thing he needed was for Noémie to chuck him another detention and spark another fight for swearing. Looking back to Noémie, he puts on his best, seemingly innocent smile, in hopes that she hadn’t heard or, god willing, wasn’t paying attention.

Bailey Williams strides on to the pitch somewhat after Tegan, wearing a somewhat bemused, bewildered expression. As though the world were suddenly a differant color, and he weren’t entirely cetainly why or how it had happened. His own hair is somewhat askew, though it’s hardly unusual for it to be so. Still, he seems happy enough, flahing a smile at Noémie and nodding to the rest.

“Hello, everyone,” Noémie greets the team as she turns around and looks up at the sky once more at the light rain. “Alright, today, we’re just going to run like we’re in a game, for the most part. I’ve got extra quaffles out in case the one in the box turns out to be a bum. Alright, now, you see those ribbons? You’ve got to try to retrieve as many as you can. Tegan, Riley, your job is to prevent the chasers from getting them. It looks like David couldn’t make it today, so it’s between you and Bailey, Boyce. Laney, you’ll try to keep the boys from scoring. Only after you have made a score can you get a ribbon, and you must not get hit by a bludger before retrieving your ribbon, or else you’ll have to make a nother score first. Alright, all clear? I’m going to practice my dives over at the other end of the pitch with the practice snitch. Make sure you’re obeying the rules. Whoever has the most ribbons at the end of practice, well… wins.” With that, Noémie strides over to the box and retrieves the practice snitch from the box, waiting several moments for it to disappear from view before she mounts her broom and takes off, leaving no time for questions.

Well, at least she didn’t scold him for swearing. Passing a quick look to Boyce, wide-eyes implicating that the short, stocky lad needed be more careful with his tongue — Riley mounts his broom and kicks off in to the air. Good lord, that was close. Lifting a hand to brush his long, wet hair from his pale face — the wine red strings not unlike trickles of blood against his white skin, Riley makes himself ready. Nodding to Tegan, making sure they were far enough apart to get good coverage of the field.

“Alright! I get to actually hit them this time!” Tegan responds, sounding rather gleeful at this, despite the fact that she is not so annoyed with Bailey this time. “Up and at ‘em, then,” she tells everyone, somehow deciding that she’s the boss of this practice while she strides over and lets out both bludgers without warning, causing her to have to duck so it doesn’t hit her straight off. “Alright, Markham, let’s see if your aiming practice has paid off!” The girl says this while brandishing her bat and hitting a bludger upward while she gets on her broom. This gives her enough time to fly up into the air with a good distance from Riley while she hits it again, this time to Riley — not at him.

Boyce Gardener grins knowingly at Riley — an small glimmer of mischief in his eyes, before grabbing up a quaffle and taking to the air. Waiting for everyone to get in to place, he tosses the quaffle in to the air a few times and catches it — twice very well, once on the edges of his fingers. Nervous though he might be about the upcoming match, he was excited as well. And he was ready to show what he try.

Lifting a hand to rake his wet hair back from his eyes, Bailey grins somewhat to himself as he climbs up on to his broom and kicks off in to the air. He was grinning quite broadly, at that. And an awful lot. “Great weather for a practice, isn’t it?” He notes to Laney as he passes her, hardly noticing the tiny rivulets of water that washed down his face.

Hmmm, how is it that all the practices seem to revolve around Laney making blocks? The not-so-terribly-confident-yet keeper gets onto her broom and flies up to the hoops, not looking quite so chipper and cheerful as she had been before. “Alright, go when you’re ready!” she tells the chasers and limbers up her shoulders a bit, rotating each of them on its own. The keeper does look a bit nervous, as if the realization that the match is nearly here has just set in and she has just realized what is at stake in playing it.

Riley Markham seems relatively pleased with the change that has come over Tegan — her bossiness was something he had grown accustomed to, but her air of anger and tendincy toward violence usually left a distastefully coppery taste in his mouth. Often due to a bludger in the face. Or chest. Or groin. Twirling his bat, as if to gain it’s balance, he thwacks the bludger back toward Tegan easily enough. Same as she, not at him, but toward her. His aim and control much improved, though still needing a fair bit of refinement.

Boyce Gardener makes his go first, holding the only quaffle. Gripping the front of his broom, he darts toward the hoops in a quick, direct assualt. Unveering and unwavering. Brave, reliable, but very predictable. His attention is fairly focused, and though he is relatively certain where Tegan and Riley are behind and above him, he’s unwisely let his guard down to each of them.

Giving the bludger a good, hearty whack back at Riley, the metal orb seems destined for Boyce instead of her fellow beater. This is well and good, however, because she finds that the other bludger has headed toward her as well now, and she gives it a less forceful thwack toward her own sweetheart this time, in an attempt to slow him down. This ought to make for an interesting practice, especially as the girl is supposed to keep them from “winning.” Tegan grins and flies down the pitch a bit, making her way closer to the hoops in hopes of more easily throwing the boys off course.

Watching carefully as the younger boy makes his way toward her, Laney‘s face appears to set, though the apprehension is still a bit apparent. Come on, come on, come on, she’s just got to make this block. Nevermind that she’s got goodness knows how many shots to possibly block, the girl doesn’t want to let even one slip through the hoops. “Come on, you sissy, don’t dilly-dally!” she tells Boyce loudly, as if attempting to provoke him into shooting sooner.

Fortunately for Laney, her provokes aren’t needed. Hearing the whistle of bludger coming at him, the boy veers right and hard — completely destroying the vector of his toss. Grazing his shoulder, Boyce winces as the bludger sails past — but looks up to see Bailey and tosses the quaffle up to his older teammate. Finishing his arch behind and around the goal posts, Boyce rubs his shoulder as he moves back mid-pitch, centering himself for another pass at the hoops.

Bailey Williams is in the perfect position to grab the quaffle, having taken off as soon as he heard Tegan’s bat crack against the second bludger — knowing it had only one target. Soaring quick and high, Bailey rushes straight at Laney, Tegan’s bludger on his broomtwigs. Pulling up at the last possible second, he tries throwing the quaffle over Laney’s head through the hoop by distracting her with the bludger that Tegan had left him. One that will likely fly right under Laney and slam in to the goalpost.

Flying up high, Noémie is very high above the pitch, where the air is a bit chilly and the rain seems to fall a bit more heavily. Then again, that could be her imagination as well. The little golden snitch is so far nowhere to be seen — even though it is slower than the true thing, it still can be a bugger to catch — and Noémie decides it would be best to practice her diving for the time being. Flying downward quickly, she picks up momentum as she approaches the ground, pulling up sooner than is necessary, perhaps out of fear of crashing, or distrust for her broom. Either is plausible for the prefect, and others may never know for sure as she is soon climbing high into the sky, feasibly to do just the same thing again.

The bludger does well to distract Laney, and instead of an attempt to block the shot, she flies away instead, swerving wide to avoid the bludger. “That’s got to be a foul, Williams!” she tells her year-mate sourly and frowning. Oh, he ought to just wait. He’d find frogs in his bed if Laney had anything to do with it. Flying back up with a reddened face, Laney has retrieved the quaffle, and tosses it far out into the middle of the pitch, to neither of the chasers specifically. Sour grapes, anyone?

Finding himself somewhat caught between admiring Bailey’s handywork with Tegan’s bludger, and simply admiring Noémie, for, well — being Noémie, Riley almost completely misses tbe second bludger coming up around him and toward his face. Letting out a small squawk of surprise, he lifts his bat to bunt the bludger away from him — almost stunning it in midair for a moment, before considering the pitch. “Where do you need to go — there!” And lifting his bat up in a quick, solid arch, he drives the bludger hard at Bailey as the boy goes to fetch his ribbon. Hoping to clip him on the shoulder.

Feeling rather proud of himself, Bailey had nearly forgotten that they were still considered viable targets until they had actually collected a ribbon and thus gained the “point”. Thus, his reaction to the bludger sent by Riley isn’t nearly as quick as it might have been otherwise. Turning quickly, he manages to get out of the path of the bludger — mostly. It rather obviously strikes his right arm, just before he can snatch up the ribbon.

Flying around quickly, Tegan is headed for the bludger that has missed Laney quite completely — thanks to the girl’s swerving maneuver — and has every intention of stopping Bailey with it. This proves unnecessary, however, as Riley has chucked one at him, which has quite successfully put a stop to his point gathering. Instead, Tegan gives hers a whack and sends it out toward Boyce, hoping to intimidate the boy with the bludger again. It worked the first time, after all!

Boyce Gardener goes to fetch the quaffle tossed by Laney, having to swoop a bit faster than he’d been altogether prepared to do in order to catch it. Flying somewhat off to the side, hoping to maybe sweep past Laney and get the quaffle in to the hoop behind the girl, Boyce veers far off his original path in an attempt to dodge Tegan’s bludger — paying much more attention to the beaters than he had the first time around. Tegan’s distraction may prove enough, though, as the throw that tries to put past Laney — while solid enough and well aimed, is forced in to a rather predictable arch.

Seeing the Quaffle headed toward her again, Laney is quite a bit more prepared for it this time. No red ball is getting by her this time! She lets out a loud “AUGH!” as she reaches out to grab up the ball. Such exertion was not exactly necessary, since it was coming almost right at her, but Laney does not appear to realize this, though she does look at Boyce smugly, tossing it back to him with ease. “Go again!” she calls and grins.

Boyce Gardener catches the quaffle and takes back off back up pitch, pulling in — and passing glance to Bailey (who seemed to be rubbing his arm) to make sure that the older student didn’t mind his taking another go, before having one more pass at goal. Going straight didn’t work, going down and around didn’t work — maybe going up? Pulling up on his broom, and soaring high in to the air — Boyce does something fairly brave, and perhaps a little silly. Holding on to his broom tight as if he expected it to fly right out from under him at any moment, or expected to fall off (either seemed equally likely at the moment), Boyce half-dives, half-turns, banking at the goal (and putting every last ounce of flying skill he had learned over the last two months to use), before throwing the quaffle at what he hopes will be over Laney’s head in to the hoop, while providing the beaters an odd angle to strike at him from. The unexpected bonus being, he’s flying straight for the ribbons should he happen to actually score.

Completely befuddled by Boyce’s confusing flying — it appears the boy has had his broom tuned as instructed — Laney jumps one way, then another, only to decide the wrong direction to dive as she misses the Quaffle completely. The loud CLANG echoes through the pitch and her face becomes set and somewhat disappointed as she flies downward in an effort to catch the quaffle up again to prepare for another go-around. She also would rather be down here retrieving the safer red ball than be in the way of the bludgers that are bound to fly.

Riley Markham draws a deep breath, wincing a little at how he caught Bailey’s arm — honestly hoping that nothing where broken, though he knew with a certainty that Madam Wexler would be able to fix any damage his bludger might have done. Drifting across the pitch, he watches with quiet nod as Boyce tries some daring flying. Nothing that anyone else on the team (except perhaps Laney) couldn’t do more or less in their sleep, but for the lad still mastering his own position on a broom — it was quite well done. Finding the bludger that had bounced off Bailey coming back his way, he cobs it in Boyce’s direction — trying to stop the throw. The aim is a bit off, though, and sails well over his classmate’s head.

Everything has moved so fast that Tegan, in a moment of confusion, ends up whacking the bludger that she has approached at Bailey instead of at Boyce, who ought to be her target. Letting out an exhasperated yell, she flies around, almost as if to try to save Bailey from it (and instead direct it toward the younger boy). The force with which she has hit the bludger, though, prevents her from catching up to it as it approaches her fellow prefect very quickly and with surprising momentum.

Dive after dive, Noémie does not appear to get much lower before she has to pull out, either for fear of safety or perhaps just for ease of the reascent. It is during another of these dives that Noémie spots the little golden orb. She flies downward toward it, downward, downward, and then as it pulls up, so does she, completely oblivious to how close to the ground she was at the time. Accellerating as fast as she can manage, she does manage to overcome it and close it up with her fingers into her palm. This is followed by a triumphant whoop and she begins flying toward the other end of the pitch to see what is going on. Chaos appears to have taken over as there is a bludger flying at Boyce and another towards Bailey. What is going on up there? “Alright, bring it in!” she calls once it has resolved, flying down to land on the ground. She quickly walks over and secures the little snitch into its spot in the box marked “Practice” and waits for her team to join her.

Rubbing his arm and trying to work out the kinks of his first bludger attack, Bailey can’t help but cheer and whoop as his fellow chaser sinks the goal and darts off to grab a ribbon, unimpeded by the beaters. Tegan’s cry misses his ears, reaching him almost to late. “What?” THWACK! Tegan’s bludger hits him square in the chest, leaving him only enough time to look surprised. To his credit, Bailey remains on his broom, but he clearly is gasping for breath as he drifts toward the ground, holding his broom handle for support.

Boyce manages to get his hand on a ribbon moments before Noémie calls the practice, which he thrusts up in to the air with a resounding “YETH!” And after a small moment of celebration, he lands and moves toward the captain.

From his place in midair, as Noémie calls the practice, Riley withdraws his wand and freezes each of the two bludgers (his aim with a wand sizably better than his aim with a bat), before making his way to the ground. As is his usual habit, he leaps off the broom while it’s still several feet above the ground.

“Bailey, are you alright?” she calls, biting her lip and flying over to him. “Do you need some help? Merlin, I didn’t mean to do that, can I help you? Oh, geez, Bailey, will you at least say something to me, please?” the girl speaks quickly, though the speed she’s speaking doesn’t leave much room for interjection. Flying downward with him, she soon is on the ground. “Let’s get you to see Madam Wexler, alright? I’d rather you didn’t have a broken bone or something,” taking over the role of caretaker now, Tegan waits for Bailey to get to the ground before seizing him to almost drag him into the school forcibly, with the intent to make him see the school nurse.

Rolling her eyes at Boyce’s exhuberance, Laney doesn’t say anything as she makes her way down to the ground, putting the quaffle into the box. “I need more practice,” she mutters to Noémie at the last, swinging her broom over her shoulder and making her way off of the pitch before the captain can make any affirmative response to this remark. (And, of course, it would have been affirmative — couldn’t they all use more practice, after all?) Laney is soon gone, having put her broom away and made her way back into the school.

“Well done, mate — ’bout fell off your broom there, though, didn’cha? When yer bankin’ like that, lean in’ter the wood, alrigh’? Giver yer more control,” Riley says, after walking over to Boyce and clapping him on the back. “Yer gonna do alright, I think. Remember what I said last time, if yah miss, yah miss. Simple as that. Get the ball an’ try again. S’what my dad told me.” Grinning, though not really feeling his grin entirely, he and the stocky, short boy headed on up to the castle. Though Riley did wait for several moments to watch Noémie put things away.

Noémie is left alone to tackle the bludgers, a fact which, for once, doesn’t even seem to bother her. As the pitch has emptied and the light is waning, the sixth year flies up on her broom, wand drawn to immobilize them. Having caused them to stop moving, they are then easier to wrangle into the box. Both bludgers put away, and Noémie is off toward the broom shed, slowly making her way to put the overabundance of supplies away. But the prefect isn’t complaining. A strange calm has overcome her now and she soon makes her way back into the school, the same, easy demeanor following with.

With her broom under her arm and a look on her face that could make a stone idol run in terror, Tegan marches down onto the pitch. Her hair tied back in a tight unattractive bun that looks hastily done. The Prefect kneels down to tighten her laces waiting for Noémie to begin the practice as usual. Is she still upset at Bailey? You bet! Does she remember why? Chances are that she doesn’t but why should that stop her?

“Tegan, come on, will you stoppit?” The familiar whine comes from the boy as he follows out hastily, tripping a bit over, well, grass. Bailey manages to catch his balance in time to prevent himself from falling over, but he still looks a bit frustrated. “Come on, I’ve apologized about a hundred times. Won’t you talk to me again? Please? Tegan? Tegan!” A frustrated sigh emits from him as he comes to a stop about five feet away from the other fifth year girl. “It isn’t my fault the professor gave you detention. I even told him not to do!” It is with another loud sigh that Bailey shakes his head and decides, fine, that he can also play this game. Turning sharply, he puts his back to his teammate and crosses his arms over his broom.

“Leave me alone, guyth, I have to go to practithe,” Boyce tells some heckling classmates as he makes his way out to the pitch, still pulling on his sweater over his practice robes. “Go inthide, guyth. It’th raining anyway. You can’t watch.” The boy shakes his head and makes his way out to the pitch carefully, buttoning up a sweater lopsided and coming to stand near Tegan and Bailey. “Hi, guyth,” he greets them and stands in between them, looking from one to the other, seemingly oblivious to the tension between the two.

Like his usual self, David is totally oblivious to the little sentimental drama occuring in front of him. The boy walks the last few meters to where the other players are standing, holding his broom over the shoulder and whistling lightly. “I hope the rain won’t start to fall more heavily, that’d be too bad.” he remarks casually, before looking at his broom and noticing a twig that is oddly out of place. “Ah, darn it…” he swears, before putting it back in place.

“I’m sure we’ll practice anyhow,” Laney responds with a chuckle and a bit of an eyeroll. “After all, it wouldn’t be the first time Quidditch was played in the pouring rain. Mind the time we played last year and it was torrential?” Laney pauses. “‘Course, I was only second string then, so of course it doesn’t matter, does it?” Glancing over her shoulder to see if Noémie is approaching, Laney looks a bit pleased that the captain has not heard her say this. She does push her eyeglasses back up on her face and run a hand down over her hair while she glances around. “Will you two just stop already? It’s so annoying.”

Hearing only the last bit of what Laney has said, Noémie strides out to the pitch, stretching a bit. “Hello, everyone,” she greets her team and looks at them all silently for a moment. “Alright, today, as you can tell, it’s raining. It’s good practice, in case it’s stormy the day we play Gryffindor. So, Gryffindor’s team is better this year, it looks like, so we need to work harder this year. I’d like to do a sort of a scrimmage. You chasers, up there, running plays and taking shots on Laney. Don’t give me that look, Laney, you need the practice before the match. And then, Tegan, I want you to take out that modified practice bludger and hit it among the chasers here so that you can get some practice with your aim. Please don’t kill anyone and don’t aim only at Bailey. I mean it. Alright, In the air. Let’s do a couple of laps first. The practice balls are down over there,” Noémie points to a box nearby on the pitch. “Just get them out after we’re done. I’m going to be working with the practice snitch.”

Smiling at most of her teammates (This doesn’t include Bailey of course) Tegan nods to Noémie. “No killing…. stick to hitting Bailey…. check.” Well she got it half right at least. The fifth year girl hops over her broom and speeds off into the air quickly to get her two laps in, which is hard to do with raindrops spattering about your face and eyes but she eventually manages it. When she comes in for a landing to get her bat and practice bludger she slips up just a bit getting herself muddy here and there while the rain threatens to undo her tightly woven bun of hair.

Flying first, right-o! Quickly getting onto his broom, Boyce takes off slowly — after all, bad things happen when he tries to start too quickly — and begins to make his way around the pitch. It takes him a full lap, but after the first lap, Boyce manages to speed up a bit, gaining speed even more after a third lap. After his third lap, he comes to hover in the center of the pitch, looking at the other Chasers, who have likely beat him into the center of the pitch. “Alright, we’re trying to thcore, right?” he comments, cringing a bit as his lisp is quite loud and apparent.

“A scrimmage? Nice.” David says, hoping on his broom and taking off to do his two laps, following Tegan. The first lap goes well, but as soon as David begins his second lap, the broom begins to wobble slightly. At first, the boy does not really notice it; when he finally does, he dismisses the thought and thinks it is the wind, or his imagination. Yet the landing after the practice laps is a bit harder to manage, and David inspects the broom for a few instants, his eyebrows quirked, but nothing seems to be out of order. “Strange…” he mutters.

Laney gets onto her broom and, pausing a moment before she takes off, she glances around. Sigh, she does not need practice that badly, no matter what the stinking captain says. The girl is up on her broom, though, before she can allow herself to say anything snarky to the girl with whom she should at least put a little effort into getting along. Swerving hard to avoid David as his broom begins to wobble, Laney scoffs a bit and flies one more lap, having passed the boy, likely, due to his broom trouble. After all, she hasn’t passed him up often in the past. No matter, however, as Laney soon finishes and wastes no time in flying straight up to the hoops. “Alright, I’m ready when you all are,” she tells them all and resituates herself on her broom.

Cringing as Tegan makes this comment, Bailey hangs back a bit, letting Tegan and some of the others take the lead so that he does not have to be near the girl with whom he is now not speaking. After all, two could play at that game. “You alright, mate?” he calls down to David after he has finished two laps of his own and looks concerned as he glances down at his fellow chaser. Bailey is obviously not concerned enough to come down, however, and stays up on his broom, nearly level with Boyce, though a small distance from the boy.

Making her own three laps quickly, Noémie is soon finished and flies down to the practice box to take out her practice snitch, letting it go before she even notices David. “Mildred, get back up there and get going. If you’re having trouble with your broom, just use a school broom,” She tells him, and is quickly back on her broom and up in the air. Clearly, Noémie isn’t in the mood to dilly-dally today. This is further exemplified by the fact that she hardly lets the snitch out of her sight before she has swiftly caught it again. This time, letting it go, however, she lets it disappear from her sight before she begins to fly around in pursuit of it. Despite it being gold, the little orb is certainly difficult to see with the rain.

“You’d be better off flying a broken broom David!” Calls out Tegan playfully as she releases the practice bludger into the air only to dodge aside quickly as it comes rushing back down to her. She climbs onto her broom and makes her way into the air again grinning for the first time at Baily, it’s a menacing sort that says payback time’. The bludger comes rocketing up at her again and she deflects it away waiting for her team mates to rise as well.

“Ah, well, it’s probably my imagination.” David says, walking up to the Quidditch box and taking the Quaffle out of it. He puts it under his arm and hops back on his broom. With a firm kick on the ground, he flies up in the air, and starts to look around to see where the bludgers are. Seeing nothing, he throws the Quaffle at Bailey and flies towards the goal post.

Grabbing at the Quaffle as it is tossed to him, Bailey manages to catch it only by the tips of his fingers, and this throws him off a bit. “Don’t you hit me, Tegan!” he calls to his girlfriend — or is she? — as he flies quickly, making his way over toward the goal posts. Giving the Quaffle a mighty hurl, he ducks down a bit, aiming the red ball at Boyce, with only a glance over his shoulder to aim. It isn’t much of a throw, but it ought to get itself all the way to Boyce.

“Oof!” Boyce calls as the Quaffle does get to him, and in fact collides with his stomach. “Careful!” he calls out to the older boy, but it doesn’t take him long to figure out that he probably ought to be practicing rather than talking, and takes off after his teammates. Flying as quickly as he can manage, Boyce realizes just a moment too late that he probably ought to know better than to get his broom going this fast, as he begins to lose control. Chucking the Quaffle up in the air, he doesn’t even pay attention to whether he has thrown it to one of his teammates, instead focussing on getting control of his broom. He does manage this, but only after it is too late for him to catch the quaffle. One of his teammates will have to do it.

Watching carefully as the boys make their way toward her, Laney bites her lip, putting her hands up. What are they doing? That couldn’t possibly be a play. Not a very good one, at least. “Come on, stop fooling around!” she calls, shaking her head. Taking her spectacles off, she wipes them off, and then draws her wand, casting impervious, and a sticking charm as well on them before putting them back onto her face. Hoping the rain won’t make it more difficult for her charm to stick, Laney watches more closely what the chasers are doing, hoping to be able to see a real play going on, rather than the mess that she thinks she sees.

A shrill laugh comes from Tegan hearing her boyfriend on the rocks beg her not to hit him. As the bludger returns it looks as though she just may but instead the Bludger is knocked toward David with minimal ferocity. After all Noémie did tell her not to kill anyone. “You’re next Bailey so get your butt in gear and get flying!”

“What are you doing, folks?” David yells from his vantage point, as he observes the two other chasers. He was waiting for them to approach the goal hoops and try to score a point, but apparently, something else is going on in their minds. Deciding that he should rather try to catch the Quaffle, he starts to dive slightly to pick up speed and flies in the direction of the red ball. At this moment, the characteristic buzz of the Bludger results in David losing his concentration. He misses the Quaffle, not by much, and curses as he tries to avoid the Bludger. Fortunately, the Bludger loses his lock on him after a while and goes back towards Tegan. David turns sharply, but feels that he needs to put more force than usual on his broom handle. “Uh oh, it’s not starting again?” he says to himself, a little worried.

“I don’t know what you’re doing, folks, but I’m flying!” Bailey retorts quickly, turning and looking over his shoulder at David again. Spotting that the Quaffle has been missed, he dives low and quick, narrowly missing Noémie as she flies by. “Watch it!” he calls, though not in a malicious way. The Quaffle is almost to the ground by the time he gets his hands on it, but he manages a solid catch before it falls completely onto the pitch. Flying back upward quickly, the boy tosses it to Boyce again. “Careful this time!” he calls to the younger boy. “You ready, David?” to the other.

“Ah… yes, I am!” David yells, coming out of his turn, and preparing himself to catch the Quaffle should Bailey toss it to him. Quickly, his eyes scan the field to see where everybody is currently, especially the Beaters. “It’s when you want, Bailey!” he adds, finally, and he starts to fly a nice linear trajectory.

As the bludger makes it’s way back to Tegan she knocks it without much reserve for safety at Bailey as promised. “Keep your eye on the ball!” She says zooming quickly to another vantage point down pitch as the bludger flies toward it’s intended target. She’s not bitter…. honestly. Tegan readies her bat in her grip for when the bludger makes it’s return.

Boyce has managed to get his broom under control, and he is quite ready for the throw when it comes to him. He catches it quite easily and rather than tossing it to someone else, makes his escape for the hoops, especially as the bludger has been hit at Bailey instead of himself. Boyce finds it very easy to get to the hoops and having approached them, rears back and makes a hard shot to the left-most hoop. The shot isn’t a fantastic one, but it has a good bit of speed on it, and Boyce looks quite proud of himself, as he looks back at his fellow chasers momentarily, quickly turning to fly back down the pitch in order to try at it again as a team — hopefully with less broom issues.

As the Quaffle is thrown to the hoop, Laney makes a dive, but, not being quite as prepared for their approach as she thought she was, she falls just short, and while the Quaffle does not go through the hoop, she does not manage to catch it either. Flying down to catch it before it makes its way all the way down to the ground, Laney flies back up quickly, tossing the Quaffle forward, directly at David. “Come again now,” she calls to them, reseating herself on the broom so that she might better be prepared for the next one.

Flying about, Noémie scoffs as Bailey makes this comment to her, and he nearly prevents her from getting her hand on the practice snitch. “Watch where you’re going if it’s so much trouble to you, Bailey,” the captain calls but she doesn’t wait long down near the ground where she has caught the snitch to dwell on this. Releasing it again, she watches the happenings for a moment, applauding as Boyce makes an attempt at a shot. “Good try!” she tells both — or it is at least not clear to which of them she is speaking — and then turns her attention back to her own task, making her way upward, far around where the action is taking place and peering out in the rain for the tiny golden snitch.

“Augh!” Bailey calls, ducking quickly before the practice Bludger tries to take his head off. “Watch it with that thing!” This is yelled congenially, however, without any malice apparent. Perhaps the practice will end up being therapuetic for his girlfriend and he will be able to spend time with her again without fear for his health. “Alright, give it here, David!” Bailey calls as he flies down toward where Boyce has gone to, evening up with the boy to a degree while he watches David. “Is your broom still alright?”

David Mildred lets out one last curse but manages to catch the Quaffle this time. He keeps it under his arm as he continues to fly forwards. The slight buffeting on his broom seems to stop, and David turns his head towards Bailey, a bit relieved. “Yeah, well… the broom is a bit tough to steer, I guess it needs some serviceing.” David says to him. “Catch this one!” he adds with a grin, before throwing him the Quaffle, doing the pass from behind his back. Immediately after, he does a hard turn right to go back towards the goal hoops.

Tegan‘s glare softens a bit seeing as how she very nearly gave her boyfriend a concussion, she says nothing though not wanting to make it look as though she was sorry about it or anything. Seeing David catch the Quaffle Tegan waits for the bludger to return and when it does she again hits it lightly toward the fourth year only to see him pass it himself. “Watch yourself Mildred! Worry about that broom after you land!”

Hearing the characteristic buzz of the Bludger coming at him, David performs a series of evasive manoeuvres. For a moment, that seems to do the trick, but the Bludger suddenly resumes his course towards him. David frowns, and decides to make another sharp turn with the intent of having the Bludger overshoot him. Unfortunately, the broom decides, at this very moment, to refuse any movement. David lets out yet another curse and performs a roll as his last resort, thus narrowly escaping the Bludger. “Darn it, darn it, darn it…” he says, when he is back upright. “I really need to have that broom looked over.”

Grabbing at the Quaffle, Bailey flies forward, the ball tucked under his arm carefully while he maneuvers through the rain. “Get it!” he calls, and though he doesn’t attatch a name to this command, the ball goes flying toward Boyce as he flies downward for a moment, and then back up, headed straight toward Laney, though he is still a good distance from her. Bailey‘s broom seems to be the only one of those the chasers are riding today that is in good condition and he even brakes quickly and turns to look over his shoulder, propelling himself forward and out of the way of the hoops so that David and Boyce may make their way inward.

Watching as David is also nearly brained by her bludger Tegan cries out “Sorry David!” and being completely distracted by the bad flying broom Tegan is hit in the side by her own bludger. Luckily it was a light blow but it still managed to knock that horribly ugly bun in her hair loose letting it fall again over her shoulders soaked in the rain. Tegan shakes some of the hair from her face and turns to hit the bludger this time not at any of the chaser but at the Quaffle itself.

Leaning out to catch the Quaffle, it is a good thing that Boyce has his ankles hooked onto the broom, else he may have ended up sliding clear upside down from the reach he has done. Turning to throw, Boyce flies forward, waiting a moment before he tosses the Quaffle to David. After all, he must make sure the boy can move first. Affirming that he can, Boyce makes his toss, “Here you go! Make the thot!” he calls, his lisp not carrying as well as someone else’s voice might.

Flying up and around Boyce as he stops, Noémie doesn’t say a word about the yelling, or even the fact that it is unlikely that he would have time to stop in a game. Instead, Noémie spots the little orb upon which her attention has been fixed for the entire afternoon. Flying upward, Noémie speeds up, following it closely, but never getting quite close enough to catch it. Seeing it turn, she bears a hard right and reaches her arm out, managing to close her fingers around it. This will be the last time she does this during this practice, though, and she flies down to the pitch rather lazily, hopping off of her broom to watch the rest of the team continue on their progress. She’ll stop them soon.

“Hmmgn.” David mutters, as he tries to “unlock” his broom after having recovered from his roll. The broom doesn’t budge for a while, and David tries harder. “Hgnn, will you move, stupid broom!” he yells, shaking the handle to no avail, but suddenly, the broom resumes his motion and David is pushed backwards by the acceleration. “Ahh!” he yells, taken by surprise, and he needs a couple of second to readjust, just in time to catch the Quaffle.

Realizing that the Bludger was actually after the Quaffle, David hurriedly decides to pass it to someone else. “Bailey! Catch it!” he yells, and throws it to the other boy.

Grabbing the Quaffle that has been sent his way, Bailey quickly decides that now is the most opportune time to make a shot. Quickly flying in, he lobs the Quaffle toward the middle and highest hoop. He leans back a bit, flying upward in order to see better where his shot goes, and then glances over to David. “Might want to get down to the ground with that troublesome broom!” he tells his teammate, and then turns to look at the goal, just in time to see what happens.

More prepared this time for the shot, though not by much, Laney throws her arms up in the air, standing up on the stand of her broom, her heels hooked into it. She manages to tip the Quaffle away from the hoops, and though she doesn’t catch it, this is enough to block the Quaffle from going into the goal. Laney looks quite proud of herself as she sits back down onto her broom happily and glances at the rest of them. She is about to shout to them to get on it again, when she hears, “Bring it in!” hollered from below.

Watching as her Bludger chases the Quaffle even as it is tossed to the hoop only hitting it after it’s been blocked and then bounces away. “Bullocks!” Says Tegan with a sigh. “I didn’t hit that one hard enough to stop the score.” Tegan holds onto her bat ready to deflect the angry looking failed bludger as it returns. Though when told to bring it in she instead makes a catch and wrestles the practice bludger under and arm and comes in for a landing to return it to it’s box.

Boyce hears the same as Laney has, and wastes no time putting his broom into motion again, coming down to land on the pitch. “Good practice!” he calls and wipes some rain off of his hair which had been threatening to drip into his face. “I’ll score yet, I will. I promise.” Grinning and swinging his broom over his shoulder, Boyce waits for Noémie to make her statements to them while he tries to wring himself out a bit, for all the good it does since it is still raining quite heavily.

Flying down to land after Boyce, Laney rolls her eyes. “Don’t count on it,” she tells him and laughs a bit. She doesn’t say much else, though, waiting instead for Noémie to debrief and let them know just how many practices she is to subject them to over the course of the week.

Making his own way down to the ground, Bailey lands rather close to Tegan. He doesn’t stand as close as he usually might, keeping just enough distance from her so that it doesn’t seem too obvious that he’s about to ask her to accompany him to some secluded area around the school. He, too, only waits for the captain to give down her verdict as the team all gets down to the ground near where she has been standing for he doesn’t know how long.

“Yes, I’d better land soon” David says, nodding at Bailey. Fortunately, the broom follows his orders as he approaches the ground and touches down. “That was some practice, huh?” he says to his fellow chasers as he unmounts his broom. “I’ll give it to the broom flying instructor tomorrow, perhaps we could do something about it. It’s getting a bit too late tonight, I think. It’s strange… I flew that broom yesterday without any problem…” David says, obviously lost in his thoughts. A good thing he managed to come back to the ground without causing any major accident…

“Alright, good practice everyone. We’re going to practice again later, after supper, and I’ve arranged for a teacher to be out here with us so nobody need fear that we’re breaking any rules. Mildred, get your broom tuned up. You’re not to ride that broom until it’s fixed. You’ll have to use one of the school brooms in the meantime. Gardener, you’d best get yours tuned up, too; it appears to malfunction a little when you speed up. Alright, everyone get dried off, have some supper and then I’ll see you back out here an hour or so after dinner’s over so that we can resume practice. I want us to have the best edge possible against Gryffindor. Alright, see you all later,” Noémie tells the others, putting her practice snitch back into the box and leaving it there on the pitch, apparently so that is is there for their practice after dinner, and walking off of the pitch.

Trotting over to where the Quaffle has dropped, Laney grabs it up and plops it into the box. She goes the way of Noémie and trots off of the pitch, taking only a moment to stow her broom away in the Broom Shed before running into the school, hoping rather hard that the caretaker won’t spot her in all her drippy-wet glory.

Having wrangled the bludger while she was still in the air, Tegan has an easy time carying it over to where the box is and securing it in. It being only a practice bludger, as well, it has quite a bit less fight to it. Soon enough Tegan is walking slowly toward the broom shed and just as she goes in, she glances over at Bailey, who seems to have followed her. This time, not a sneer, but a smile erupts and it is clear that whatever anger she’d had before is now gone.

The smile has given Bailey confidence and he wastes no time in following Tegan off after depositing his broom off. The two of them are soon vanished from the pitch and from sight, theoretically off to their commonroom to study and to tidy up for supper, but those who know them likely know better than this.

Nodding to Noémie as she instructs him to have his broom tuned up, Boyce seems to jump a little. “Thankth!” he tells her cheerfully and trots to the broom shed, putting his own broom away. The stout boy is dripping quite heavily, as his sweater has absorbed a good amount of rain, but he doesn’t seem to mind, aside from the sloshing, as he makes his way into the school, presumably to get into some clothes that are actually dry.

are here.

Making her way out from the broom shed, Noemie carries quite a few Quaffles, haphazardly kicking one out to the pitch as she drops it. The girl doesn’t apper to be used to carrying quite so many of these without the aid of a bag or something similar, but she manages as she drops them all near the edge of the pitch, glancing around to see if anyone has showed up yet. Finding that nobody has, as yet, she makes one more trip back, returning with a Quaffle she had dropped as well as her broom. Despite it being afternoon, it is still quite cool outside, and though she knows she won’t need it later, Noemie pulls a sweater on over her quidditch robes. It wouldn’t do to fall sick, after all.

Tegan Madison stalks her way out on the quidditch pitch in threatening silence. Stalk, perhaps, being a rather generious word for the action. Though her movements are quiet, fluid, and even graceful, and her expression seems mild enough, the narrowed cast of her eyes and the tightness of her fingers gripping the handles of her broom and bat carry the presence of her anger like a thunderclap.

The trail from the castle to the Quidditch pitch is fairly straight, but Laney Abbott still manages to meander down it as she makes her way towards practice, her dreamy bespectacled eyes focused on something far off in the distance. Her winding path takes her close enough to one of the edges of the gate to the pitch that her broom bristles knock against it, startling Laney back to reality with a fluttering blink as her broom jerks on her shoulder. Her plump cheeks, already slightly flushed from the autumnal chill, go even pinker, and she mumbles an embarrassed, “Hullo, Captain,” as she hurries past Noémie onto the pitch.

“Teg– Oh, come on,” Bailey calls as he pauses at the edge of the pitch. “I didn’t do anything. You’re being impossible.” The boy sighs and crosses his arms over his broom, rolling his eyes. Girls could be so dramatic. “Do we really need that many Quaffles, Noémie? I mean, I know you aren’t a chaser or anything, but I would have thought that you of all people would’ve understood how the game works…” Ah, always time for the ill-advised quip.

“And then th’e thaid I could come in after practithe and work on it. I’ll th’ee you then, alright?” Boyce bids farewell to his comrade as he makes his way out to where everyone else is gathering. “I th’pothe we thould have our broomth?” he comments, pausing. He is the only one who appears not to have his. It is a moment while he trots over to the broom shed and then makes his way back out. This takes longer than it might someone else, because Boyce has not yet hit his growth spurt, and is, in fact, quite short still.

Riley Markham follows some ten steps or so behind Tegan, and near Bailey. His broom draped across his shoulders and his wrists hanging over it, Riley regards Williams with a lofted brow. As they reach the pitch, however, and Bailey attempts to swallow his shoe, Riley ultimately decides distance might be the wisest option. Walking beside a man who had one upper-classwoman mad at him was dangerous, but amusing. Standing next to one who might draw the ire of two would be to implicate himself in the snark remark and write his death sentance. No, no. Already done that once this year. Not again. Moving toward the quaffles, Riley widens his eyes a little, finding it rather difficult to believe that Bailey didn’t do anything. At least, unintentionally. As usual, he seems oblivious to the weather, though he does appear rather pale. His clothes are loose and baggy and customarily wrinkled.

“Hullo, Laney,” Noemie greets the girl, giving Tegan a curious glance as she, too approaches. “Something wrong, again?” the captain asks quietly and shakes her head while the boys, too, make their way to the pitch. “Hi, everyone — stuff it Bailey,” Noemie greets them all, while setting her broom down and picking up a quaffle. “Alright, here’s the deal. Today, you beaters are going to use these quaffles instead of bludgers, and you’re going to work on your aim. We’re going to go up in the air, and you’re going to hit these one at a time to each of the chasers, and Laney as well. I want you to change it up. The Chasers and Laney will work on their agility while you work on your aim. Please at least try to aim, alright?” Noemie asks, a pleading tone to her voice. “Boyce and David go to Riley’s side, Laney and Bailey to Tegan’s. Alright, let’s see if you can’t run this smoothly. I’m going to be chasing this practice snitch. Holler if you need me.” Without another word, Noemie mounts her broom and ascends, releasing the practice snitch and pausing just a moment to let it get ahead of her before she follows it upward.

Tegan Madison had been debating between either continuing to ignore Bailey’s pleas, or turning about letting him have a rather solid piece of her mind. Either way would ensure a satisfactory amount of suffering on Bailey’s part, which she rather felt he deserved. Especially if he didn’t realize what it was he had done wrong! To Noémie’s question, she parts her lips to respond, but finds the captain has already gone on to meat of the practice. Huffing a bit, and wondering why Noémie had even bothered to ask the question if she were just going to go on, Tegan can’t help but smirk as Noémie shares the nature of the practice. “’bout time,” she says, not-entirely-quietly, as her gaze falls on Riley. She was feeling quite catty, indeed.

A passing leaf, a chilly breeze, a stray idea, a fluttering bit of unruly reddish hair – each of these things command Laney‘s attention for a few seconds at a time, throughout the captain’s speech. She hardly looks at Noémie at all, and it might appear that she isn’t even listening, but Laney nods at the end, and heads directly over towards Bailey and Tegan as instructed. She directs another dreamy smile up at her teammates, including both of them in the vague friendliness, then swings her broom down off her shoulder and climbs onto it. Up into the air she goes, and flies with a slightly startling directness to a position about halfway down the field, where she hovers, waiting for the others.

Alright, time to show his mettle! Boyce wastes no time in hopping on his broom, though it does not go quite so smoothly as he would like, and he wobbles a bit. The boy manages to catch his balance again and flies up, taking his place up where he assumes Riley will be, and he glances around, waiting for everyone else to situate themselves. If nothing else, the boy gets points for sheer enthusiasm while he gets himself better situated on his broom.

Riley Markham simply groans — not unlike he’d been punched in the stomach. This was bound to be a rough practice. Tegan’s words and glance spark a hint of challenge in the boy, however, as he swings his broom off his shoulder, mounts it, and kicks off in nearly one motion. He found himself getting rather annoyed by Tegan’s attitude. Even on those rare times she had complimented him, she seemed condescending. He was improving, damn it. He hadn’t knocked a teammate off a broom unintentionally since the second practice. Turning his attention to Boyce and David, he nods to each of them once in the air, to signal that he was ready to begin.

Cringing a bit as Noémie informs him that he will be working with Tegan for the entirety of this practice, Bailey decides that it would be in his best interest not to flirt aimlessly with Laney today. Had he done that to get Tegan mad at him? No, likely not. Still and all, the boy mounts his broom and flies upward, giving a slight glance to Riley before he watches Tegan, waiting for her signal. Perhaps he’ll let Laney go first. That would give him time to try to apologize, at least. Well, theoretically.

Rolling her eyes, Noemie doesn’t seem in the mood for drama as she zooms up ward quickly and manages to close her hand around the snitch easily. Perhaps she ought to have made it a bit more difficult for herself. After all, at games, she would have to contend with bludgers and quaffles and the reality that she’s got to keep an eye on her team. At the moment, this does not seem to concern the girl, however, and she lets the snitch go again, waiting several moments this time for the snitch to escape her vision while she watches the team get organized.

Seeming somewhat pleased with herself for Riley’s reaction, Tegan mounts her broom and kicks off, seating herself in the air relatively even to her fellow beater. Preparing herself and giving her bat a few test swings, she nods her okay to Laney and Bailey. She was ready.

Waiting a moment until Riley gives him the go-ahead, Boyce flies out as quickly as he can propel his broom to go. This, however, proves to be a bit dangerous because as he turns to look where the Quaffle is going to come, his broom skids and he ends up flying backwards a bit rather than stopping. Perhaps next time, he won’t make such a quick take-off. It takes him a moment before the broom slows down enough so that he can right himself enough to catch the quaffle, but Boyce does not appear down-trod or embarrassed. If anything, the boy just looks more determined.

For the first time, Laney looks directly at Bailey, hovering in place watching him as she waits for him to go first. And then, for the first time, uncertainty makes its way onto her dreamy face, as she registers Bailey’s posture: slightly behind her, hands motionless on his broom. The plump little Keeper swallows, and waits for a second more, as if to make absolutely sure…and then she floats forward, Quaffle in hand. Laney sends the ball towards Tegan in a quick, overhand throw – but hesitation weakens the force behind it, and even though Laney‘s aim isn’t bad, the Quaffle might not have enough momentum to carry it all the way to Tegan.

“Any catch is a good catch, mate,” Riley calls over Boyce, before drawing up another quaffle, taking fairly careful aim, and clubbing it at David. It goes a bit wide and to the right, but compative to his previous year’s attempt at accuracy, it’s a noteworthy improvement. David fetches it easily enough. A few throws happen between the two of them, with Riley batting away the want-to-be bludgers back at David until he actually strikes a score by hitting the very hand that David had thrown the quaffle with. Smirking to himself, and bolstered a little by that success, he shifts his gaze to Boyce after flagging David back.

Shrugging at Laney as she finally makes her way out, Bailey glances at Tegan. “She’s an odd one, wouldn’t you say?” he comments quietly to his girlfriend. He waits a moment for an answer, but not being very hopeful starts tossing his quaffle back and forth from hand to hand. He waits until Laney has cleared the way before he flies out in pursuit of a good catch of his own, which Tegan will hopefully not hit too far past him. He is not hopeful however, as he flies out at an angle, glancing over his shoulder from time to time to see where she is aiming.

Tegan Madison regards Laney, almost curiously, as her broom drifts toward the nicely arched, but weakly thrown quaffle, catching it with the end of her bat and tossing it straight in to the air in order to aim and direct it (in the general direction of Bailey’s chest, or possibly head — whichever gets in the way first). “It’ll need more power than that, Abbott!”

Flying back next to Riley, Boyce watches as David goes his turn. “He’th better’n me,” the boy comments quietly. “Do you think it’ll matter if I mith thometimeth? I don’t have much practithe.” The boy seems rather unsure of himself today, which isn’t like him. Though, he doesn’t seem to be distraught or down-trod as yet. “I’m going to have to do more practitheth, I think.” Soon, it is his turn again, and he flies out, not quite so quickly this time at the start, tossing his quaffle back to Riley for his own shot. Turning a glance over his shoulder, Boyce watches as he waits for Riley’s shot to come back to him.

More used to blocking Quaffles than throwing them, Laney still looks slightly sheepish at her teammate’s reprimand. “Sorry,” she calls back, and actually drifts downwards a little as she hangs her head. But she can’t be distracted for too long, not when there is another Quaffle coming towards her. She blinks her bespectacled eyes, focusing in on the ball that Tegan has redirected towards her, and zips straight towards it, scooping it up easily in one hand. Another flicker of movement draws her attention for a moment – the Quaffle aimed at Bailey zooms just past her, and for a second, Laney almost moves towards it. But she has to leave that one for Bailey, and with a regretful little wrinkle of her nose, Laney keeps going. She hefts the Quaffle in her hand, and after another moment’s hesitation, tosses it back towards Tegan. There is a little more force behind it this time, but the neat arc of her first throw is gone – Laney‘s attempt to put more strength into her throw has made the ball’s trajectory straighter, and less graceful.

This time, the snitch proves more difficult to locate, and Noemie takes quite a bit longer to catch it. For several moments, she pauses, snitch in hand, and then releases it again. Once again, taking a moment to look at her team and their progress. For all intents and purposes, things seem to be running smoothly, and Noemie does not give this a second thought while she propels her broom forward again, flying downward steeply, just past the lot of chasers and beaters — and Laney — in pursuit, once again, of the practice snitch.

“Good on you, Laney,” Bailey calls anyway, as if she had done perfectly well in catching it. The Quaffle does manage to hit him in the head, however, and a loud yelp emits. “Good grief, Tegan!” he yells to her and rubs his head, managing to only barely catch the Quaffle in his fingertips. “To me, not AT me!” With a shake of his head, he flies back and tosses the Quaffle to Tegan, flying back outward again quickly. “Please be nice this time!” he calls and flies out quickly, careful to avoid Laney’s path as he makes his way outward again.

Tegan Madison almost grins at Bailey — obviously, having gotten some of her aggression out having down the dark-haired fifth year some good. She doesn’t have much time to savor her attack, as she notes Laney’s ball sailing toward her. Reaching up, she hardly more than taps it, making the quaffle mirror Laney’s first throw at her. A well aimed arch, but one that falls short, so that Laney might have to dive to grab it. Bailey’s quaffle is given the exact oppsite treatment, as she hits it hard and slightly wide to Bailey’s right side, far enough that if unstopped, it would land in the Slytherin stands. Slightly amused, she seems at least to be taking things a bit mroe seriously now.

Riley says, “Missing sometimes is part of the game, mate,” Riley calls back to the lisping third-year, as he lowers himself on his broom a little to catch the quaffle with the edge of his bat and send it back. Arching the ball more or less in the direction of his target, but perhaps twenty or so feet higher than Boyce’s arms could reach. “Keep at it, an’ you’ll do fine.” Contrary to what might be popular belief, he was the living example of that. Unless he really just got nervous or mad and clammed up, he seemed to handle his bat at least adiquettely. A far cry from his fist shot on the team.”

Flying fast and hard, it takes all of Bailey‘s might to catch the Quaffle that Tegan has hit to him, though the boy is quite pleased that at least he wasn’t struck with it this time. Gaining his balance again — for he was a bit unstable after the chance catch — he turns and flies back, nearly evening up with Tegan before he tosses the quaffle in her direction and flies out hard again, this time not looking over his shoulder until he is nearly as far out as he was when he caught it.

Much like Bailey’s Quaffle, the interaction between him and Tegan flies right past Laney – the sparks of hostility between the squabbling couple produce only a vaguely confused blink from the Keeper. Short, long, high, low – Laney is used to catching and blocking all kinds of shots, and she times her dive perfectly to intercept the Quaffle that Tegan has sent sailing towards her. She is not, however, used to having other people in close quarters with her when she’s doing it – Laney hesitates, pulling back to let Bailey go in front of her in pursuit of his Quaffle. And that throws off her timing – Laney has to scramble to catch up with her own rapidly-falling Quaffle, going into a steep, sharp dive to catch it before it falls too far towards the ground. But she does manage to scoop it up, and she manages to get her broom under control a few wobbling seconds later. Another player might have tried to throw the Quaffle all the way back up to Tegan from that position, but Laney plays it safer, delaying yet again as she soars back up until she is level with Tegan, and tosses the ball towards the Beater in a straight, easy line.

Canting her head a little, Tegan notes the small stop-gap in Laney’s flight. How she hesitated when Bailey got to close to her. Considering, and working the angles in her head, she reaches out with her free hand and catches Laney’s quaffle rather than hitting it back. Allowing her bat to slip from her hand and dangle from the leather strap about her wrist, as well, she then catches Bailey’s. This was supposed to be about agility, right. Glancing to make certain Noémie was watching, she lifts one quaffle and points it at Bailey meaningfully. Tossing it in the air and swinging her bat in to her hand, she knocks Bailey’s quaffle down and to her left, somewhat close to her. Then quickly pointing the other at Laney, she tosses it and send it sailing far, high, and to her own right. Hoping to force Laney and Bailey to cross paths in the air again as they move to fetch their balls.

“But Mithing meanth the other team can get it,” Boyce comments before he flies out straight ahead. He hasn’t a moment before he spots the Quaffle again, but this time, he is forced to speed up faster than he would usually like. Soon Boyce begins to lose his balance again and though he is quite unsteady, he does manage to get hold of the Quaffle. He does not fly back in straight away, however, pausing out in the air, trying to get control over his broom again.

It takes a good long time before Noemie is able to spot the practice snitch again, and instead of letting her catch it, this time, it decides to make chase. The girl is quick on her broom, but as it descends sharply, she is forced into a dive — her least favorite part of being Seeker. Even the injuries are more favorable to her. She descends quickly, quickly, and pulls out of the dive just short of where the snitch has gone level and begun to ascend again. This move has, for once, worked to her advantage as she manages to close her fingers around the little orb. “Alright, bring it in everyone! Catch your quaffles and come down!” Noemie, for her own part, flies down to land, looking up to watch them all wrap up.

“That true, Riley conceeds, waiting for Boyce to throw the quaffle back at him while David finishes rubbing his hand. “But we learn from our mistake, no? We learn what not to do again. If you miss but learn how not to miss like that again, then it’s promised fer a score fer later, eh?” Riley Markham, amateur philosopher. As Noémie blows the whistle, however, he offers Boyce a small shrug. “We can practice together later, eh?” And in a lazy arch, he spirals his way slowly to the ground, leaping off his broom while his feet are still some ten feet above the ground.

At first, all that Laney sees is her own Quaffle. Fixed on it with something very different from her usual vague, dreamy look, the Keeper flies swiftly up, heading directly towards it. Only when she is halfway there, though, does she see that Bailey’s Quaffle is also heading directly towards it. Forced to break one of the cardinal rules, Laney takes her eye off the ball – she glances behind her, judging with a quick, cautious look how far away Bailey is, and where he is going. While she hesitates, her Quaffle reaches the peak of its arc and starts to fall again, crossing paths with Bailey’s once more. If she waits any longer, Laney will either lose the ball or be forced to fly even closer to Bailey than she already is – so she gulps, clutches her broom a little more tightly, and dives for it. The course of her flight takes her just barely outside the path that Bailey will take, if Laney has judged the angles correctly, and a slight sideways jog gives her an extra foot or two, just to be safe. Hardly daring to look behind her now, Laney reaches out – and grabs the ball with a grin of triumph and relief. And down she goes, flying safely towards the ground again, as the practice draws to its close.

Bailey has over-shot how far Tegan would hit it this time in his estimate, and he is forced to turn hard and dive down to catch his Quaffle. This time, he is not successful, even in a haphazard catch, and the Quaffle falls to the ground. This does not seem to phase Bailey much, though, and he flies down to the ground, landing near to Noémie, though his attention is more toward the girl up above him in the sky. Pity she was wearing trousers.

Tegan Madison watches the results of her handywork with a pleased expression — though she does look slightly remorseful as Bailey misses his catch. No matter how mad she is, or how well he takes failures, she’d always prefer see him success. A clear sign that clubbing him with a quaffle had at least proved somewhat cathatic. Once Laney has gotten her ball, Tegan makes her way down to the ground. Nothing fancy. Just a simple, easy dive. She does land next near Bailey, however, giving him a straightfoward but not unkind look that notes quite plainly she knew what he was thinking.

Making his own way down to the ground, Boyce is glad just to have managed to get himself balanced again. He lands next to Noémie and looks up at her for a moment. Well, her name was a pleasure, since it didn’t accent his lisp, but her height did make him feel rather stout. “Good practithe, everyone,” he comments quietly, shrugging at everyone, though looking in particular at Laney, as if trying to discern which of them is taller.

“Good practice, yes,” Noemie agrees and smiles at her team. “I’ll see you all tomorrow. Remember, we’ve got that game against Gryffindor coming up. I’m sure we can manage some good practice so that we’ll have our usual edge back!” With this, Noemie turns, grabbing up as many of the excess quaffles as she can, and strides over to the broom shed and out of sight. Clearly, she seems to have somewhere else to be.

The pitch is decorated on this warm, sunny afternoon with two obstacle courses, one on the ground and one in the air. The courses are different, the bottom with snares and traps for tripping, as well as obstacles to run through and dodge, while the top has gates to fly through and practice bludgers flying in unpredictable paths in and around them. Noémie is already on the pitch, and appears to have already got beads of sweat on her forehead while she finishes up one last lap and comes to a stop in the center of the pitch, wiping her brow and glancing around. Nobody yet. The prefect does not look worried as yet, though, at the lack of people who have yet shown up for the tryouts. After all, they aren’t scheduled to begin for five minutes yet.

Laney Abbott is a rather pear-shaped fifth year girl with strawberry blonde hair held back by black ribbons and a pair of spectacles that rest on the end of her nose, giving her a somewhat oddly stern appearance. Holding her own broom, a custom model but obviously some number of years old, she approaches the pitch in a throng of other Ravenclaw Quidditch hopefuls, some of whom have gone so far as to bring their own beater bats and one boy is wearing a complete set of navy robes and protective gear, talking about how this is his last chance to make the team–and catch the Captain’s eye. Laney’s lower lip juts out a bit at this, and her stride lengthens as much as it can, given her somewhat short legs.

Tremendously reluctance in each and every step, Riley Markham practically drags himself out on to the pitch, and in to general striking distance of Noémie. Noémie, who wouldn’t listen to a damn thing he said, no matter how adminantly he’d attempted to appologize for the incident at Sorting. Maybe if I show up early, I could talk to her, he reasoned. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Now, though, the prospect frightened the ever-loving cripes out of him. Lifting his scarred, left hand (beater bat dangling from his wrist, he makes a meager wave to Noémie once she is in sight. Hoping to feel out her reaction to him before he opens his damned mouth. Perhaps the only notable knowledge to have come out of his time as a pariah inside of his own micro-family.

Among the first down to the pitch is a thin, bordering on weedy, boy, perhaps only in third year or thereabouts, and rather short for his age. His robes are ill-fitting, his grip on his broomstick borders on unnecessarily tight, and he bites his lip nervously. Boyce Gardener is not a happy camper. One of his fellow Ravenclaws also trying out for the team nudges him, offering, “Boyce, kid, what /are/ you doing here?” “T-trying out for the team? Thame ath everyone elthe here.” “What position /for/? You’re too teeny to do anything but Seek, and we have a Seeker.” “I could be a Chather, alright? I’m thmall enough that I can dodge Bludgerth and thtuff, okay?” “Yeah, but you’ll also miss the Quaffle all the time.” “I will not. My big thithter thayth I can catch good.” Poor kid.

David Mildred comes last on the pitch, following the members of last year’s team as well as the few hopefuls who have decided to come to the tryouts. David is silent, and nods at Riley and Neomie as he spots them on the pitch. He walks to them, and stops, waiting for the instructions. Over his shoulder, he holds his Moontrimmer, which is not as new as it has been two years ago but which has been looked after well.

“Welcome, everybody, to this year’s tryouts!” The team captain says loudly to stop some of the chatter. No specific greeting is given to anyone, least of all her cousin, though she does nod cordially at everyone who approaches. “Good turn-out this year, I see! I’m glad! Alright, to start, I’ll have you all do two laps, around the whole pitch, /running/ just to get your bodies warmed up for this first obstacle course, which will be for agility. The second will be for your agility in the air. But, first things first, let’s have two laps out of all of you. You first years, there, you. Yes, you. If you’re going to try out, you’ll need to put the sweets away and pay attention, or else I’m going to ask you to leave.” Watching for a moment as the first years comply and discreetly tuck their bags of sweets away, Noémie turns without another word and begins to trot around the pitch in pursuit of her own two laps.

Laney Abbott needlessly brushes a few strands of loose hair out of her face and gently sets down her broom. “Lovely, running,” she mutters under her breath, adjusting her spectacles and then pointing at them with her wand and murmuring a spell, evidently to fix them in place, as they don’t slip as she begins her laps. Granted, she isn’t exactly possessed of running prowess, and quickly is passed by many if not all of the others, red in the face but not laboring too hard.

“Okay. Let’s do it!” David says, putting his broom on the grass and beginning to jog away, for his first lap. The pitch is rather large, and running around it is not that pleasant, especially if you have never done it before. Despite the holidays, David finds it relatively easy to pick up with Noémie’s pace, and follow her nicely.

“Running?” Boyce echoes, looking around at his fellow hopefuls, most of whom are considerably bigger than him. “Why do we have to run? We won’t ever have to do that in a game, will we?” He remains clinging to his broom for a moment, as though it is a security blanket of some sort, though after a moment he carefully and reluctantly sets it down, beginning his running at a sort of odd gait, the half-skip, half-run of someone who learned to run by chasing after other people who are considerably stronger and with much longer legs. As such, it’s not a very economical run, but he’s surprisingly agile.

Riley Markham allows his broom to fall to the grass with a dull sigh. Running. And she barely looked at him. Damn it all. Chucking his bat to the turf in an off-handed way, he draws a deep breath and starts to the task of jogging. A faint sweat creeping up on his tanned, yet somewhat pasty, forehead almost immediately. Maybe after he could talk to her — he’d just have to hold out, be good. Give her no reason to be angry. Which is a great thought, until about half way down, lost in thought, he bumps in to a second year and trips up on her, sending them both to the turf with a loud yelp. The awkwardness of the landing, his elbow catches the poor girl right in jaw, leaving a very nice bruise and an immediate welling on tears.

While Noémie takes her time, she is still one of the first ones done, though it does not appear to be for the same reason as she had hoped when she noticed she was near the front. Glancing back at the slower ones, she spies a small cluster of girls who have stopped. “Get the lead out,” she calls to them, and when they do not immediately beginning running again, she trots over. Gathering what has gone on, the girl shakes her head. “RILEY!” she bellows loudly and though she doesn’t say anything more, she does glance around for her cousin nearby. “You clumsy dolt,” she utters harshly to the boy and looks at the girl for a moment. “Go see Madam Wexler. She’ll get you fixed up, and then if you feel up to it, you can come back and join us.” A larger queue has gathered near where the brooms had been to begin with and Noémie only shakes her head at Riley while she heads back over in that direction, waiting for the rest of the hopefuls to gather.

Laney Abbott comes round to a close with only a few other people still going at all (having miss the scene with the second year and Riley entirely, being half across the pitch at the time), some of them jogging while the blonde huffs and puffs her way to a halt. “I…” wheeze, “hate… running.” As she spots the Seventh Year with an Eye for Noémie watching her (or maybe the girl who had walked the entire time while loudly lamenting the fact that she might get sweaty running around), Laney’s face drains of color and she remarks, “Just perfect,” while moving in the other direction in the crowd to retrieve her broom.

“Oh, damn, damn it all, are you alri–” Riley mutters, rolling on to knees, rubbing his elbow as he glances down at the crying second year — a child he doubles in length nearly twice over. Noémie’s loud cry of his name cuts his voice off in mid-word. Cringing, Riley scrambles to his feet, looking somewhat helpless. “Damn it,” he whispers, more at himself than to anyone else. Noémie’s insult cuts him, and his almost immediate instinct is to lash back, but he bites his lip, before turning and moving on down path, finishing his laps. Restraint. Restraint. Bloody restraint.

Having stopped in his tracks to watch the goings-on with Riley and the young girl, despite being on the other side of the pitch at the time, Boyce quickly gets it together and keeps running his odd little run until he is finally finished, looking around speculatively as more and more people join him there. He clings to his broom again tightly, biting at his lower lip uncertainly. “I don’t like running very much.” He whispers, to nobody in particular. “We don’t usually have to run, much, do we? I never heard of Chathing from the ground.”

David says, “What is happening out there?” %n mutters, as he hears some noise and sees students clustered around someone –or something. He stops on his track, observing the scene from afar. It seemed to be a little accident, but apparently, it did not look that serious. He saw Riley resuming his run, and other students following suit after a while, and %n decides that he could probably just do the same, too. Resuming his jogging, he completes the second lap a little while after and comes to a stop near his broom. Most of the other students were still at the other end of the pitch, having been interrupted by the fall. %n shrugs and decides to wait for the next step of the tryouts.”

“It helps with agility to do some things on the ground. If you can’t keep hold of a quaffle on the ground, what’s to convince me you can do it in the air, hmmm?” Noémie tells the boy with a bit of a grin. “Alright, now, anyone going out for keeper, I want you down at that end there. You’re going to try to block the shots of those going out for chaser. If you’re going out for chaser, go ahead and get into a line at this end of the course here. Beaters, get your positions on either side, even up please, and take a bat. You’ll hit bludgers to each other, intent on hitting those running through the course with a well-timed and well-aimed bludger. You may run around and hit them as long as you do /not/ change partners in the middle. Alright, get to it. Keepers, rotate after every shot; everyone gets a chance! Those going out for seeker, well, I do apologize but I filled the second string spot at the pre-tryout we had. I know, I know, but he filled the spot last year. If you’d like to try for any other spot, you’re more than welcome, though!” The captain trots around to make sure everyone’s set up. “Keep the line moving. I want a constant flow of people going through this!” With that, she releases several bludgers which seem to fly around at random through a fixed area in a certain part of the course, low enough to hit any of those trying out if they run through and aren’t paying attention.

Ah, the moment of truth – Boyce joins the line of Chasers nervously, biting at his lower lip again. How is he supposed to get a position that he can’t even pronounce? That’ll be good – My name ith Boyth and I’m a Chather for the Ravenclaw team. Just a good thing he isn’t in Thlytherin. Swallowing, he whispers to anyone who cares to listen, “My family wantth me to try out for the team. I don’t know if I’m actually any good, but my big thithter reckonth that I’m at leatht pathingly good. Maybe I’ll make thecond thtring.” He licks his lips, trying to get some moisture onto them, as he moves through the line. A lisp and a compulsive talker. Poor kid.

David nods at her captain’s instructions and lines up behind a few other students, mainly second years, who hoped to become a Chaser. He smiles at one particular boy who seems to be particularly worried about his own tryout. “Don’t be that worried”, David says, trying to give him some courage. “Just don’t forget to always keep an eye on the Quaffle.” he advises, as he waits for his own turn to come.

Laney Abbott holds her broom possesively and trundles toward the end for the Keepers (as a certain redhead moves with a group of put-out would be Seekers to the stands to watch), even though she won’t exactly be needing it on the ground. She’s just not about to leave it for the rest of these jokers to muddle with. “Merlin, I’m glad I’m not trying for Chaser,” she says to the girl ahead of her in line as the Bludgers begind to zoom around. “Don’t expect you could dodge them, ey Abbott?” A blush creeps into her cheeks at the sound of a male voice behind, and she barely turns her head and offers a loathing-filled. “Gregory Spatts, I could as well, I just don’t fancy my spectacles smashed if I miss dodging one,” and turns her head resolutely foreward again with a snide, “Better keep your eye on Noémie in case you looks your way so you can exchange a long and meaningful gaze.” Her lips press together and she moves forward in line by one.

Riley Markham collects up his bat at from near where he dropped his broom, slipping the leather thong around his wrist and giving it a good whirl before pairing off with a fifth-year hopeful for the team named, appropriately, Cobby. A big, thick-bodied, somewhat dim-witted brute who, even even by the somewhat slim standards for intelligence set by Riley‘s own admission in to Ravenclaw house, must have been Sorted under either a miracle or via copious amounts of rum imbibed by the hat pre-Sorting. “I wonder if it can drink,” Riley wondered, aloud, after that thought, raising a brow before giving a loud scwak as he finds a bludger hurtling toward his head courtesy of his big-boned mate. Just barely getting his bat up in time to prevent a broken nose, he deflects the cannonbal skyward, almost directly so, far and away from the line. Groaning, sure that Noémie would see it, and trying not to pay any attention to his other housemates as they assess his embaressment and mess-up-factor for the year to come, he clobbers the bludger toward David as his friend’s turn arrives, his aim improved from last year, but still not grand.

Shooting a curious glance to Riley as she happens to trot by, Noémie manages to stifle what wants to be a bit of a giggle. She makes her way to the head of the obstacle course. “Okay, go, go!” She calls to a first year who trips several times in the first bit by the traps and snares. “Come on, you’ve got to watch what’s coming, Lawrence!” She hsakes her head and watches as the first year haphazardly manages to get through and tosses the quaffle weakly at the low hoops. No, no score. “Come on, show them how it’s done, come on!” The captain runs up and down, watching as many people as she can manage all at once with this setup. “We’re only going to do a few runs each and then it’s up in the air!”

“I like the Captain’th name,” Boyce offers quietly, rubbing his hands together nervously. “Noémie Ribouet. I can actually pronounthe it. I think that bodeth well. Doth that bode well, do you think?” He starts chewing on his lower lip again as it comes to be his turn and he certainly does appear to have a knack for dodging things and makes it through the traps and snares well, his size and agility lending him ability. “Thee?” He cries victoriously. “I’m gonna be /good/ at Chathing. I can dodge thingth – argh.” A stray bludger hits him in the arm, possibly hit by someone who heard his bragging, and he clutches the limb, blinking back the water that comes to his eyes from the initial pain. “Owie, that /hurt/.” Oh, right, quaffles. He throws it one handed towards one of the hoops, a reasonably good throw given he’s only using the one arm, but by no means spectacular.

Laney Abbott is pointedly ignoring the seventh-year’s attempts to chat at her, as he is by no means oblivious to the venom her tone contain. “Come on, Abbott, what did I do? If you won’t tell me I can’t make it right– come–oof!” he gets hit in the stomach by a Quaffle that the person in front failed to save, and which Laney had stepped to the right to avoid. With a smirk, she moves up again, as the girl in front of her fails to save the throw by Boyce, letting it through one of the low-lying hoops through. Alright, time for Laney to prove she deserves to be on the team.

As he starts running and tries to tackle the first obstacle, David neglects to keep an eye on the beaters. Little good that did to him: he barely hears the whoosh of Riley’s Bludger coming on him, and instinctively plunges on the ground to dodge it. He lets out a worried cry as he hurriedly stands up again, and resumes his course. He was more than a bit flustered about not being able to anticipate the Bludger better. He fares a bit better with the two other bludgers sent at him as he crosses the pitch and tries to make it trough the various obstacles set there by Noémie. Finally, he makes it to the other side. He lets out a sigh as he stops and turns his back to observe the other candidates.

Beaming brightly at his success, Boyce hesitates for a moment – he goes back to the end of the line, right? Or does he wait? He looks around, trying to work out what everyone else is doing, and then eventually goes back to the end of the line, stretching his injured arm out tentatively and pushing up his sleeve to inspect the damage done. Well, that certainly will bruise up, and it’ll ache for a while, but it’s not broken and probably won’t inhibit his movements too much. Pity it seems to be his dominant arm, though. “Doth that look bad to you?” He eventually asks someone nearby, wrinkling his brow concernedly. “It’th turning black and blue already, and it hurtth a fair bit… will I thtill make the team if my arm ith bruithed, or will the Captain thay it’th evidenthe of my inability?”

Riley makes a face as David dodges his bludger, but seems pleased enough as it sails directly for his partner. “Nice follow through, anyway,” he murmurs, before allowing his eyes to go wide. His partner, Cobby, draws back a full arm, before smacking the bludger so hard at the fourth year running the course that his bat actually cracks a little. “Lighten up a little, will yah?!” Riley calls, noting with some satisfaction that the fourth year had the common sense to dive at the loud thwack that left Cobby’s bat. Cringing, knowing it will hurt his hands, Riley has to drive almost the full force of his weight in his swing just to return the ball softly to his mate. What is likely an easy dodge for the next one through the line.

“Alright, one more run through for everyone!” Noémie calls loudly and trots down to the Keepers end, keeping her eye on the Keepers more for this run-through. “And then we’re in the air!” Watching while each and everyone makes their way through, it is not very long before all of them have made their way all the way through the final time on the ground. “Alright, onto your brooms!” Running quickly over to where she has put her own broom, Noémie gets onto it and is soon up into the air. She waits until everyone has joined her before continuing. “Alright, one at a time on this one. These bludgers are meant to be dodged by chasers, and hit by beaters. I want you to be always aware of the gates and go through everyone. They light up as you go through them momenarily, see.” She flies through two in succession and they do light up momentarily as she flies through, though the light fades quickly. “I’ll be watching you all go through, so I want you to take care to get through /all/ of them if you can. Keepers, down at the end. The Chasers will try shooting from the air this time. You will not have to worry about bludgers in the shooting zone this time; we’ll save that for practice. Alright! Get to it!” Flying out of the course in the air, Noémie barely manages to dodge a bludger as it skims her back and she flies out to the side of it, swerving back and fourth while she waits for her teammates to begin.

Laney Abbott wipes her forehead and murmurs, “A bit too much energy, if you ask me,” as she climbs aboard her broom. The sluggishness she displayed in running about on the ground is virtually nonexistant in the air, however, with a good sturdy broom she easily glides to a spot in queue for playing Keeper when her turn comes up. As she waits, her broom bobbles up and down a bit, as if unable to sit very still. “Stop that,” she mutters to it. Of course, it being a broom, it doesn’t respond /or/ cease wiggling.

Riley Markham takes to his broom with some relief — he was only supposed to fly and hit bludgers, with no obvious aiming mentioned. That, he could do. A chance for him to shine. Brilliant. And, well, to be away from the dim-witted brute, Cobby. The fact that he could even mount a broom amazed Riley. It was a little like seem a small giant trying to ride a toothpick. Ah, well. Twirling his bat in his hand in a vaguely cocky way, Riley moves toward the first gate, knocking a bludger away easily enough. And miraculously not toward any teammate in particular.

Passing the three first gate is not that complicated for David and the boy is almost believing that the test is in fact too easy. But, as he steers the broom towards the fourth one, he notices that a bludger is on its way to intercept him. David starts to manoeuver to avoid it. The bludger gets closer and is soon accompanied by a second one. Cursing his bad luck, David starts to manoeuver, but it also means that he has to change his heading and not fly towards the fourth gate. He starts to zig-zag and to manoeuver until he manages to get rid of the bludgers, but he is now very far away from the next gate and has lost some precious time. He finally manages to make it through the remaining gates. All sweaty, he throws his Quaffle to the keeper but does not manage to get it through. David lands and walks away from the other chaser candidates, brooding his lame throw.

Mounting his broom and flying up to join Noémie, Boyce seems just as agile in the air as he is on foot, and his small size is quite aerodynamic. The downside, of course, is that it’s just as easy to miss a Quaffle as it is is to miss the bludgers. “Alright, let’th go.” As his turn comes up, he flies through the first gate easily – “Thith ith thimple!” – but has to take a dive to avoid a bludger and has to swerve abruptly at the last second to make it through the next one, though he does manage to just make it through. And again, with the next gate, and so on – though there are a few abrupt swerves, he does go through all the gates without getting hit by anything. He shoots for the goals inexpertly, intending to do so two-handed but finding his injured arm more of a problem than he had predicted. It is not a bad throw, but hardly a particularly good one.

Laney Abbott is up to her turn as David throws, and although it isn’t his best throw, she has to urge her broom sideways and stretch out as a far as she can to make the catch. She manages, however, and makes a triumphant sort of squealing noise, the charm on her glasses apparently worn off as they are knocked gently askew. It is with reluctance that she releases the bludger back into the air and returns to the end of the queue, cheeks flushed proudly.

This task, thankfully, comes more or less easily for Riley. A fair hand at flying, he made it through the gates more or less with ease, even the tricky ones. And deflecting the bludgers was, more or less, easily enough. A few do come close to hitting him, and one does graze his shoulder, but for the most part, actually deflecting away the bludgers was never his problem. In the last gate on his second lap, however, he has a rather sizable error, catching a bludger on the wrong part of his bat, deflecting it downward against the length of his broom, which knocks it rather hard in to his belly, up his chest, and in to his jaw, before sailing at the person behind him. He actually has to pause on his broom for several moments, and the left side of his robes cling to his chest as if they had been hooked there.

“Alright now, speed it up!” Noémie calls to a chaser who seems to be taking his sweet time in running through the course. “This is meant to be a fast course, don’t make it easy because you’re lazy!” The chaser shoots the captain a look and she raises her eyebrows at him and follows him down the course. “If you can’t be bothered, you can always leave,” she tells him, and this seems to hit home as he speeds up and nearly skids out around one of the gates, only barely slipping through. “Two more runs!” Noémie calls to everyone, flying back down to the end where everyone is lined up to watch another group fly down. “Please do /not/ hurt anyone intentionally, especially yourselves! No deaths today!”

Next in line after the slow Chaser-to-be, Boyce is looking increasingly edgy as he hovers, waiting for the previous Chaser to finish up. When he does get to go, his impatience shows – he zooms off as fast as his broom will allow, compromising direction for speed and, as a result, he has to slow down considerably as he swerves through the gates, and ends up missing one of the gates due to his turn of speed. Another two bludgers nearly hit him, and he has to swerve abruptly downwards, missing yet another gate and cursing under his breath, before finally making his way over to the hoops and hurling the quaffle at the hoop – a much better throw than before, considering. To himself as he flies back, he mutters, “Thee? I /can/ do it.”

“No deaths today, she says,” Riley mutters, gasping for breath for several moments. His face twisting in to a mask of annoyance, before he lifts a hand to wipe a small trickle of blood from his lip. Nothing that a simple Episky wouldn’t heal. Still, it damned well hurt. Passing a somewhat annoyed look over his shoulder, having hoped to earn a little more sympathy, Riley takes to the course again. This time, not allowing his cockiness to get away with him. The left side of his robes still clinging to him, as if they were damp. Something he didn’t relish having to deal with.

Laney Abbott gets another go and is luckily against an optimistic first year who lets lose a mild shriek of terror at the fifth year, who is looking rather menacing as she gets tired. As such, the ball almost doesn’t make it to the hoops at all, and she catches it quite easily. The third time she comes up in the queue it isn’t so easy, and the ball goes a little too fast for her, so that her fingertips barely graze it as it sails past her and through the hoops. A soft curse is expelled under her breath, of the sailor variety, not the magical, and she makes way for the next person’s last turn, her cheeks a brilliant red.

“Alright, bring it in, everyone!” Noémie calls as folks finish going through again. She has not missed the fact that Riley’s previous collision has not seemed to sit well with him, and begins to fly down to the ground. She waits until everyone has joined her on the ground and grins rather wide. “Alright, that was a terrific tryout, everyone! I’m leaving these obstacle courses up until I can check with the other captains, so you’re free to go at your leisure. Get your injuries checked into quickly, please. Don’t want to hear the grousing tonight in the commons of me being a tyrant or any such nonsense.” Noémie chuckles at herself as she says this and apparently thinks it quite amusing. “I’ll post the list by Monday, so don’t be pestering me about it before then. See you all at dinner!” She pauses. “Shoo!” she tells some first years who seem to be looking at her anxiously and turns, making her way toward the broom shed to store her own worn-looking broom away.

Quite relieved to hear the end, one hand rising again to rub at his bruised arm, it seems that despite all of that, Boyce has managed to come out of it quite uninjured. “Thank you for the tryout, Captain!” He pipes up, as he reaches the ground, though it is a weak little remark and possibly inaudible as she enters the broomshed. Broom in hand, he falls into step with one of his fellow third years, waving his free hand vaguely. “Did you thee the way I dodged that bludger?” He asks his friend excitedly. “Thimon, are you lithening? I thped patht, had to dive thtraight down…”

Riley Markham lands quietly, climbing off his broom and dropping down to the earth several feet from the ground. Sighing softly, he waits for the rest to go, moving toward one of the stands. Chucking both his broom and his bat in to the turf carelessly, as he begins to unbutton his robes. A very small trickle of blood still running down the corner of his lip.

Coming back out from the shed, Noémie spots her distant cousin and shakes her head. She makes her way across the pitch slowly, carefully, and rather quietly, given her usually light step and poise. “I wasn’t kidding when I said to go see Madam Wexler, you know,” she comments quietly to the boy at whom much of her recent stress and frustration has been vented. Of course, this was not undue, given that he has caused some of it. “Did it get you too badly?” she asks, coming around to face him now and crossing her arms across her chest. Despite her discomfort in the trousers of her quidditch uniform, Noémie does not seem to be bothered or nagged by them at all, rather, focussed entirely on the younger boy in front of her.

Jumping slightly, having thought in his first glance that maybe she had left as well, Riley turns to face Noémie with a measured look. As if he weren’t entirely sure what to expect out of her — roses, or vipers. Younger, by barely over two years, but taller, and more broad. He already stood nearly six foot tall, and his shoulders were squared out in a rugged way. He had developed a nice build for a beater. Solid, with a long reach. “Not to bad,” he says, somewhat off-handedly. And untruthfully, as he glances around the pitch to make certain their alone. That no one else planned on emerging from sheds. He hated to show anyone this — it was a testiment to how much, despite the recent strain in their friendship, he trusted Noémie that he was even considering going through with it. That, and how much it hurt having half one’s robe pinned to one’s chest. Nodding vaguely, once he’s sure they’re quite alone, he finishes unbuttoning his robe and slips it off his right shoulder. His smooth arm. Leaving him mostly naked from the waist up. It’s somewhat awkward, considering how the robe is hooked to him, but he manages to shoulder his way out of the other sleeve. Revealing his scarred arm — not just his arm, but his shoulder, almost up to the neck. The entire left flank of his back, and his front. Jagged, snarling, leathery scars, as if he had been dunked in acid. on the left side. Scars that vanish in to the waist of his trousers, inspiring questions of just how far down they go. “I was in a hurry, I forgot to Impervious it,” he mutters, somewhat embaressed, glancing briefly at Noémie with an expression almost as if he expected her to laugh, before trying to uncatch the cloth of the robe from the jagged, almost velcro-like hooks created by his scars, holding it in place. Each removed thread causing him to wince.

Resisting the urge to cringe, Noémie watches as he works on detangling his robes from his scar. “I’m sure Madam Wexler can find something to ease that,” she comments, looking at him carefully. The once compact boy is now taller than even she is, a concept which does surprise her, even though she has seen him often since the start of the term. “Really, you should go see her.” Her concern is one that is natural and real, and the fearful quiver in her voice hinting that she perhaps doesn’t entirely understand what it is that she’s seeing. Of course she has heard about the scars and the illness, but it is a first for her seeing it, and it is clear that Noémie isn’t entirely sure how to handle this. Licking her lips gently, she quirks her head and does not move, just continuing to watch him.

“Trying to spell it makes the scars worse,” Riley says, his tone soft. Serious. Perhaps for the first time in Noémie’s knowing Riley, unmarred with sarcasm or humour. Laced only with a quiet angst, a pain that reaches down deeper in to him than he has let anyone else see before, even his Gran. The intimacy of the moment is almost palpable, yet very simple. He’s openned the door, to let her peek inside. And in there, is regret. For what he said. But more over, ache. That goes a long, long way back. “Oils and salves might work, but don’t usually, and burn something terrible.” The softness, the quietness of his voice is so unnatural, yet so true, as he speaks. His tone conversation, despite the feelings lacing it. The fear. The fear of letting someone else see how weak he really is. “Gran tells me that there are still Healers at St. Mungo’s trying to work a cure, but they still haven’t come up with anything that won’t kill me first.” He tries to make the last line sound like a joke, and fails. Though his smile isn’t ingenuine as he tries to lift his gaze to meet her own. About half the robe untangled — the bludger went against the grain of the scars, catching more than it would have had the bludger struck the other way. “Noémie.. I..”

“Yeah?” Noémie asks in response to his trailed off thought, merely having shrugged at his comment about those at St Mungos. The girl merely watches the boy, diverting her gaze for a rather long moment before looking back and letting her eyes rest on his face instead of on his scarring. “You were… er, saying?” Noémie chews her bottem lip a bit, feeling slightly unsettled somehow, in a way she’s never been before.

Riley Markham holds Noémie’s gaze for several moments, his lips parted as if to speak, but no words fall from him. He wasn’t a terribly great peice of work at the appologies. “I..” he begins, before choking, and turning his gaze upward. “About..” he mutters, before looking down to the last bit of robe he was pulling away from his scars, cringing a little. Finally, sort of driven to force himself to speak, he yanks away the small patch that is left with one, good, clean pull. The result causing him to squelch his eyes shut in to near tears, to pull at his flesh as if it were cloth, to fill the air with a ripping sound we might commonly associate with velco coming undone, and to push his voice up an octave or two, as he says in a quick voice, “AboutwhathappenedatSortingI’msorryIhatenottalkingtoyounormallypleaseforgiveme!” Followed by a brilliant gasp of air, as if he were a balloon deflating. The quidditch robe falls to the dirt. His chest, with ever so hinted definition, finally exposed.. “Sunofa–that hurt..”

“Riley, you really should see the nurse if it hurts so,” Noémie comments quietly, with genuine concern on her face. Stepping back ever so slightly, the captain tilts her head to the side. Forgive him? For wh– oh, right. She was supposed to be mad at him. A shrug is all she answers in response, being ever the prideful creature, though it serves as some semblance of acceptance and perhaps even an apology of her own, as she is not entirely innocent in the altercation. But, of course, apologizing would be admitting that perhaps she is somehow at fault, and Noémie doesn’t think that. At the moment, however, she is more concerned with how she can possibly ease the pain of the boyman in front of her.

Riley Markham shifts his gaze toward Noémie, slowly. Her shrug — almost comforting to him. It was a response he understood, actually, all things considered. He was rather prideful himself, and it had taken several weeks for him to work past the annoyance to swallow that pride. Though loneliness helped. She wasn’t lonely, naturally. She had Joseph. He.. didn’t really have anyone, anymore. Saphia, when she wasn’t studying. Maybe that was why.. Lifting his right hand, rubbing his chest gingerly, he turns his gaze down toward his robes and pulls his wand from his pants pocket. An incredibly long wand, that once seemed quite out of place to the previously small boy, now seeming quite appropriate to the young man. Still, he holds the wand curiously, overhanded, with a finger trailing down the length. “Impervious,” he murmurs, flicking the wand at the robe, before lifting his wand to wipe away the mostly stifled trickle of blood slipping from his lip where he bit it when he got hit by the bludger. “I’m okay. Really. There’s not much Madam Wexler can do. I’ll get over it.” Kneeling down slowly, he collects up the robe as he tucks his wand in the waist of his trousers. “Sorry, to make you — see all this. I just.. didn’t want to go inside, with it caught.. and.. I don’t normally let.. others.. but, if it’s you, I thought..” Turning to face her, as he pulls an arm back in to his sleeve, he murmurs. “I’m.. sorry. I am. I was mad, and I took it out on you. And I’m sorry. Good tryouts.”

“You should see the nurse about that lip, Riley,” Noémie tells him, uncrossing her arms and letting them rest at her sides. For another long, rather labored moment, she looks at him, until he is covered “So, ah…” Noémie is awkward and looks away, glancing at the ground first, then up at the slowly darkening sky. “I’d better get in to change before dinner, or I’ll have to go in these trousers.” She pauses. “I’ll see you at studies tonight, alright?” Without saying anything more, she pauses, turning, looking at him seriously, and then slowly makes her way back into the school, her thin form slowly picking up its pace as she nears the school, soon disappearing inside.

Riley Markham watches Noémie go, quietly, his long hair moving quietly behind him in a dull breeze. He wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, even if it had been his doing. He wasn’t sure if things were better or not, or how he felt about how things had unfolded. But she had seen, and she didn’t seem to hate him. Nor did she seem to pity him. Whatever else he might have begun to feel for her, he had never been more intrigued by her than he was at this moment. And for the first time in several weeks, he wasn’t dreading his lessons. In fact, he almost looked foreward to it. Buttoning up his robe, he collects up his broom and bat, before moving toward the castle himself. What a strange ordeal.

Out on the pitch, Noémie appears to have been out for quite a while. Her hair is rather voluminous on this warm afternoon and she shows signs of wear, though she is now on the ground, surveying two obstacle courses that she has set up for teh tryouts to happen later in the week. Plopping down onto the ground, she leans back on her elbows and crosses her ankles, apparently content just to look at it for the time being.

Clavicle Gravely comes walking out carrying the broom. It upsets him he had to push for Noémie’s time like this, but he has landed a detention the day of the tryouts and has to spend the entire day dusting placques and p[olishing ancient bone models. He sighs afraid that he will be in some trouble with the captain when she finds out, when he stops and blinks at the voluminous hair. “Wow…” he stutters, “That’s a good look for you.”

Having just enjoyed his fifteen birthday last week, Bailey‘s been growing in leaps and bounds and has, unlike some boys, done it with a surprising degree of flair. His shoulders have broadened out, and he’s allowed his reddish-brown hair to fall over his eyes. “Hey, cap,” He remarks as he comes onto the pitch. “Hate to rush you, but I’ve got a tutoring session with Walsh in a bit.” He crosses his arms in front of him, low at the wrists, hunching himself over in a very rebellious looking manner, attempting to appear roguish and dangerously handsome. (He does it half-well, at least.) “So I gotta scatter kinda soon. I’ll get in my tryout, though.”

Coming down onto the pitch Tegan looks out over the course that Noémie has set up. “Hello Noémie…” She says softly as she looks at Clavicle “Her hair is a bird’s nest. What do you mean it’s a good look…” She sits down beside the captain holding ehr broom over her lap. The beater gives a nod to Bailey as he strolls in as well.

“You hush, Madison,” Noémie retorts and scoffs. “If you two hadn’t been caught canoodling on the train, you wouldn’t have detention on Friday and we wouldn’t be here right now.” The girl rolls her eyes, and though her words are somewhat harsh, her tone is more casual. “I s’pose you can join, too, Gravely. Seeing as you didn’t make snotty comments about my hair like some folks.” The girl glances over her shoulder and then stands up, shooting a sharp look to Tegan as she picks up her broom. “Put your brooms aside. We’ll do the ground course first. Alright, line up. You know the drill. I’ll be watching from over here. Don’t fall.”

Clavicle Gravely shrugs, “I think it looks… good.” he grins a bit. His hair is messy as usual. He trots on over to do the ground drills and falls into line immediately. If his eyes linger on Noémie’s hair, the look he has isn’t mocking, rather, it’s the kind of look a boy has when he finally realizes, Hey, Noémie is a GIRL. He shakes the look off his face before the Captain makes him do extra laps for being odd. He whispers to Bailey though, “What’s canoodling?”

“Ask Noémie if she wants to demonstrate. I’m sure she’ll be delighted,” Bailey mutters, and grabs a quaffle, running down the obstacle course and vaulting over the first fence. He’s not running it that quickly — He’s more of a thinky quidditch player and the raw athleticism required for this isn’t his strong suit, but he does run it smartly and well, taking each obstacle with the least effort required.

Muttering as she falls in Tegan rolls her eyes at the captain “Well if you put a little more effort into _your_ appearance _I_ wouldn’t have to say anything.” Tegan sets her eyes forward having left her broom with Noémie’s she begins going through the ground course with a bit of a fast pace trying to hurry herself along it seems.

Clavicle Gravely stays in formation, even though he’s on the ground. He flanks Bailey and slowly pulls closer. “Er… I think you are trying to get her to hex me.” he shakes his head. “I won’t say anything like that till after the tryouts results are posted.” he jumps a fence with a long legged leap. Clavicle is good at the raw physicality of it, and has filled out a bit over the summer. He calls out. “Pass it Bailey!” And opens his hands to catch if Bailey does indeed shoot him a pass.

“I heard that, Bailey! You’ll do laps for that,” Noémie calls and crosses her arms. “You should NOT have been doing it in the train, of all places.” She shakes her head and sighs. “Don’t run around the bludger area, that’s cheating!” She tuts and shakes her head. “And one at a time!” the captain calls. “Come on, work off the summer. You all look stiff — like you’ve never played!” Noémie seems limbered up a bit and she trots along down the line of the obstacle course on the ground. “The bludgers are for dodging! I want to see you dodge! Be nimble!” It all comes out as a stream of orders while she continues trotting up and down.

“You’re such a pain!” Bailey yells back, “You were an Egyptian slave driver in a past life, weren’t you?” He runs through the bludger area and finally really shines, as his natural observation skills let him negotiate it with ease — He leaps back at first as a bludger slams into the ground in front of him, ducks under a second and the dives out of the area into the next area before throwing the ball hard at Clavicle.

The bludger does come close to hitting Tegan a couple of times as she’s distracted by Noémie’s yells. “Aren’t you going to join us Cap… AHH!” Tegan gives a shreik as she jumps out of the way of an oncoming bludger only just in time. Instead of finishing her interupted statment she begins moving a bit faster.

Clavicle Gravely tries being nimble. This makes it look like he’s trying to do some sort of skeletal based dance, or he’s having seizures. But he starts dodging then, back and forth, weaving as he runs. Slowly he finds a more fluid movement that actually doesn’t look like he is suffering from Kneazles in his pants. The bludger zips by him once, and as it comes back around, he spins sideways and barely dodges it again. “Hey! Are those practice ones or the real thing?” he asks, not fully expecting to dodge bludgers on the ground. “They seem a bit aggressive for a practice bludger.”

“Can’t you see the sweat? Like I haven’t done my own work today!” The captain tuts at her teammates and shakes her head. “They’re just the same as last year’s; the only excuse would be that you’re out of practice.” Watching carefully, Noémie crosses her arms and comes back to where she has placed her broom. “Alright, well, you all look like elephants, so get up on your brooms. I want to see you on that other course. But not after you do five laps around the pitch.” She pauses and mounts her broom. “Well, get to it!” Flying up into the air, evened up with the obstacle course in the air, while she attempts to make some sense of her own hair.

“You built up a sweat whipping, Noémie! Wha-kish! Wha-kish!” Bailey makes a whipping motion with his arm before hopping up onto his broom and beginning his laps. He’s a good flier, maybe not the fastest in the world, but precise and smooth. He’s always been a good playmaker for the team.

Hopping again out of the way of a bluder Tegan hurridley skips over to her broom. Taking it tightly in her grasp she mounts it and leaps into the air flying after Noémie “Bludgers can smell fear Gravely, … and hunger. That’s why you should eat before practice.” She calls out in her usual smart allec sort of tone.

Clavicle Gravely takes up the Sandsweeper 25, the foreign broomreally is one of his prized possessions. He takes to the air like a rocket and does a barrel roll as he comes up along Bailey. “Yeah Tegan? Well I am starving. When’s dinner?” the super thin boy does eat like horse at dinner. “I barely got thirds at lunch.” he moves into a tight turn at the laps end, tighter then it has to be, he pushes the envelope as to what the broom is capable of doing. This causes his straw end to drift a little as he races out of the turn and into the straightaway. Flying really is one of his joys. “Bailey! You’re falling behind, come on!”

“Can we just fly and not show off?” the girl calls and shakes her head, seemingly oblivious to the probability that her team will even be able to hear her. Noémie crosses her arms as she watches them make their rounds, though she doesn’t move, other than to try to tame the bush of hair that seems to only get messier as she fiddles with it.

Bailey Williams falls behind a little, but not by much (he flies slow but makes up for it with tight cornering) and descends, hitting the ground. “Alright, Hatshepsut. What now?”

“Boys… always compairing brooms.” Calls Tegan to Noémie. Not bothering to try and speed ahead of anyone, Tegan is just enjoying a nice leasurley lap around the pitch.

Clavicle Gravely lands after Tegan and grins hugely. He’s always grinning after flying. “Can i take one more?” he asks as he steps off the broom. He grins at Noémie and waits to hear what she has in mind for the rest of practice, or rather, this tryout.

“Well, through the obstacle course,” Noémie states, waving her arm at the course in front of her. “You didn’t think that was it, did you?” the girl comments and shakes her head. She flies around along the side of the course. “And let’s not try to get around any of it this time!” the girl calls. “Through all the hoops, too! No slacking!” It seems that Noémie‘s prior workout has put her into quite the mood for this pre-tryout.

Finally finishing her last lap long after the others Tegan smiles watching the bludgers weave in and out of hoops dangerously on what Noémie calls an obstical course. “You know I was only joking about the hair yes? It’s just loverly… you will catch me if I get knocked off right?” Her tone is playful as she speeds forward through the first hoop unscathed.

Clavicle says, “Hey! She never fully landed! That’s … that’s… That’s so Tegan like!” he looks at Noémie and waits for her to give him the ok to take off. “You want us one at a time through it or free for all Captain?” He grins, ready to kick off the moment he gets clearance to.”

“My, my, isn’t someone in a mood today!” Bailey comments and grins as he mounts his broom and flies up again. “Alright, alright, I’m going.” He goes through empty-handed this time, nearly getting beaned in the head by a bludger, but the boy does manage to get through all the hoops, though just barely. “I’ll do it better next time, he calls and laughs loud at Tegan’s comment. “If she won’t, I will!” It’s the first public recognition all day that he’s given to Tegan.

“Go on, go again,” Noémie calls, watching as the team goes through one after another. “Be careful of that hoop,” she calls and does a spin on her broom as she waits for the next of her team to go through. “C’mon, pick it up. Be agressive, stop dawdling,” she barks and sits up on her broom to watch them continue to go through the course. “And, no, Tegan, I will not catch you. It looks like Bailey will handle it just fine.” Pausing a moment. “Get to it!”

Clavicle Gravely upon seeing the others going through the course a bit staggered in time, waits about 30 seconds and then takes off. He uses more care then speed this time as the captain said be careful, but he still tries to be expedient. The bludger homes in on him and he does a quick bank to dodge it and barely makes the second hoop because of it. But his fear of bludgers seems to be nearly gone, “Coming up on three.” he says to himself, and he tucks his elbows in and ducks down, and zips through, hoping the bludger catches the edge of the hoop, and the deep sound of ‘Clonk’ confirms his suspicion it would. “YES! take that you dodgy bludger!”

“Fine! But keep your hands to yourself Bailey!” Yells Tegan back with a snicker moving out of the way of a bludger before finishing the course and flying through again with a bit more speed. “Was that sound your head hitting the bludger Gravely?” Asks Tegan looking a bit chocked as she heard it but didn’t see what happend.

“You weren’t saying that yesterday!” he retorts quickly and grins. “OOF!” Bailey hollers soon after. It is apparent that the boy has been hit in the side by a bludger. “Ow, ow, ow!” he calls as he hastily makes his way out of the obstacle course to nurse his side. “UGH, that was hard!” he complains as he hovers outside the course. “Pass me this time, guys. I’ll go again after this excruciating pain in my side goes away.”

“Please do not break the practice bludgers, either of you!” the captain tells both of the boys practicing and shakes her head. “Oh, get over it. Since when are you a sissy?” Noémie scoffs and watches some more. “Alright, well, I think I’ve seen enough. You’re all terribly out of shape. I’l pose the list after the trials on Friday. If I were you, I’d be nervous.” She shakes her head at all of them and glances around. “Go get your study session, Bailey. I won’t be the cause of you getting flack from Professor Walsh.” She pauses. “And do three more laps in the meantime.” Without another word, Noémie flies down to the pitch and gets off of her broom, stretching a bit in between attempting to keep her hair out of her face.

Clavicle says, “Nah! my head would sound a LOT more hollow, I got the bludger to bean itself on the hoop!” He clears the 4th ring with ease now that the bludger has to recover. He dodges by Bailey, but unfortunately this means Bailey’s bludger locks on to him and now he has two trailing him. “Hey! I was only supposed to have 1.” he complains and then BRAKES suddenly as the bludgers nearly hit him. the braking trick was one he learned from David. he takes off again, zig zagging and jinking hard to dodge the two angry training bludgers. He chuckles a bit. “I swear I think they take this personally.” he turns as he hears Noémie yelling. “I think she’s going to go pro Bailey…and I think she’s going to practice on us.” he sighs.”

Sighing as Noémie puts things and end Tegan pulls out of the course glanceing at Bailey to see if he’s very hurt. When it’s clear that he’s not she smile ad yells at him. “You need to stop watching _me_ on the pitch! It’s going to get you killed one day I swear!” Tegan lands finally and brushes herself off. “Noémie… break and egg in your hair. It works like a charm.” “Well not an actual charm but you know…”

Clavicle says, “My aunt Lombardia Minor showed me a charm to do braids! i can show it to you.. well…sometimes it doesn’t work right.” he hmms, “And as she’s currently bald because of it, maybe it’s not a good idea.”"

Scoffing as Tegan makes this comment, Bailey seems to get over his pain rather quickly. “Well, you’ll just have to make it up to me later, won’t you?” he comments and starts flying around the pitch, performing his three laps as ordered. Soon enough, he has finished his three and lands. “I’ll see you around!” he tells the captain. “Don’t cut me, please!” This is said jokingly, but he seems to have a bit of seriousness in his voice as he makes his comment. “And I’ll see YOU later, Tegan!” he tells the girl and trots off the pitch in the direction of the greenhouse.

Clavicle Gravely Speeds up to do his laps. “Hey Bailey… don’t forget to wax the broom! I got some ‘Mr. ZigZug’s Enchantment enhancing Broom Wax’ It’s supposed to make your broom’s enchantments last longer!” He pours on the speed as he zips through his 3 laps.

Grumbling, Tegan climbes back into the air having forgoten to do her laps, she waves to Bailey as he trots off with a small blush in her cheeks. Agains she takes her sweet time doing her laps because after all the third lap isnt going anywhere till she’s done it and after she finishes she lands makign her way back to the castle in search of food.

“Go on,” she tells them all as they finish up with their laps. “I need time alone to think. This stuff is staying out here anyway.” She offers no further explaination as she collapses to her rear and leans back, much in the way that she was before her teammates showed up for their alternatively scheduled tryout. Noémie‘s eyes seem to glaze over as she stares out across the field absentmindedly.

Clavicle Gravely starts to exit the field after landing, He pauses as he looks back and tilts his head. “Hey.. uh, are you ok? Do you need someone to talk to Noémie?” he asks with genuine concern.

“Time alone doesn’t mean something’s wrong Clavicle. It means time alone, upon which you’re infringing.” The captain glances momentarily up at him and then shakes her head. “Go on, go eat or something. Looks like you could use it.” Noémie shrugs and turns her attention back into the distance, lounging back as she looks across the pitch, more into the sky.

Clavicle Gravely trots on out nodding a bit. “I was just making sure I guess.” he waves to folks as he goes off in search of dinner.

Keelan Walsh is standing on the platform, covered in robes that seem impervious to the rain that falls thickly from the sky. “First year students, please, this way!” She swings about a lantern, held high over her already considerably tall head, to emphasize her location. “Everyone else, the carriages are–over there!” Indeed, the carriages are lit rather warmly, as though they’ve been fitted with heating for the particularly blustery weather this Sorting day. “Come on, first years! We’ve got a lovely trip planned for you.” If being drowned from above while floating across an icy lake in the dark could possibly be considered fun.

Kara Raine hopes off the train, turning back to wave towards Rhyne. “Good luck! See you at the feast.” Glancing around, the second year tries to stay up with her fellow Ravenclaws, trying to see where they need to go next. No boat for her this year.

Alden Wexler hardly seems to notice the rain as Keelan calls out for the first years — quite despite the fact that in a little under a few moments, the poor boy in new school robes is throughly soaked, head to foot. Without a word, he does as instructed, following Keelan along the way.

Ugh, rain. Olivia sighs and pulls her hood up carefully, tucking her hair back into the hood as best she can, though the water has not done nice things to it. “I’m glad we’re finally here,” she comments to Evan, making her way to the carriage and stepping into one several down.

Exiting the train, Evan pauses after a few steps to hear Keelan’s familiar voice and watch the first years begin to separate. He looks in particular for one first year boy; upon spotting the child confidently walking off toward Keelan with a few others, he hurries to follow Olivia into the carriage.

Riley Markham throws a somewhat cold look up at the Faculty table as he enters the Great Hall — wine red hair soaking wet despite his brief exposure to the rain. His expression is nothing short of rageful as it falls upon the Headmistress, before he flops down at the Ravenclaw table with a dark, dark hiss.

(Ravenclaw) Interested in every single student, that enters the hall, Kassandra sits down at the Ravenclaw table, greeting her housemates she has not met in the train and waving here and there to her entering acquaintances.

(Ravenclaw) “Hello everyone!” Bubbling with excitement, Kara Raine dances in and takes a seat at her house table, calling out greetings to various friends. She sits down amid a group of second years, immersing herself in tales of trips taken on holidays and the differences between being a first and second year.

(Ravenclaw) With a remarkably sour look on his face, Riley flops down across from Noémie and next to Saphia, immediately pouring himself a pumpkin juice with enough force that cracks his goblet. His waist-length hair clings to his face and cloak, and his wrinkled robes drip with almost casual disdain. Naturally, drying himself would be a simple feat, but he seems to cling to the cold water, almost as if making a point to the Headmistress sitting at the faculty table, who is waggling her fingers at Riley with an amused grin.

(Ravenclaw) Rhian Brecon took care of how wet she was as soon as she entered the school, really quickly. She sits down with the other Ravenclaws and smiles. This is it… her last year here… Last sorting she’ll get to see, among the last feasts she’ll go to, and the start of the last nine months to hang out with her fellow Ravenclaws… Unfortunately, two of her best friends are no longer here, graduated at the start of the summer, among them, her boyfriend. This is going to be a long year.

Entering later than the other faculty, Astra wipes her hands nervously on her robes. Hurrying up to the table, she doesn’t greet anyone or even Arriving at the faculty table; she walks around behind it and takes her seat.

Keelan Walsh leads the firt years out of the Waiting Room, most of them still soaking wet, Keelan herself strangely dry as she removes a ridiculously large cloak. Up she goes toward the head of the room, darting a glance at the other faculty with a ‘And why do I have to do this?’ look on her face. Then there’s a brief smile as she disappears off to the side. Returning, she carries with her the age-old stool (although it’s sturdy) with an ages-older rumbled bit of hat. This is set down in front of the Faculty table and she steps aside, clasping her hands silently in front of herself.

Fern Featherstone follows after Keelan. Her upper teeth press gently against her thin lower lip as she attempts to control her nerves, while looking over the room from beneath the curtain of her sparse lashes. She then tilts her narrow chin and looks up toward the ceiling. A gasp is heard, but Fern stubbornly and with much pride tries to control her vocal and trembling reaction. When the hat begins to sing, she looks upon it with a nervous kind of suspicion. She then looks toward the other first years, waiting to see what how they respond before stepping into a line.

Alden Wexler widens his eyes at that last line — no matter how composed a young boy appears about the process of Sorting — the notion of possibly being bitten by a old, dirty hat raises a hint of alarm as regards the patched bit of leather on the stool from the end of the line of first years. Still, he remains quiet, hands clasped in front of him, regaining his composure with a small shake of his head that sends droplets raining in a meager arch around him.

Keelan Walsh unclasps her hands and produces from a pocket a thick role of parchment. Unfurling it a bit, she repeats the instructions, “When I call your name, step up and place the hat upon your head, please. Peering through her spectacles at the first name, her voice comes, a bit unsteady, truth be told. “Castle, Rhyne!”

“I’m going to be in Slytherin, I know it,” Satinka tells Seker in a quiet whisper as she crosses her arms. Her voice is stronger and more certain than the look on her face would have one believe, but the girl appears rather focussed on the old-looking hat that sits nearby and then glances to Keelan. “Oh, I wonder where he’ll be sorted,” she comments and watches with interest as the first name is called.

Rhyne Castle makes his way to the Sorting Hat and settles it firmly on his head, doing his best to project more confidence than he actually feels. He waits in silent anticipation for the hat’s verdict.

(Ravenclaw) Kara Raine waves as Dolly joins the table, turning back quickly to listen to the sorting hat. She cheers loudly as the song finishes, quieting quickly as she waits for the sorting, trying to watch for the first year who shared a train compartment with her earlier.

Rhyne Castle blinks, owlishly, as he removes the hat, looking just a little bit bewildered. Although the bemused expression doesn’t fade entirely, it is joined by something at least resembles pleasure, and he puts on a more-or-less convincing smile as he goes to join his new housemates.

Falling into line behind Satinka, Seker only nods and watches nervously as Rhyne is sorted. “I met him in Hogsmeade,” comments Seker after a moment, clapping as the boy is declared a Ravenclaw. “Well, it looks easy,” Seker notes, sighing.

Fern Featherstone shifts her slight weight from one narrow foot to another as she stands in the line. She watches as Rhyne is sorted, seemingly slightly less nervous now. Her thin lips curve into the ghost of a smile. She then glances between Satinka and Seeker, clearly listening to their words.

“It didn’t hurt him, it looks like. Looks kind of easy. All you have to do is wear it. I wonder what it does. Do you suppose it just randomly picks, or if it really does decide based on, well, how you are?” Satinka whispers back, watching for the next name to be called while Rhyne makes his way to Ravenclaw table.

Keelan Walsh calls out, “Cowper, Jason,” who takes approximately four seconds before the hat calls, “Gryffindor!” and then Keelan calls another Ravenclaw, then a Slytherin and “Featherstone, Fern!”

Alden Wexler applaudes politely as Rhyne Castle is sorted in to Ravenclaw, squinting a little as the newly sorted student removes the hat as if he might actually be able to see if the leathery bit of rag actually had teeth or not to carry out the threatened biting.

Fern Featherstone approaches the hat with tentative steps, suggesting that the slender girl is rather shy. Still she throws back her narrow shoulders and lifts her dainty chin, as if trying to display a bit of pride. She reaches for the hat, while frowning with distaste in response to its ragged appearance. She then places it upon her head, leaving her lank ragged dark locks to cascade against her shoulders. Her breath quivers in the hollow of her pale slender throat, as she awaits the sorting and her small form is tense, as she sits still, silent and statue like.

(Ravenclaw) Dolly Faeden gives out a heavily-accented cheer as not one but two Ravenclaws are Sorted early on. “Good job!” calls the redhead down the table at Rhyne and the other new student, just as her stomach gives a bit of a gurgle. Ahem. “Hush,” she tells it, blushing a bit. At least she’s not still throwing her underpants about and accusing people of being transgendered.

Keelan Walsh claps a bit awkwardly and briefly and then continues on with two Hufflepuffs, another Gryffindor, “Linwood, Patricia!” who goes to Gryffindor as well, a Ravenclaw followed by a Slytherin and two Gryffindors and then, with a smirk, Keelan announces, “Rathe, Satinka!”

“There’s no way it’s random, are you joking me?” Seker whispers in an incredulous tone to his sister. “Haven’t you heard of the families who all get into one house, no fail?” Seker questions, crossing his arms. “No, it’s got to read your mind or something,” he says with determination, though clapping idly. “We’ll be joining her in a few minutes, hopefully,” Seker says, watching the girl go to sit down. “Go!” Seker says suddenly.

Looking startled, Satinka lets out a gasp as her name is called, and glances back at her brother, walking to the stool with unusual caution. Hesitating a moment, she looks at the hat, and then picks it up, simultaneously plopping it on her head while sitting quickly onto the stool. She bites her lip and closes her eyes up tight, seeming to be in deep conversation, or else in deep pain while she wears the illustrious hat.

With very little pause, Keelan announces, “Rathe, Seker!” as if she really needed to emphasize that he was next in line.

Still taking deep breaths, Seker does smile as his sister is sorted, nodding in her direction. One down! Now the other Rathe needed to be placed rightfully as a son of Slytherin. Hearing his name called, Seker feels like choking and fainting (life is so hard), but instead nods and steps up to the hat, sitting down and putting it on.

“It isn’t random,” Alden assures them, finally, as Satinka’s name is called. Though he chooses not to elaborate on anything else he might have gleaned from his summer reading. He draws a deep breath the closer it gets to his name being called, idly wondering if it were better that his last name was poised at the end of the alphabet, or if it might have been more simple to be at the beginning and get it over with. Indeed, despite all appearances, he is nervous. Though largely, it’s more rooted in the fact that his mother is watching from the faculty table, and seemingly a half dozen relatives are all scattered in the audience, eagerly awaiting another Wexler in their house, and sure to give him guff should he fail to share it.

Stunned, it is a few seconds before Seker comprehends the word emitted from the hat. “What?” he asks, standing up and turning around to look at his mother, his face a mask of surprise and horror. He can’t bring himself to try and look at Satinka, not after she made it and he didn’t. What is this. What it this?? Seker is in a stunned reverie as he stumbles to the Hufflepuff table, not thinking, yet, to look for Rafe or any of the other Hufflepuffs he’s acquainted with. It was probably a prank or something. Well, Seker would play along for now. “Hello!” Seker greets his ‘housemates’ with a put-on genial demeanor. “What are we having?” he asks, pointing to his empty plate with a perked brow.

Keelan Walsh chokes a bit on the next name, though Sheldon, Galen sorts to Slytherin all the same. Three Ravenclaws, a Gryffindor, and yet another Hufflepuff later, she calls, “Wexler, Alden!” who is second to last in the world of Sorting unless someone has been missing from the list or Keelan‘s recitation of names.

Alden Wexler swallow a breath, Alden steps forward, moving toward the stool and the old, patched hat with an even stride. He pauses briefly to glance up at the faculty table toward Sibyl, then to the Gryffindor table toward Briony and Felicity, before exhaling a long sigh and lifting up the Sorting Hat. With a grave expression, he climbs on to the stool and places the hat on his head.

His eyes somewhat wide, caught a little off guard by the insight of the hat, Alden quietly removes the cap after it’s shout and slides off the old, solid stool. “Thank you,” he says, politely, to the ragged bit of leather, before turning toward the cheering table to take his seat. He was certain he could feel Briony gaping at him from behind.

Keelan Walsh calls out, “Wexler, Kyler!” who takes a seat and sits there for so long Keelan is actually startled to hear, “Slytherin!” call forth from the hat. With one last look over the assembled students, she rolls up the parchment, claps briefly, and takes the stool and hat away. When she returns, it is to her seat at the faculty table, where she relaxes, duties done.

Melvina Prichard rises from the faculty table purposefully once the ritual of Sorting has concluded, lifting her nimble, long-fingered hands in a suggestive way as she beckons the student audience for silence. “Excuse me, quiet please — yes, that includes you, Mister Alcot.” Her voice is thick and strong, but laced with an ever-present hint of amusement. An almost coy half-grin touches her lips, looks over the heart of her school.

“Greetings, everyone,” Melvina calls, her voice dancing across the Great Hall at a comfortable volume. “Welcome to your school year nineteen hundred and twenty seven! I trust that all of you enjoyed your summer vacations! As I’m sure most you of you are now aware, my name is Melvina Prichard and I am the Headmistress of Hogwarts school. Last year, all of you helped give this blustering, frugal old woman a home and a purpose. This year, I hope to reward and repay each of you for that wonderful gift. Now, pressing on, I’ve some beginning of term announcements to make.” Clearing her throat, the Headmistress pulls a pair of spectacles from her emerald robe pocket and resting them on the bridge of her nose, before gathering up a tightly-bound scroll sitting next to her empty plate.

“All the usual suspects, of course. Our caretaker has asked me to remind you check the updated list of prohibited items and punishable offenses that have been thoughtfully posted in each of your common rooms–” Drawing in a deep breath, the Headmistress begins to unroll the wound parchment, “Spellwork outside of the classroom, rough play, pranks, hijinxs, dungbombs, Whimple’s Pimple Powder..” Demonstratively, she allows the end of the scroll to slip from her fingers, clatter to the table, spill over the edge, and roll across the floor Great Hall until it exhausts itself somewhere near the door of the waiting room across the entrance hall. A somewhat playful glint sparkling in her eyes, Melvina sets her end of the very long list down and vanishes it with a flick of a wand which she withdraws from the sleeve of her robes. “As you can see, the list goes on. Be sure to check it.”

After a small bubble of laughter, Melvina takes up a blessedly smaller sheet of parchment. “Hogwarts tradition demands that I remind you the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds for all students. As seems to happen every year since antiquity, some of you will most certainly forget that pesky little rule. It just slips out, squeezed away from the building pressure of knowledge our fine professor work so hard to fill your head with over the year.” A rueful chuckle escapes her as she shares a knowing smile with the hall. “Know then that detention is the minimum punishment for entering the Forbidden Forest without a member of staff or faculty beside you, and that such acts will usually will result in a substantial loss of house points as well.” With a small, meaningful glance around and a pause to clear her throat and savor a sip of pumpkin juice, Melvina continues. “Naturally, we ask that you respect and defer to your Prefects. Also, I’d like to congratulate our new Head Boy and Head Girl, Andrew Larson and Margaret Cresterton. Mister Larson and Miss Cresterton, please stand.” She applauds once the two have risen, leading those who care to join her in a modest round of congratulations, before continuing on.

“Well done, Head Boy, Head Girl,” the Headmistress says, sincerely. “On to faculty. There are many exciting changes in Hogwarts staff this year, so to begin I hope you all with help me in welcoming Professor Phoebe Helit whom will be heading up our Muggle Studies department, and Professor Addison Williamson whom will helm our History of Magic class.” Melvina holds for a pleasant-enough round of applause before plowing on. “Also, though she has been with us a great while, I hope you’ll all help congratulate and welcome Professor Rathe in to her new role as Deputy Headmistress. Naturally, she’ll continue to provide you all with excellent lessons in your Defense Against the Dark Arts courses as well.” Another pause for applause, and quietly surprised murmurs — it was hardly a secret that last year Professor Rathe could hardly stand Professor Prichard. Now she was Deputy Headmistress? “Sadly, I must inform you that Professors Calwern and Ashcroft have chosen to step down. Professor Fallon will properly replace Professor Calwern as Gryffindor head of house.”

Following a deep, relieved breath and Melvina finally sets down the parchment and removes her glasses. “That said, I have only one more announcement to mention before we start in on the delicious feast I know you’re all patiently waiting to savor. This is my second year as Headmistress of Hogwarts school — last year was a daring step on to the path of the uncertainty for all of us. A maiden voyage, where bold choices were made, some rising to shimmering brilliance, others not so much. But in this second year, the fright of the unknown fades as well all walk in a comfortable security. Each sure we know, or at suspect, of what to expect It is in this peaceful repetition that we as a family forge traditions. Thus, I announce to you all our first of many traditions, the second annual Barefoot Social.” A sly, almost devillish grin dances over the lips of the Headmistress. “A celebration of the new term, greeting those whom are just joining us, and welcoming home those of us returning for another year. This dance will semi-formal, open to all years, and include an… outdoor feast.” The too-clever look on her face almost seems to gloat, briefly, as she looks out at her young crowd. Obviously, she is terribly proud of herself. “As this is the mother of tradition, we shall follow the precident set by last year’s grandmother event — the ladies will need ask the gentlemen for the honor of an afternoon’s courtship.” She waits, eagerly, for the reaction to that before at last finishing up. “I will be resuming the Student Events Committee, made up of students from all years to help me prepare for the Barefoot Social, Governor’s Ball, and a handful of other special events I have planned through out the school year; if you’d like to be on said Committee, you may contact me through any of the usual means. Exact details regarding date and time of the Barefoot Social shall follow shortly. Let’s eat.” And with small nod and a sly, lingering grin, she slips casually back in to her seat.

(Ravenclaw) “Oh, bloody effin’ ‘ell,” Riley hisses, allowing his head to collide with the table uncerimoniously. “She did it again — that’s what the hell she’s been smirkin’ about all these weeks. Another damned Barefoot Social. Kill me now.”

(Ravenclaw) “Ah, food,” Noémie comments, grinning to the new folks with a bit of a stretch. She grins to a certain other sixth year at her side and then winks, perhaps a bit more playfully than would be her norm otherwise. “Looks like a good little crowd, all of you,” she comments to the new firsties briefly before putting more food into her mouth. It is Riley’s luck that she has done this, too, for she does gift him with a rather stern look while she clears her throat. “Riley, you fuddent say fings ‘ike vat.” Ah, ever the graceful, polite young lady.

(Ravenclaw) Kassandra peers over to Riley. “Be careful, before I ask you out.” she grins and moves nearer to the table to begin loading small portions of various kinds of food onto her plate. She finally sees the variety in front of her and shrugs grinning. “Hm, seems like I can’t decide this year.”

(Ravenclaw) Dolly Faeden is a girl, and last year made a face at dancing with boys. Dangerously, though, she gives a look over the table at the announcement and says to Riley, “It’s not so bad, or are ye afraid ye won’t get asked?” A bit of roast turkey is chewed and swallowed before, “Or are ye afraid ye will?” comes out in her standard arrangement of impossible to understand accents. A giggle is all Noémie affords, as again the boys get eyed before there’s a shrug that seems to say ‘Meh, boys’ and she reapplies herself to the buisness of eating.

(Ravenclaw) Rhian Brecon smiles at Riley. “It wasn’t that bad last year, and it was fun planning it. Just relax Riley, just six more years and you don’t have to deal with her as Headmistress because you will have graduated. Focus on your studies and you’ll totally forget about her.”

(Ravenclaw) “Turf it,” Riley mutters, under his breath. Hopefully soft enough that he isn’t heard, seeing as that he doesn’t genuinely want to irritate Noémie. Still, he meets her stern gaze with one of his own, laced thickly with annoyance that only a summer held hostage with elderly arrogance can inspire. “And you shouldn’t talk with yer mouth full.” Dolly’s trite little questions are answered with a foul expression. “Nice bit o’ double talking there, eh? Right or wrong no matter how I answer.” Rhian’s reassurance is rewarded with the most positive reception — a gruff grunt and nod before he tables his forehead again, not bothering to fill up his plate, which is a white color almost as pasty as his pale skin seems to be at the moment.

(Ravenclaw) “I guess it’ll be nice to have some detention, don’t you think, Riley? I’ll let your grandmother know you’ll be coming Friday night for your first detention of the year.” Noémie doesn’t grin or wink or even blink as she tells him this, her face stony and plain before she turns her face to the boy next to her with a sly look and then beginning to eat. Her elbow darts out into the boy’s side briefly, but she doesn’t say anything further while she continues to work on the mound of food she’s put onto her plate — no small feat for a girl of her build!

(Ravenclaw) Riley Markham lifts his gaze, slowly. His expression — somewhere beteen incredulous and dangerous. “You can’t be serious.” His tone is tenative, however — on the edge of potential laughter he didn’t feel if it proved to be a joke, and torrential rage if it proved not to be. His hands remain at his sides, and his chin brushes against the plate as he stares up at the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain and Prefect. “Noémie..”

(Ravenclaw) “Well, you’re the one who said those things. I’m completely serious.” She shrugs at him. “You know how things go, and that was pretty foul language, and in front of the new students, no less.” Noémie shakes her head and shrugs. “You’ll know better next time, won’t you? I’m sure your grandmother won’t mind, anyway. She likes seeing you.” The girl takes another bite of food, looking rather nonplussed about Riley’s apparent near-emotional-explosion that is on the brink of being set off.

(Ravenclaw) It takes almost every ounce of reserve that Riley has not to do something physically rash. Such as taking one of his suddenly balled fists and shattering the plate his chin had just touched a moment before, or drawing his wand. Sitting up, slowly, his teeth grate together as he struggles to keep from saying anything at all — which proves largely to be a losing battle. “Take it. Back. Now.” His left fist, wrinkled with hideous scars as if his whole had had been soaked in acid, actually trembles. “I had a summer with her. A whole. Damn. Summer. Isn’t that enough?” His voice is only just barely contained in hisses. “Here, her flat, doing her chores. The whole summer. One effin’ afternoon I had away from her.. one. Don’t you dare do this to me. If it were you, you’d be muffed too — besides, isn’t all that snogging and whatever else you did last term punishable — don’t you deserve a detention or two for all the disgusting load you did with that git last year.. or whatever it is you did over the summer?” There’s a moment, after the words fall from Riley, that he realizes he has gone to far. Way to far. And it shows in his eyes. The immediate regret for the stupidness his anger summoned. But being a his grandmother’s grandson, his stubborness holds his fast to his words. And with force of will he didn’t know he had, he stands by them.

(Ravenclaw) Dolly Faeden blinks slowly and calmly with the air of someone observing as if completely unaffected. “Riley-sir, do ye hate your grandma? I love both of mine, and one of them is a muggle, so if ye could explain why ye don’t seem to like her–it is because she’s old? Grandmothers are supposed to be old. An’ they’re supposed to have you help around the house, too.” Her tone is very weird and curious, the exact way someone might ask a question and provide a hypothesis in class. She’s apprently not too observant that she might get smacked for her behavior, though.

(Ravenclaw) Peering at Riley, Noémie looks as if she has not taken this quite as calmly as his previous transgression. “Two detentions then, Riley. And don’t you ever talk to me that way again. Family or no, I’m still older than you and a prefect besides. You can be sure I’ll tell Melvina about that, and whatever your summer was like, that’s not my fault, so don’t you dare take it out on me, Riley Everett Markham. That is not my fault.” Standing and tossing her napkin onto the table before her, Noémie gets out from the table. “Now, first years, feel free to follow me, I’ll take you to the commonroom. The girl does not look at Riley again, though her annoyance is etched into her face. “I’ll see you up at the commonroom, Joseph,” she tells her comrade and waits to see if any of the first years come to follow her.

Rising from her place at the faculty table and clearing her throat loudly in a meaningful manner, Melvina lifts her hands motions for the room to quiet. The hall is lavishly decorated in blue and silver, as seems the tradition for the current house points holder. “Hello, dear students of Hogwarts term 1926 to 1927. Or, more aptly, I should say, goodbye. What a year it has been! Yes, indeed. But, before we travel much further done this ceremonial road designed to fill our bellies, hearts, and minds until our next fine year of learning, it is my great honor of announcing to you all we have with us a special guest, joining us for a good-will mission of sorts. If you will please direct your attention, and warmly welcome…” withdrawing her long wand from the sleeve of her emerald green robes, Melvina gives the length of cherry wood a dramatic flick. The huge double doors at the rear of the hall swings open slowly, their loud creak filling the room.

(Ravenclaw) Clavicle Gravely turns curiously to look at the doors with wide eyes. Surely this isn’t normal procedure. He looks around to see if any other students have a clue as to what she’s doing.

(Ravenclaw) The prefect has been until now sitting quietly with Joseph Wexler at her side, looking as if the two of them have been sharing a bit of a secret until the Headmistress has begun speaking. Without another word, Noémie leans out to see who’s joining the lot of them at the feast, biting her lip a bit. Is it someone important? “Who do you think it could be this late in the year?” she asks those close to her and continues leaning out so as to better see the doors at the end of the room.

As the doors swing open to allow a view into the entrance hall, it is Sylvie Winters-Geroff, Minister for Magic, who is revealed standing behind them. Her eyes flit over the tables of students quickly, head not turning, before she takes her first steps into the room. From there it is a straight walk up the middle aisle, somewhat formal dark robes swishing slightly as they hang around her, until she has joined Melvina at the front of the hall. When she reaches it she gives a brief nod of greating to Melvina. “Thank you, Headmistress.”

(Ravenclaw) Riley Markham lofts a brow, shifting his gaze in the direction of the pointed wand — sitting far enough away from Noémie and Joseph that he didn’t feel the need to glare daggers at them, yet near enough to stay in earshot. “Knowing Gran, God only knows,” he murmurs in response to Noémie’s query, though as Sylvie Winters-Geroff strides in, Riley‘s eyes do appreciably widen.

(Ravenclaw) Clavicle says, “Hey, that’s the minister isn’t it? But why would she be here?” he looks down at Riley as if he would know. “What did you do this year?” he asks with a grin on his face. “That was a Joke Riley.. I promise.”"

(Ravenclaw) “Well, point taken,” Noémie responds to Riley with a chuckle, grinning at her cousin with a shrug. As the Minister walks in, however, Noémie sits up and uncrosses her legs, trying to look as responsible as one might be able to on a mere glance. She watches with interest as the woman walks up to the front of the room, and the prefect straightens her pointed hat carefully, trying not to stare too gape-mouthed. She’s seen the Minister twice this year now!

Melvina Prichard returns the nod with one of her own, her lips painted with a quiet, half-amused grin that is pertepually a part of her character. Perhaps more so now than on average. She did so enjoy the dramatics. “Naturally, Minister,” she replies, before finishing her introduction to the crowd. “Sylvie Winters-Geroff, Minister for Magic.” She offers some time for the stunned silence and whatever applauses might creep up out of the shock, before pushing on. “The Minister’s time is short, and she has a very special purpose for visiting us today, so I will turn the floor, and my pedistal, over to her. Minister?” Stepping away from the podium from which Melvina usually stands behind, she motions for Sylvie to take it, before returning to her seat.

(Ravenclaw) Kassandra Verkooyen stretches to be able to observe the opening door and immediately straightens as she catches a first glimpse of the Minister. “Oh, Mrs. Winters-Geroff…” she whispers somewhat to herself and smiles as she had never been able to meet her before.

“Thank you, again.” As Melvina takes her seat, Sylvie turns to fully face the students, pausing a moment as she looks over them again before she starts speaking. It’s been a few years since she’s been in this exact position, after all, though many of the older students are still familiar. “I am here today to honor two of your peers, two of the wizarding world’s finest citizens, for their great efforts put forth this past year on behalf of one of your professors.” A very quick glance is directed back at Karina. “Miss Eliza Marlowe, Mister Martin Foster, would you please join me?”

With a startled gasp, Eliza Marlowe springs to her feet, unfolding gracefully to her full height despite the fact that her mouth is still hanging open in surprise. It stays open as she exchanges a glance across the room with Martin over the heads of the other students – then looks back to the Minister, and then to Karina, and then to the Minister again. Slowly at first, and then faster as the initial shock wears away, Eliza strides down the aisle towards the head table, a slow, incredulous smile beginning to spread across her face.

Sylvie Winters-Geroff offers a brief smile to the Head Boy and Girl as they walk forward, waiting until both have reached the front of the room before she speaks again. “Mister Foster and Miss Marlowe played a crucial role in researching and apprehending Immanual Irving, a man who was working illegally to create and test dangerous potions.” She leave the explanation at that; the news of the trial likely spread even to here. “In doing so, they also cleared the name of Professor Sedgewick, for which I know we are all very grateful.” “For their skill, determination, and bravery in assisting the Ministry in this way, each will be awarded the Order of Merlin First Class.”

“What?” Eliza‘s exclamation carries to every corner of the Great Hall, and her mouth hangs open again for a moment after it is done. She looks swiftly over at Martin, as if to check whether he’s heard the same thing that she has. “Order of – First class?” Eliza repeats, her powerful voice barely a whisper now. And then she looks back at Sylvie, gulps, and straightens up, unfurling her shoulders to stand at attention before the Minister. Another smile starts to edge up the corners of Eliza‘s mouth, smaller, wondering, and proud.

(Ravenclaw) Clavicle Gravely blinks, “That’s the youngest anyone’s ever been given an order I believe. Amazing!”

(Ravenclaw) Kassandra Verkooyen nods at Clavicle, still in disbelief, but delighted of the fact that the Headgirl and Boy already have achieved what others not even can dream about. “Yes, amazing is the right word, I think.” Kassandra smiles.

(Ravenclaw) “I don’t know, I think I’ve heard of them being given to really young people who happened to be in the right place at the right time,” Noémie comments off-hand to those around her before leaning up again to watch the Minister continue on, and see whether the woman will stay around. “My, an Order of Merlin. I don’t know that I’d ever do anything worth getting something like that,” The girl comments to her companion and bites her lip as she continues to watch.

(Ravenclaw) Clavicle says, “Keep going undefeated in seeking and you’ll get a good pro sport though.” Clavicle comments to Noémie. “You’re a killer on a broom.”"

Slight smile back as she watches Eliza and Martin’s reactions, Sylvie waits until the large amounts of cheering have died down again before continuing. When it finally does, she turns to face the Head Boy and Girl, taking a single step toward them to present each with the award and offer a handshake. Alongside this she adds, “Thank you, both, for your services. I’m glad to know there are people such as you, and am sure you will both do well once you leave these walls.” She offers another, larger smile to the two, before turning back to the student body at large. “It has been a pleasure to be here with you today. With no further ado, I turn you back to your Headmistress.”

With a steady hand, Eliza reaches out to accept the award, shaking the Minister’s hand firmly with the other. She stands even taller, if that were possible, and her smile shines forth into a full-force grin as she closes her hand around her Order of Merlin. But Eliza‘s eyes are shining with more than pride – as she withdraws from the handshake, she hastily reaches up to scrub at her eyes with the heel of her hand, swallowing hard even amid her smiles.

Rising from the Faculty table after Eliza and Martin have accepted the rewards, Melvina applauds loudly, after after a few moments, motions for everyone to rise and applaud as well. And with some satisfaction, she notes that the applause is both loud and very sincere. “Thank you, Minister, and congratulations to the Head Boy and Head Girl! Let us praise our fine student leaders by honoring the with the school song!” Giving a great, wordless, hooting cheer, the Headmistress breaks in to a very loud, very happy round of largely off-key song, in hopes that the room follows her lead in good cheer. “Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, teach us something, please! Whether we be old and bald, or young with scabby knees! Our heads could do with filling, with some interesting stuff! For now they’re bare and full of air, dead flies and bits of fluff! So teach us things worth knowing, bring back what we’ve forgot! Just do your best, we’ll do the rest, and learn until our brains all rot!” And only once the Headmistress-invited standing ovation and song has progressed for several minutes, the Headmistress makes motion for everyone to quiet again. Turning to Sylvie, Martin, and Eliza, Melvina grins, warmly. Obviously quite jovile, even if there is a small mark of seriousness in her eyes. “Miss Marlowe, Mister Foster, please remain there for a moment. Thank you, Minister. I know you have pressing a pressing agenda, but if you could see fit to stay, I’m sure my staff would make room for you at our table. The meals are as lovely still as I’m sure you remember.” The offer made, she looks back to the crowd of students, her rich brown eyes twinkling, “Now, moving right along..”

“Indeed, indeed. Well done, Miss Marlowe, Mister Foster. You have both performed an act and bravery and cunning that speaks well of yourselves and this school. It is with a genuine heart that I, the faculty of Hogwarts School, and your fellow students congratulate you. However,” Melvina notes, the mirth leaving her expression at the note of that last word. The Headmistress’ tone becoming gravely serious. “As prefects, and certainly Head Boy and Head Girl, you of all pairs should know that rules are rules, and are not to be broken lightly, even in the wake of such good tidings or favorable results. Thus, I fear I must make some last moment addendums to our house rankings.”

Stepping back to allow the Headmistress the spotlight along with the two students, Sylvie joins in with the last round of clapping as the room stands up. As the clapping.. and, later, song.. fade off and Melvina resumes her speech, Sylvie apparently accepts the invitation to stay. After all, who would refuse the Hogwarts feast? And the beginning of Melvina’s speech finds her at the Faculty table.

Basking in the glow of applause and praise, Eliza stands at the front of the room, pushing back the tears of joy and pride that threaten to spill out of her shining eyes. She tosses her head back, and lifts her chin higher in a show of strength, struggling to keep her smile from wavering. And then the Headmistress’s next announcement comes – and Eliza‘s expressive face melts into a look of sudden apprehension. She exchanges an entirely different kind of look with Martin now, worried and uncertain.

(Ravenclaw) Kassandra‘s expression fades as the Hufflepuff’s and the Slytherin’s award would automatically mean more points for their houses. “Oh no, we’ll lose our lead in the house points.” she whispers, still admiring, but not really loving the two Headstudents anymore.

“For leaving the school grounds without express permission or escort of myself or one of the school faculity, I find that I must penalize both the Head Boy and Head Girl by twenty points each.” Knowing what an unpopular announcement that will be, especially after such a jolly congratulations, Melvina similar waits and allows that to sink in. Noting those who boo with the same quiet, grave expression.

(Ravenclaw) Clavicle Gravely That’s outrageous.” he frowns. “I mean sure I want us to win, but really, doesn’t that undermine the minister? Your grandmother is one tough woman Riley. Er.. how about YOU come visit ME over holiday. I can train tigers, whip lions, but she scares me.”

(Ravenclaw) Noémie can’t help but look exceptionally pleased as the other houses lose points. “That secures our win,” she comments. “The Quidditch cup and the house cup.” The girl beams at her companion and watches witha bit of a smug expression.

Eliza lifts her chin higher still – not in defiance, but in acceptance. She stands just as straight and tall as ever, even with the burden of losing her House points as one of her last acts as a Hufflepuff – but Eliza still can’t quite bring herself to meet the eyes of her housemates, or Martin.

(Ravenclaw) Clavicle Gravely hmmms and shrugs. “I don’t know, Last year they hit us negative then positive. I think we’d better wait and see.”

Once Melvina has let that reality sink in, that Ravenclaw’s lead had become absolute, the Headmistress continues. Her expression equally as serious and tone just as grave. “However, I would be remiss in following Hogwarts policy if I didn’t then, in turn, reward your fine accomplishments as well.” It’s only then than the tell-tale twinkle in her eyes glimmers as she shifts her gaze toward Martin and Eliza. “With dedication and cunning that exemplifies the core traits of both your houses, Miss Marlowe and Mister Foster, you two alone subdued and helped bring to justice a singularly Dark Wizard, and cleared our dear Professor Sedgewick’s name. For that, I have the great pleasure of awarding you fifty points, each.”

(Ravenclaw) Dolly Faeden briefly looks up, having been tinkering with a clock under the table after the chorus of the school song faded out, “Wha’? Oh, well, smatter with losin’ twenty points when they’ve just got the… firs’ class bits? Right? Not like it’ll change their exams or anythin’ important.” A pause in her chatter as Melvina speaks, “See? No matter, they’ve won, then, so it’s all to rights.” She doesn’t wait for a response but resumes her tinkering, eyebrows coming down in concentration. Who cares about feasts and points when there’s a clock she’s supposed to have fixed to show off to grandfather tomorrow?

(Ravenclaw) “FIFTY?” Noémie respons, gawking open-mouthed. “How completely unfair! They shouldn’t get more points than they lost for that! They broke the rules!” The girl says this rather loudly, and her disappointment is apparent. “{Rotten, no good, awful,}” Noémie mutters in French and concludes with some words that would make a french Sailor blush, looking quite annoyed. “Completely unfair,” is all she can end with in English.

(Ravenclaw) Clavicle Gravely shrugs a bit. “That’s what Riley got last year, and Saphia if I remember right. It fits right with their policy I think. But it ties us Noémie. so we still got a chance for a tie.”

Continuing on, as if not to lose her momentum, Melvina adds in a grand voice, “Further, I award Martin Foster another fifty points efforts that saved the lives of third year Louis Harper and our Professor Rathe while putting himself under great personal risk.” Drawing a deep breath, Melvina grins, quite suddenly, and opens another round of applause, before looking down to Martin and Eliza, nodding that after they have soaked up enough praise, they may return to their tables.

And Eliza‘s grin bursts forth again, spilling over into a laugh of relief and triumph. She reaches over to shake Martin’s hand, and then changes it to an enthusiastic thump on his shoulder. With the momentary anxiety entirely dispelled, Eliza is free to let her joy emerge again, and she strides – no, runs back to the Hufflepuff table to rejoin her housemates for one last time.

(Ravenclaw) Kassandra corrects Clavicle. “No, Slytherin is in front of us…” and as another fifty points are awarded to Martin she sinks in a bit “way in front of us…” her voice fades.

(Ravenclaw) “Nobody asked you,” Noémie responds irritably and it is clear that she is rather inconsolable at the moment. The girl says nothing else, muttering the occasional swear in French as she crosses her arms and her posture fails a bit, hunching over and leaning on the table. “No good Slytherin.” The girl looks quite displeased.

(Ravenclaw) Clavicle says, “Well that certainly killed it then.” he shrugs. “But still Noémie. We beat their quidditch team, and we’ll do so again.” he nods stoically. He looks a touch worried at the captain, “We’ve still the best team.”"

(Ravenclaw) Kara Raine‘s shoulders slump at the latest addition to the points. “Fifty? Each!” Pushing her auburn locks from her face she turns to her fellow first years near by, “That will put Slytherin in the lead…” Sighing deeply, she frowns, her next words quite soft. “Would have been nice to have both cups, ah well.”

(Ravenclaw) Shooting a glare to those who address her directly, Noémie continues to brood at her spot on the table, not looking forward or even applauding, despite the fact that someone’s life has been saved. “Might ‘s well go home now,” she comments and sighs, looking around only once more, mostly to glare at those around her before staring hard at the table in front o fher.

“Our Hogwarts family has endured much this term, and by sheer pluck of our students and faculty, we have emerged from the struggle stronger and shining brighter than we ever have. It is on that note, that I also wish to praise Professor Sedgewick and Professor Rathe,” Melvina continues, after the applauses have died down again. “Professor Sedgewick, of course, endured a grueling assault on her character and soul and perserved as best as one could expect. Professor Rathe showed great strength of character and soul in during the trial of Paul Clairwill, and such fortitude and bravery should be rewarded. Thought it would be unfair for me to award house points, or implore upon our dear visiting Minister to grant medals as were just recieved by our esteemed Head Boy and Head Girl, I believe they are each equally deserving of said regards, and we should all be proud of them, and of there connections to us and this school.” Again, leading a round of applause, Melvina then turns to Astra with a grin brimming with genuine pride, and motions to the blue and bronze decorations lining the room. “I believe we have a new House Champion, do we not? If you would do the honors?”

(Ravenclaw) Clavicle says, “Noémie, we beat their best teams, you did actually, you beat them with your training of our team. You should see this differently. Look at their points?! YOU beat that. You lead our team against theirs and we flattened them. So Noémie.. you can do as much if not more then they can too, because you’ve faced both of them on the field, and beaten them both, you lead us, and you are the best captain Ravenclaw has had in I don’t know how long.” he grins. “So they got these points. Great, Next year we’ll get it, and we know we can cause you’ve beat them once already, we just gotta work harder to get more points is all.” he hmms. “A little luck wouldn’t hurt either.” but he looks at Noémie, “But still, There’s the rub of it, they got lucky and were in some situation, that’s all, next year we’ll get them…but good.”"

Standing up, there is a pause as the small woman reaches into her cloak to retrieve her wand. Looking rather perplexed as her name was mentioned, Astra tries to cover up her discomfort with a tight smile and a muttered, ‘my pleasure.’ Following that there she moves swiftly with a snapping motion of her wrist and wand, the banners flip from Blue and Bronze to Green and Silver changing to display from Ravenclaw to Slytherin colors. Astra‘s smile faded during the loss of points, but now she bestows a very pleased expression upon the Slytherin table as she tucks the wand away and retakes her seat without a word.

(Ravenclaw) “Bugger off!” Noémie says rather loudly. “I know we won the cup.” She glares at him again. “Stop being so… smug,” she tells him and turns away, her arms still crossed as she frowns hard. It is clear she is disappointed and not the least bit resigned to the outcome. “Don’t touch me, Joseph,” the girl snaps as her companion tries to comfort her. “Can’t anyone just let me be unhappy for a little while. Why are you all so happy and smug? We just lost the cup because of that heroic… nonsense!” She hmphs and stares hard at her plate, obviously indignant of anyone who is not as put out as she is.

(Ravenclaw) “Well we prolly beat them all on exams, dinnit we?” pipes up Dolly without looking from her clock, not really paying attention to the proceedings except with her ears. “An’ if you think about it, it’ll be scores on exams that show who’s the best at their subjects and the ‘portant exams show what ye get to do outside of Hogwarts. Unless ye were wantin’ ta play Quid’ for a professional team.” Pause, “Even so ye wouldnae had to win House Cup or faught Dark Wizards or anythin’ ridiculous like that. Just good at flyin’ and passin’ and suchlike.” Tinker, tinker, blather.

“Congratulatuions, Slytherin house! Now, only one more thing to say, before we enjoy –” With her still withdrawn wand, Melvina negligantly flicks it at the direction of the tables, summoning the End of Year Feast for everyone to enjoy. “– the fine food which has been prepared for us. This has been my first year at Hogwarts School, but it has been a fine one. Thank you all for that. When I arived, this was an imposing castle, something I remembered from my youth. A daunting job. But thanks to you all, staff and students alike, I felt welcomed, and now, I can’t help but see this place as my home. For those of you students who will return next year, remember that magic use over the summer is strictly prohibitted, and that next year I hope we can grow together as much as we have this one. For those of you graduating and going out in to the world, we have only had the oppertunity to touch each other’s lives briefly, but I hope you will remember me and this place fondly, as I will remember you. My first graduating class as the luckiest woman in the world, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Eat well.” And with that, Melvina sits, smiling quietly.

(Ravenclaw) Kara Raine Fiddling with the hem on her robe, Kara glances upward, still quite dejected looking as the Ravenclaw colors are replaced with green and silver. “Quite right Dolly, I am sure that we did. ‘Sides, we still have Noémie, and next year our quidditch team will be better than ever with her leading it. We won the one cup this year, next year will will have both. I’m sure of it.” A smile lifts her face as the food appears, eyes glancing around excitedly, “Now, what to eat first.”

(Ravenclaw) Clavicle Gravely frowns. “I wasn’t being smug. i was trying to raise your spirits. I apologize.” he states formally and turns to watch the proceedings. ”

(Ravenclaw) Clavicle Gravely looks at Riley. He just shrugs and pushes his plate away, not eating at all. “Why would she think I am being smug when all I am doing is trying to make her feel better?” he shakes his head and just waits to be allowed to go, turning away from Noémie for sure and just staring off to the faculty table.

(Ravenclaw) Dolly Faeden looks up as the speech ends and the food arrives and with an audible, “Oh thank ‘eavens,” she stuffs the clock in her bag, finds a plate of something that looks difficult to chew and passes it toward Clavicle while taking a few rolls from another basket herself. “Nonesense not ta eat this feast, unless yer Da’s a good deal better’n mine at cookin’.” Some more food is taken and passed this way and that, and she sets to stuffing her mouth and muddying her brain rather than dealing with the perplexing emotions of older people.

(Ravenclaw) Riley Markham makes a loud hissing sound, somewhat muffled and mollified by Melvina’s genuine words. “Because she’s pissed, Clavy, ’cause we lost, an’ so am I,” Riley responds, curtly. Not so much at his housemate, but largely at the situation. “Bloody rank, is what it is. Holding the lead all year to lose it now. What say you we give Mister Order of Merlin, Dumb Class a good jinxing after this is done?” The shaggy-headed second year says to Noémie, rather quite meaning it.

(Ravenclaw) Clavicle says, “Because no one jinxed you last year when YOU got 50 points did they Markham. So it’s all fine and good for you to break the rules and go off and be a hero, but if someone else does it they deserve a good jinxing eh?” he shakes his head. “Surely you can see there’s a similarity, i would expect you of all people to see that Markham.”"

(Ravenclaw) “{Raising my spirits after we just} lost to stinking Slytherin…” the girl comments, half in French, half in English and sighs, but now tehre is food before her. “Oh, food,” she comments blandly and reaches out to start spooning things onto her plate. The girl’s plate ends up quite full, almost defying that it might all be eaten, but without another comment she begins to eat. “Oh, stuff it, you two,” she tells the boys. “Just eat the food. We’ll just have to work harder next year to get it.” Noémie is clearly in a sour mood as she begins to eat some potatoes rather quickly.

(Ravenclaw) “Honesly! Shut up an’ eat, you lot, ya’r killin’ me appetite,” intones Dolly a bit crossly, though from the heap of food on her plate (and the fact that she’s talking with her mouth partially fully) her appetite is a long way from the grave. She does sit up a little straighter at Noémie saying it, adding, “She’s a Prefect, ye know!” Sassy little firstie today, isn’t she?

(Ravenclaw) Clavicle Gravely just shakes his head. He doesn’t fill up his plate or anything. He begins polishing his flute.

(Ravenclaw) Riley Markham simply shrugs, passing off Noémie’s anger and Clavicle’s reasonableness with the singular act. “Haven’t you heard, Clavy? All’s fair in love and war.” He does reach out to help himself to the same bowl of potatoes that Noémie took copious amounts from, and mutters something about a Boogie-Foot Jinx being just the thing.

(Ravenclaw) Clavicle Gravely just shrugs silently.

“Ah ha!” Melvina chirps, after unrolling an insanely large scroll of parchement across the surface of her desk. The wooden scroll spine, roughly the size of automobile axel, clatters to the ground while the edges of the yellowed material hang off the edge of the desk not unlike an ill-cut tablecloth. Numberous former headmasters, captured in painting hung all about the great domed room look with some mild interest at the curious bolt of scrawling scripts. “What have you there, Bert, dear?” Asks on portrait, a pleasantly plump witch by name of Doris Whamsley. Several other potraits hmn, curiously, as if to express interest as well. Melvina, however, simply grins. Oversized parchments and talking portraits are hardly odd, however, at a place like Hogwarts. Nor are they even the oddest thing in the room. Indeed, in shelves and cabinets and on small tables here and there are dozens upon dozens of magical artifacts. Ancient fossils of civilazations long gone by. Small incan statues carved of gold, a curious stone bowl with swirling silver contents neighter liquid nor gas, an anhk from the temples of Egypt, and numberous dark detectors, just to name a few. Items collected on her travels as a curse-breaker. One small table has been set aside toward the back portion of the room, on which sits a wizard’s chess set. One set seems to be composed of clashing Mayan figurines, while the other seems is a classic Scottish highlander set. The Mayan figurines are set off to the side, and two highlander pawns an knight are holding the Mayan king captive, remains of the Scots last victory. The papers have all be thrown from Melvina‘s desk willy-nilly, so that it almost appears that she stands in a seat of half-flung books and scattered parchment.

“Professor Prichard?” the fifth year Ravenclaw calls quietly, a quieter knock on the door echoing after her voice finishes. “You called for me?” Noémie cannot help but look really curiously at the office. No, she had not seen it since Professor Hargrove had been in it, and it certainly was less cluttered than it appeared to be now. The girl watches the Headmistress for approval, stepping only just inside the door, in case Melvina is too busy to see her just now.

“Yes, dear, yes,” Melvina calls somewhat distractedly, not bothering to look up from the oversized parchment as she draws in close to it and runs her forefinger across the page in a roughly zig-zag pattern. “Come in, come in! Have a seat!” The headmistress murmurs excitedly, lifting a hand and flicking her fingers at the air in front of her desk, materializing a ultilitarian, but mildly coushined table-chair infront her desk, perched on top the slightly uneven hill of parchement scattered about her desk. Without benefit of a wand. There was no denying that, all other things aside, Melvina was a tremendously talented witch. “There! Right there!” Says, immediately after conjuring the chair, prodding at a specific point in the parchment with a thrust of triumph.

Noémie does as she’s told and and climbs into the chair, sitting primly, her school robes rather disshevelled from the quidditch practice she has just run from. Her hair is a fright, though she doesn’t notice at this moment. “What did you call me for, if I might ask?” the prefect states evenly, though she does have a bit of a hunch about what this meeting was called. She says nothing else, but she does crane her neck a bit, attempting to see what it is the Headmistress is so excited about.

“This, dear,” Melvina replies, poking at the parchement again — holding her finger carefully over the spot on the parchement as she sinks back in to the chair behind her, which she had abandoned in the attempt to find the obscure and minutely written character son the old, yellowed blanket of parchement in front them. “This right here.” Finally lifting her gaze, Melvina passes the girl am almost playful grin. One that seems almost younger than her silver hair and wrinkles would suggest. Noémie’s rumpled appearance is taken in only as an afterthought, she herself having been the sort to enjoy getting a little windtossed, it seems to amuse rather than offend her. “I thought after the last match and what was said, noting your and Riley’s surprise on the pitch, I would go about clearing up some questions. I’d hoped to show this to you together, buts eeing as that my grandson has been..” She pauses, briefly, her eyes losing a hint of thier vibrance. Riley wasn’t at practice this afternoon, nor had he been for the last couple of days. “..predisposed,” she decides on, ultimately, before forcing herself to grin again. “I thought I might show you.” Drawing a deep breath, she looks down at the parchment. Which is a very large, very elaborate family tree. “This, Miss Ribouet, is the most noble,” scoff, “and ancient,” with a drone and a wink, “house of Bones.”

“Bones?” Noémie responds quietly, standing and coming to the desk to look at what Melvina is showing her. “I’m related to a Bones, then?” Clearly Noémie has not been at all educated about her family, save that they really wanted nothing to do with her. Was Melvina part of this family who considered her an outcast? Noémie says nothing in relation to this, but she cannot help feel concerned about it. “But my mother’s maiden name was Burgess.”

“Indeed you are, dear,” Melvina says with a smile, canting her head slightly to one side as she regards Noémie’s expression. She doesn’t say anything of just yet, though, observing for the moment. Starting with Uriel Nicholas Bones, she traces the path of relation out.

“So, that’s my…” Noémie pauses in thought, counting on her fingers. “Great-great-great grandfather?” she asks, curious, looking down at the part of the family tree that Melvina has begun pointing out to her. “Mum and dad never told me of any of this,” she finally admits aloud, running her fingers gently over the older parts of the family tree. “So, how are we related, exactly? I can’t see it right off, I’m afraid.”

“We, my dear, are first cousins, twice removed,” Melvina says, in a coversational tone, as she allows Noémie to finish finger-tracing the path on her own. Instead, grinning a coy, almost playful sort of smile, the headmistress leans back in her chair and folds her arms lightly under her breast. Her eyes do narrow slightly for a moment as she attempts to mentally work it out, then obviously decides the better of it as she abandons the look with a dismissive cluck of her tongue. “You get the idea, at any rate.”

“So, we’re sort of… distantly related, then?” Noémie pauses as she runs her fingers down. “Why isn’t my family’s line here?” she asks cautiously, noting that Melvina’s line is, very much, still there. “And I suppose this sort of makes Riley and me… cousins? Or, what is it?” She looks perplexed as she thinks over her relation to Melvina, trying to translate it, then, into her relation to Riley. “Oh, this is confusing. We’re related, though?” Noémie leans back in her seat, face pensive while she looks at the tree now from the distance of her chair.

“Indeed so, dear. We’re distantly related, as are you and Riley, though even more distantly. Cousins, if it makes it easier to wrap your mind around. It happens that way in pureblood families, often. There aren’t as many of us as there used to be, and so everyone begins to coil with everyone else after a time –” Leaning forward, Melvina casts a gaze at the chart, noting with a somewhat sad glimmer in her still-youthful eyes that, indeed, Noémie’s line had been erased off the oversized scroll. Unfolding her arms and taking her wand off her desk, and gives it a little flick and briefly, the length of Noémie’s line reappears, only to vanish again after several seconds. “Stupid charm, that, but damned resistant. It’s a Neener Charm. Out of sight, out of mind. Ignorant bigots.” The old wooman’s face becomes momentarily clouded and somewhat dark, before she sighs and shakes away the memories with a sour expression. “That happens, too, in old pure-blood families. Idiocy. Your branch of the family were known blood-traitors, so they put on an Neener Charm over you. Enough to hide your family’s “shame”, but fixable enough that they can still reveal the names for inheiritance. You’ll notice my name is fairly pale as well, mhn? I married a muggle, after all.”

“Oh, I see.” Noémie pauses. “So, it’s because my mum married my dad, isn’t it?” She seems to sink lower in her chair, almost as if the weight of what she’s just been told is weighing down on her physically. “Why would anyone do that?” She frowns rather hard and leans forward again. “So it would be… over here.” A pause permeates and she stands up again, leaning over and looking at it, pushing her hair back out of her face. “How did you figure out that it was my line, then?” Noémie asks quietly, looking up at the woman, her face serious and perhaps a bit morose.

Melvina Prichard seems to consider for a moment both of Noémie’s questions for a long, quiet moment, before leaning forward in her seat. Her elbows plant themselves gingerly on the parchment-shrouded surface of her desk and she steeples her fingers in front of her somewhat hooked, pointed nose in a cogitative manner as her wand dangles limply between the two clasped hands, tip waving lazily over scrawled lines of elderly names and forgotten relations. “It is, yes, in part because of your parents. But not solely the reason. Notice that it isn’t simply yourself and your parents covered, but names above them and around them, as well.” Her fingertips drum against one another briefly, before she clears her throat and lowers her hands. “I and knew they were there because I knew of them, dear. Your parents, I mean. Not personally, but by reputation. Even when I was out of favor with my parents, my sisters and I would still talk. And, sadly to say, they would often have little more of value to contribute to a conversation than gossip. I applaud anyone who follows their heart, especially in the face of adversity. It is our greatest strength as people, Noémie, dear. More powerful than any magic.” Those words, her tone, for that one moment, is quite serious. Her voice, usually mirthful and light, conveys in that space an almost cosmic secret, wisdom beyond time. And it hangs thickly in the air for a moment before she continues, he usual tone of quiet amusement filling her words and expression once more. “So I followed their careers. I never had the oppertunity to meet them personally, at least, not in any great length. But I applauded them, never the less.”

“Oh, so… it’s … a good thing,” Noémie realizes and sits back down on the edge of her seat. “So, you’ve never met my parents then. It’s no wonder they’ve never mentioned you, then.” Noémie pauses and looks down the line where she assumes that her own ancestors might be. “Perhaps you could meet them this summer. And we could all — in France — on holiday,” It is clear that this both excites and confuses Noémie, even as she tries to make plans for her newfound family, before even letting it fully sink in. “I’ve never had family before,” she comments bluntly, turning her attention from the parchment to Melvina’s face.

Rising, slowly, Melvina can’t help but smile. A genuine smile, somehow subtly differant from her usual air of simple amusement. It’s kinder, simpler expression, captured in the softening of a line here, and the increase of a line there. It’s a tired expression, weary from sadness, perhaps. A lifetime of loss, confusion, and misunderstanding hanging in those deep brown eyes for that unguarded moment. The loss of a husband and a parent, the confused relationship with her sisters, and the misunderstandings gulfing she and her daughter that have grown to slowly include her only wizarding grandson, all reflected there, for one brief moment. Hardly longer than a heartbeat. It was genuine empathy — she knew what Noémie meant by those words, that she had never had a family. She had experienced it herself, and worse yet, she was afraid that was to be Riley’s fate as well. And ultimately, perhaps, that was why she had called Noémie to her tower this evening. Because she knew that, and knew that, even if it were just a cousin — even if it faded in to obscurity as well, in the course of time — everyone deserves someone they can come to, someone they can love, someone they can trust. Noémie did, certainly. Riley did. And maybe even she. Reaching out slowly, as she strides quietly around the desk, Melvina touches Noémie’s hand kindly. The depth of her expression hidden again, that unguarded moment passed — her secrets and hurts no longer reflected in her eyes. But there is no mistaking her tone, the genuine tenor of her words, as she replies, “You have one now.” And her fingers squeeze lightly Noémie’s hand, before her normal manner commenses, and she perches herself on a half-sit on the edge of her desk. “And don’t you worry, it’s been a long while since I’ve had one, either, so we’ll be able to practice it all together. That said, I thought I might ask you a small favor.”

“Yes, a family,” Noémie whispers happily, looking around the office with a somewhat still shocked expression. The girl stays quiet for a long moment, almost as if she is waiting for Melvina to just speak, rather than wait for her response. But then, it seems to occur to her that she might need to speak up. “What kind of favor?” she finally asks quietly. “Is it a very … big one?” Despite the fact that Melvina has said a small one, it almost seems as if Noémie wants it to be big, to increase her importance in the matter, perhaps.

Melvina Prichard chuckles softly, folding her arms under her breast with a slight grin. “Naturally you know my grandson, captaining him on the team as you do,” she replies. A faint twinkle touching her eyes. “His grades are slipping — he’s a fair hand at practical work, but he’s fairly dim in the area of book learning. Your marks, as I understand it, have been fairly strong through out. I wondered if you might be willing to tutor him some?” An almost conspiritorial look washes over her as she playfully grins. “Between practices and studying for your coming O.W.L.s and other social obligations, naturally.” A small pause, and then, almost incidentally, “And, of course, it you happen to learn more about your cousin in the process, then so be it.”

“Oh, of course,” Noémie responds and nods quickly. “It won’t be too much, I’m sure. Second year studies aren’t too taxing, either, so it should be no problem.” The girl smiles happily at Melvina as she says this. “And I’m sure he’ll catch on after a fashion. I’ve had times where I wished I had a tutor, too.” She pauses. “Actually, it would be handy for the OWLs.” She shakes her head with a sigh. “I know they’re months away, but I do so want to do well on them, and other Ravenclaws in my year don’t seem as fussed with studying for them so I can’t form a group. I suppose, if I help Riley, he can help me study by quizzing me a bit, though.” Noémie seems to come to her own solution as she says this, breathing in deeply. “Is he doing so poorly as all that, though?”

“Well, no, dear, not entirely,” Melvina murmurs, settling in on her perch at half on the edge of her desk, somewhat displacing a small scroll of parchment that had been resting there, which clatters to the floor. “My Riley is a fairly talented boy in his own right. He’s a mab hand at magic, all told. All his professors have assured me that, outside of potions, when it comes to actual, practical application of magic, he could rival some of the students in your year. Theory, however, seems to completely elude him. He’s capable of being one of the top of his year, if he could master the written and theoretical portion of his workload. That would be, primarily, what I would like you to help him with.” Her smile fades a bit, as the weight of her genuine concern regarding her grandson’s academic troubles weighs upon her. “It’s not unlike what I’ve see with him on the quidditch pitch, actually, and I’m sure you’ve noted as well. He’s a natural flier — if you, naturally, weren’t the team seeker, he’d probally have been a shoe-in for the position. He’s fast and clever and brilliantly reckless. But with he has no control over his bat. Putting himself between the bludger and his teammates isn’t a problem, but where he sends that bludger afterward, is. Count that on to the sheer number of classes he has had to miss because of his illness..” At that, Melvina does pause, and for a moment, the smile is gone entirely. Again, there is a flicker of her unmasked state. And an amount of guilt and concern flickers over her eyes that is almost crushing, before she moves on a moment later, not allowing herself to dwell. “He practices, alone. Magic, I mean. He finds empty classrooms after hours, and devours spellbooks, until he masters them. He thinks no one notices, but he forgets sometimes that every wall in this castle has eyes, and all those eyes reach me eventually. He’s making his way through the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4 at the moment. Just mimicking the movements, incantations, but forgoing entirely the theory or understanding of why the spells work. At this rate, he’ll make a mockery of his O.W.L.s, and I can’t stand to see that. So it appears mutually beneficial on a number of angles, the notion of you tutoring him. Improving his understand, him helping quiz you, and your getting to know a relative you never knew you had.” A faint smile returns, finally, as she turns her gaze back to Noémie.

The girl nods and smiles. “He could use some more practice at his Quidditch, too. I’ve offered to help him with some of the younger students, too, if he decides he can spare the time. I don’t see why studies would be out of the question as well.” She smiles broadly and though she does cringe a little as Melvina mentions his illness, the girl says nothing about it. She, for her part, isn’t sure even how to address it. “I’ll do my best to help him understand the theory and practicality behind it,” she promises the headmistress, then proceeding to sit in silence for a moment. That moment seems to elongate and lengthen and then the silence becomes a bit uncomfortable for Noémie. “Was there anything else you wanted, Professor?” she asks the woman and stands a little, her eyes lingering on the family tree for just a moment before looking to Melvina.

Melvina Prichard seems to consider that for a moment, following Noémie’s gaze back to the oversized scroll on which Melvina partially sits, before exhaling a soft sigh. Her quiet, half-smile remains, but as her eyes wonder over that long stretch of parchment naming pure-bloods of the Bones line back to antiquity, there’s a certain coldness as well. To many bitter memories and hard choices reflected in her eyes she was forced to make under the prejudice of those names still visible. “No, dear, unless you have any further questions.”

“Hmmm,” Noémie seems to consider, looking over the parchment for a moment. “Well… I think I need to owl my parents and ask them some questions first. And then I’ll ask you more questions if I’ve still got any,” the girl tells the headmistress, smiling a bit. “I’ll … just go then.” She bites her lip and looks at Melvina one last time before finally deciding to slip out of the office quickly, bound for, likely, the owlery.

Melvina Prichard draws a deep breath and exhales it slowly, still gazing at the parchment for several moments after Noémie leaves, and she hears the gargoyle slide back by to place. “Bastards,” she murmurs, her eyes narrowing on the oversided parchment as she rises. With a negligant flick of her wand, all the scrolls lift up in to the air, roll up tightly, and pile themselves in a neat stack at the side of her desk. A wave of her free hand lifts up all the things she had shoved off her desk when Noémie had first entered and arranges them back on the wooden surface. One of the portraits, a plum amd prim former headmistress by the name of Ivagora Platt makes a disgusting hissing noise, and rather adminantly chides Melvina on her use of language. “Ladies should not speak that way, dear. Oh, no! You should be ashamed!” Melvina doesn’t even bother to look up before murmuring in response in a somewhat cold tone, “Thank you, Ivagora.” She stood by her word. Parents shouldn’t have to raise a child without family, and a child shouldn’t be castigated out on the “supposed” crimes of her parents. Or grandparents. Not Noémie, not Riley.