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.

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.

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.

Walking in from the cool London air and onto the train, Saphia waves to Olivia as she finds a carriage. “Good morning, Ms. Baxtor,” she whispers happily as she finds her seat, setting down Mina’s cage on the floor next to her and heaving her many bags (no doubt full of books) onto the roof racks above.

Getting herself settled into her seat, Olivia glances at Saphia with a faint smile. “How was your summer?” she asks the girl with whom she has spent all summer corresponding and trading books. As redundant as this question may be, it seems the most relevant to the Hufflepuff while she gets her own owl situated on the seat next to her, keeping her a small distance from the window, though it is clear that she has claimed this seat. “This is Gaia,” she tells Saphia. “I got her for my birthday. I couldn’t send her because she’s not big enough to carry the books, though.”

Looking inside, a woman far too old to be a student at Hogwarts is joined by a boy far too young to be a student. The two look to be a mother and son. Phoebe smiles looking around in the compartment. “Do you dears mind if Edward and I have a seat in here with you?” She asks with a friendly smile. Behind her on the floor sits several trunks presumably filled with there possessions.

Fern Featherstone steps inside the compartment and looks over the area from beneath the curtain of her dark lashes. She seems rather shy and her cheeks flush with a pinkish hue.

Riley Markham throws open the hatch to the cabin with a dark sounding of hiss — finding, to his great discomfort, that he actually has to duck somewhat under the edge upper lip of the door in order to step inside. Already donned in his wrinkled, half-open Hogwarts robes, as tossed and uncared for as they often seem to be, Riley uncerimoniously steps beside Phoebe Helit almost as if he’d not seen her, tosses his case up in to the racks carelessly, and flops down beside Saphia with his arms crossed over his now surprisingly broad chest. Almost as if in after thought to his momentary anger (which seems to flare as he looks out the window and sees his Gran waving at him from the platform), he looks to Saphia, nods in greeting, then looks to the woman — presumably a professor, since he would guess her to old to be a studen — and mutters a meager, “‘cuse me, eh?”

Saphia Bona smiles as Riley sits down next to her, running her hand over his (good) shoulder and arm as he does so, smiling and replying to Olivia, “Oh, my summer was alright, I suppose. My mother forced me out into the sun now and then, which I suppose was proper, but there was ever so much reading to do!” She remarks, looking distinctly crestfallen about such things. As the professor enters, Saphia smiles shyly and whispers, “We’d be honored to have you, Professor.”

Dolly Faeden is a nice shade of brown that clashes horribly with her red hair and tells of a lot of outdoors time in the summer. Nevermind that she lives in a forest. With her accent thicker than ever from being around similarly-worded people for three months, Dee asks, “Is it alrigh’ if I sit here?” No, really, it’s thick like mollasses. With a twisty smile, she sort of stumps in no matter the answer and gives her trunk a push toward one of the chairs. It’s heavy! Or, as she sits in front of it, opens it, and starts to dig something out, she’s just in need of something. She looks up at some noise, still digging through her trunk, and realizes there are people she knows in the compartment after all. “Riley-sir! Saphia!” Her habit of calling the Ravenclaw Quidditchers ‘sir’ seems not to have died, though at least in Riley’s case it’s vaguely appropriate. “Have a good summer, then? Did ye get bigger some how? Not that I didn’t get a little taller myself but aren’t boys supposed to grow more when they’re–oh but you are thirteen, aren’t you? I noticed with some of the muggle boys in the village where me mum’s parents live, that’s really when they start to get taller although nobody’ll explain why except that they do and really it’s the girls who start to grow a lot first but I’m only a year from that so I’ve been researching charms to make robes a bit longer ’cause Da’ won’t be able to pay for new ones in the middle of the year just because I’ve taken to getting taller too fast, you know?” She doesn’t say any of this particularly fast, although her rural Scottish accent muddles it up rather nicely.

Staring a bit mutely at the littler girl blathers on in an accent that Olivia can only partially understand, the Hufflepuff scoots her owl’s cage over a bit farther and makes plenty of room on the bench next to her. After all, she wouldn’t want to take up too much room and keep others out. “I’ve enjoyed most of the books so far. Some of the muggle history books were a little odd, but I liked reading them anyway.” She smiles a bit and looks down at her lap, seeming ponderous. It is but a moment before she reaches down into her bag and pulls out a book. “Here, this is the last one you sent. I got some new books this year to read. Dad agreed to buy me a couple while we were out shopping.” Olivia seems oddly comfortable for one who prefers solitude to strangers.

Fern Featherstone takes a few more tentative steps into the compartment and she carefully sits down upon a leather seat, perching upon its edge and pressing her small feet against the ground. She rests her slender hands against the soft fabric of her wool skirt, even as she lifts the curtain of her wispy dark lashes and looks upon those gathered her with a pensive and sheepish kind of interest.

Smiling down upon Saphia, Phoebe pats her son upon the shoulder “Go take a seat dear,” She instructs him kindly as she takes her luggage and begins stowing it in the overhead. She turns again before taking a seat by her son. “Oh! Im sorry.” She says suddenly remembering. “I’ve forgotten to introduce us, I am Professor Helit and this is my son Edward.” She looks down at the boy who is trying to hid behind her arm. “Say Hi Eddy.” she tells him gently and the boy waves silently. “He’s just a little shy.” Phoebe pats her boy on the head and gets comfterble.

“Oh, thank you, Olivia. I’ve been reading as much as I can, but wi– Wait,” Saphia double-takes, “Professor, I know Professor Helit. I’ve… well, I’ve not had class with him, but I’ve conversed. And I always thought he was distinctly more tall, male, and green booted then you were.”

Riley Markham glances briefly to the hand that Saphia places on his (good) shoulder, before looking toward the door with a hint of mild embaressment. Ultimately, his gaze falls on the young boy with the new Professor — whom he had rather curtly stepped around before. And quite despite his annoyance with the whole thing, he can’t help but offer the little lad a smile. “Makin’ ‘em smaller and smaller all the time, aren’t they?” He mutters, to no one other than himself, before being somewhat distracted by Dolly. A faintly rueful expression touching his lips. “Hey,” he mutters. Being called ‘sir’ made his teeth ache. “God, I wish this bucket of junk would get us there already.”

Dolly Faeden looks sideways at the professor. “But Professor Helit, weren’t you a man last term?” Her eyes are wide, standing up and rather rudely tilting her head and squinching her eyes and finally shaking her head, “No, you were certainly a man. I know, people said Professor Rathe caught you aflame!” She looks at Edward, and says, “Your mother used to a man.” as if this were a fact and not hideously rude of her. At least her accent might obscure some of the nonsese. She flumps back into her seat, now, and sort of peers at Fern, her shoes, and her open trunk. “Oh!” She resumes digging.

“Oh yes.” Phoebe grins and chuckles just a bit before jokingly saying to Saphia “Well Im afraid I’ve been through a lot of changes over the summer you know.” She chuckles softly and doesn’t bother yet to give them a correct statement instead she turns her attention on Riley “Oh, Eddy will not be attending the sorting, He’s my personal assistant.” She says with a smile to her son who smiles back proudly at the title. Both Phoebe and Edward have a chuckle ad Dolly’s statement but neither move to correct her yet.

Olivia watches as the other students ask the man about possibly being the illustrious Professor Helit about whom she has heard so much. It seems clear, though, that if this is the same person, she is now considerably nicer than the one who was there the year previous. Running her fingers over the cage that her owl is sleeping peacefully in, Olivia only nods briefly at Saphia before the girl’s attention is distracted. Turning her own gaze out the window, it seems her mind is beginning to wander, though the thoughts travelling through her head can’t be too poor, given the half smile on her face.

Fern Featherstone studies Phoebe suspiciously from beneath the curtain of her wispy dark lashes, clearly finding it rather strange that she once was a man. Her naturally pale cheeks are still colored with a faint blush as she continues to sit on the leather seat.

Saphia Bona looks confused, before finally whispering, “Wait, are you ANOTHER Professor Helit?” She grins wide, stunned. “How many of there are you? Oh my. What will you be teaching?” She asks, excited. “Do you use many books?”

It’s hard work being a prefect! So Evan would tell you, anyway, after having spent the first part of the train ride patrolling the corridors instead of relaxing in a compartment with his friends. That part of his duty seems to be over now, though, as he seems in no hurry to move on his way, pausing to glance into each compartment he passes. This one wins a bit more attention, and Evan sticks his head in the door, smiling as he spots Olivia, giving a cheerful nod to the others present.

“Oh yes, I was only joking.” Phoebe chuckles softly at the very idea of being Quintus. “Your other Professor Helit is my Uncle actually.” She says this as if wishing that it weren’t true. “I am your new Muggle Studies Professor, and if you have taken my class you should have already bought the books for your year.” She comments to Saphia. She looks around the compartment and spies Evan peaking in and notices his smile to Olivia. A grin plays on her own face but she says nothing of it.

Dolly Faeden is satisfied that Professor Helit has just undergone some changes over the summer and so momentarily pauses in her (apparently aimless) digging through stuff when Saphia has another conclusion. “What? Y’mean there’s ta be two?” She looks at Phoebe again and murmurs, “Well am I sorry! I thought you’d just gone by way of a bad potion, someone slipping poorly made Polyjuice inta your drink or something.” She gives Edward another glance, her cheeks bright red, and then ducks her head back into her trunk, scattering things like a change of robes and a pair of underpants in her haste to both find whatever it is she wants and not look at the others, given she made a wrong conclusion. Unthinkable. Or at least really embarassing.

Turning her head as the compartment opens yet again, Olivia appears to glance around to see whether there is, indeed any spot for another person in the area. “Oh, Evan!” she greets her friend cheerfully, beaming with pride at the badge on his chest. She doesn’t say anything more, but does smile rather cheerfully at him. Could Olivia‘s demeanor be perhaps a little brighter, and even prouder, or is it just the fact that she hasn’t said or done much of anything as yet?

Fern Featherstone continues to sit silently upon the leather seat. She glances toward Evan as he arrive and smiles faintly in his direction. She then looks toward Phoebe, seemingly relieved by something she says. She then smiles shyly, while starting to restlessly toy with the wool of her pleated gray skirt.

Looking to Fern Phoebe smiles and gently asks “Is this your first year dear?” In a kind voice of understanding. Her son leans over as well to smile at Fern and offers her a quiet wave. “It’s a little exciting isn’t it? Not to worry, it’s Eddy’s and my first year at Hogwarts too.” A Professor that never attended Hogwarts? What’s going on?

“Hello, Olivia,” Evan replies warmly. Pulling the door farther, he offers a shallow bow to the.. adult and giving a curious yet friendly look to the child with her, pausing to speak again in an effort not to interrupt conversation. Finally, “Have we got room for one more in here?”

Fern Featherstone looks toward Phoebe and nods in response to her words. A few lank locks brush up against her narrow shoulders. She then glances toward Edward and smiles warmly toward the child. “Yes, its a little exciting. Oh, you never seen the school before?”

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.

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.

(Hufflepuff) Looking somewhat bored, Orion shifts his gaze across the hall — briefly allowing it to linger on the Gryffindor table, and two girls who sit there, and also one boy who piqued his curiousity today, before allowing his eyes to settle on the Slytherin table and the statuesque Tahiri Sol. His expression somewhat coy, much like a cat staring down a mouse.

(Hufflepuff) Albert Bryce shivers quietly in his chair, hair only damp now, rather than dripping wet. Aside from his cloak, which is now bundled in a sloppy mess under the table, the rest of him seemed to miss the rain. “Maybe it rained so hard, the boats capsized,” he muses darkly, eyes focused on the table where, we can hope, all sorts of warm food and drink will soon appear.

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.

(Hufflepuff) Albert Bryce sits up a bit more as the first years file in. He even goes so far as to half stand from his chair before spotting one of the straggly-haired blondes. “That’s my sister,” he murmurs to the boy beside him before taking a seat again. At least he’s not staring at the table anymore.

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.

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.

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.

(Hufflepuff) At least Seker isn’t alone in this misery. “Still think it’s not random?” Seker asks, having dropped his false cheeriness as reality has sunk in. His mother would have chimed in by now if this really was a joke. How could this have happened? “I can’t believe this,” Seker mutters, looking down at his lap and sighing. “How could she make it but not me?”

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.

(Hufflepuff) At least Seker isn’t alone in this misery. “Still think it’s not random?” Seker asks, having dropped his false cheeriness as reality has sunk in. His mother would have chimed in by now if this really was a joke. How could this have happened? “I can’t believe this,” Seker mutters, looking down at his lap and sighing. “How could she make it but not me?”

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.

(Hufflepuff) Charlie Linwood inexplicably turns about ten shades of red and decides that yes, his hands are fascinating.

(Hufflepuff) Puffing up as his new house might suggest (what kind of name was Hufflepuff anyway?) Seker looks to his housemates, pausing on Alden and Charlie to note, “Did you hear that? My mum’s the Deputy Headmistress! What a title, don’t you think?” Seker is a flurry of emotion– part of him proud for his mother, part of him still wanting to die. Hufflepuff? Seriously.

(Hufflepuff) A glance is gifted to Olivia from the direction of the Slytherin table, and the girl seems to blush rather hard as she looks down at the spread in front of her, ladelling herself a rather full bowl of some hearty looking stew, then pausing to take a sip of her pumpkin juice. “That’s really great,” Olivia tells the boy, smiling, though her cheeks are still a bit pink. “Don’t worry, you’ll like it here,” she assures him, and not another thought is given to whatever uncertainness or disappointment the first years might feel as she begins eating and perhaps glancing a bit long at the Slytherin table.

(Hufflepuff) Charlie Linwood immediately makes sure his mouth is full at all times, finally eating like a real boy and getting all the food slopped together on the place and shoved into his mouth at far too quick a rate of exchange. As opposed to his normal behavior, which is to arrange everything neatly and segregated and eat slowly and with a semblance of manners. His cheecks are still a brilliant shade of pink, though Seker gets a bit of a nod and a muffled, “Congrdlatins” which is, thankfully, not accompanied by a spray from his stuffed mouth.

(Hufflepuff) Alden Wexler blinks, almost startled — a lady-ask-bloke social? How.. “Disturbing.” His voice only emits in a sort whisper, which she squelches by shaking his head somewhat. If Professor Walsh appeared down to earth, Headmistress Prichard seemed at least mildly insane. But it were tradition. Exhaling a soft sight, and taking a turkey leg with a serious expression, Alden ponders.

(Hufflepuff) “Yeah, thanks,” Seker says to Olivia before looking to Charlie. “You’re looking a bit warm,” Seker notices. “Do you have a fever or something?” he asks, starting to dig into his piled-up plate. “Yeah, disturbing,” Seker echoes Alden, though not knowing just what the boy thought was disturbing. “How can a hat be so wrong?”

(Hufflepuff) Charlie Linwood swallows and protests much too loudly, looking wildly about the table for Rafe, “I’m just fine! My sister went to Gryffindor, that’s all. I was hoping she’d um… be a Hufflepuff. So I could keep an eye on here. If she asks any of you to the thing, tell her you’ve got the pox. And then get the pox. I can’t have you going or making her feel bad.” He can’t have her going because she’ll report to their mother. “Anyway, the hat wasn’t wrong, you just don’t–”and the rest is obscured as he catches a glimpse of something cross the room and stuffs his mouth again.

(Hufflepuff) “Just don’t what?” Seker demands, voracious for any information, any explanation of why he was placed here. “What’s your name? Or, more importantly, what’s your sister’s name?” Seker crosses his arms after taking a drink of juice. “I’ll be sure to inform her that I’d love to go with her, should she want to,” Seker says, though joking. He might ask Morgana, though, depending on when this social was. Morgana was really one of the only girls he knew here so far.

(Hufflepuff) Charlie Linwood is forced into coherency again, oh no. “It’s just you don’t know how good a fit you’ll be, obviously.” A swig of–well, whatever liquid substance is in his goblet later, and there’s a, “Honestly? You don’t…” an expression mixed between crestfallen and relieved crosses Charlie‘s face. “I’m Charlie Linwood.” Pause. “You know, Beater for the Hufflepuff team?” Another pause, “Captain, actually.” See? See the shiny pin on his robes? Okay, maybe it’s not that shiny. “And uh… you can’t go with my sister because she’s… allergic to black hair. She’d be sneezing all over you.” He fails to mention her name, howevever. Not that his sister isn’t the spitting image of him (to his woe, not hers), though.

(Hufflepuff) Seker lets this alleged ‘black hair allergy’ slide, but not without a roll of his eyes. “Right, right, Charlie,” Seker says, noting the pin on the young man’s robe. “Well, good luck in Quidditch this year,” Seker says with half-hearted intensity. “I’ll be cheering in the stands,” he says, a little sarcastically as he goes back to his dinner.

Amidst the hustle and bustle of children of assorted ages and uniform colours, Gabriel Goden shoves his way through the masses in the Express’ corridor, Briony in tow. “Mooove,” Gabriel mutters under his breath, eventually spotting an empty section. “In here, Bri,” Gabe advises, turning his neck to make eye contact as he points. He opens the door with no intention of closing it himself and slumps onto a seat. The summer, against his will, had gone so fast, and now it was back to school. How could anyone be cheerful? “Well, another year,” Gabe says to Briony with a sigh.

With a bit of a flourish, the door opens again and Carrie Mary Jane Whittier enters the door. She’s carrying a smell pet carrier in which a siamese cat lays sleeping, a suitcase of clothes, and a small golden harp. But that’s not what draws attention from anyone who knew her before. When she left Hogwarts last year, Carrie had beautiful long red hair that used to fly behind her during quidditch matches. Now, it’s cut off into a jet black, bob-style haircut. Her face is powdered, and her lips painted into a petite blood red circle. “Terribly sorry to intrude,” She grins as she enters, “But all the other carriages are full.”

“Isn’t it exciting, Gabe-y?” Briony answers cheerfully, bounding in with a rather harried looking cat in her arms. “It’s okay, Whimsy. We’re going soon. Come on, Alden! Don’t straggle!” Briony sounds like quite the all-knowing older sister as she plops down as close to the window as she can, on the seat facing Gabriel. “I can’t wait for Quidditch this year, can you? I’m sure we’ll do better. I’ve been practicing all summer, of course. I want us to get the cup this year! And we’re going to do good with the Good Deed Club. Alden, you can be with us if you’re sorted into Gryffindor. Well, of course you’ll be Gryffindor. You should be, anyway. I’ll be terribly disappointed if you’re not. And, and, oh, I get to start the electives this year! I’m so excited to see the Divination teacher. Nearly everybody likes her!”

Alden Wexler follows Briony in to the cabin with a small sigh, his expression grave. “Don’t shout, Briony. It’s unbecoming, especially when I’m just behind you.” He lingers in the doorway for a moment, waiting for his older sister to find her seat and clear the way, before placing his suitcase neatly up in the rack and taking a seat near the door and opposite from Briony. His arms folding over his chest in a thoughtful way. He had vague feeling that this would be a long trip — much longer than the floo power ride still dusted his cheeks annoyingly with soot that delivered him to Diagon Alley.

Gabriel truly doesn’t recognize Carrie as he replies to her with, “Yeah, it’s no problem,” and turns to glare somewhat at Briony. “Exciting?” he echoes before he remains silent for a few seconds, not hearing much of what Briony says (though, this lack of attention can partly be defended by the notion that Gabe thinks she is mainly talking to Alden anyways. Though, it was hard to tell for Gabe sometimes). Despite the figurative cloud looming over him, he almost can’t help getting caught up in Briony’s excitement somewhat. Maybe this year would be better. Shrugging to Alden, Gabriel Goden sighs as he looks back to Briony. “This year will be great,” he says with the naive, hopeful tone so common of him in his younger years.

“I didn’t shout,” Briony comments, taking this in stride as she continues on. “Hi! You’re on Hufflepuff team, aren’t you?” she tells Carrie, but doesn’t linger. “Anyway, buck up, Gabe. We’re going back to Hogwarts! Your mum is still our House Head isn’t she? I like her being our House Head. Professor Calwern scared me a little bit. She had all those rules and I was afraid I was going to break some.” Briony shakes her head a bit and then shrugs, grinning cheerfully at her brother and her friend. “Why are you so glum? You’ve been this way all summer. It’s no fun. We didn’t even get to go on any adventures because of it.” A pout crosses Briony‘s face as she says this, but it doesn’t last long. “Maybe we can find some while we’re running through the Good Deed Club and solve them! We didn’t find many last year. It was really sad. I wish we had.”

Felicity Wexler lingers for as long as she is allowed on Platform 9 3/4 — standing beside next to a short, silver-haired woman in her early seventies, who leans heavily on a cane. With one arm linked with the elderly woman, helping support her, Felicity talks in near tears to her until the whistle blows it’s last warning and the ushers begin making final shouts. And it’s with deep, obvious reluctance that Felicity parts with her (not for the least of the matter that the lack of support almost causes the old woman to fall over, until two men on the platform come to help), make it on to the train. Tears in her eyes that she fights to hold back, Felicity makes her way quickly to the nearest cabin with a window looking out on her Grandmother Larsen — and without worrying about it being Briony who she has to press close to in order to look out the window and wave, she abandons her suitcase at the door and cuts straight to her objective, watching sadly as the two men help the old muggle woman toward a hearthstone so she can return home.

Sitting down to the lukewarm reaction from Gabe, Carrie actually bursts out in a tiny laugh, “You really don’t recognise me, do you? I’m offended, Mr. Gabriel Goden. I stole the quaffle enough times from you last year to think you’d have noticed me.” She winks, and plucks at her harp, noting, “Briony here has a sharper mindski, I see.” She also smiles to Felicity as she comes in, and quips, “Oh, my! I’ve boarded the Wexler compartment, I see!” Her smile doesn’t dip, though, and she even begins to play a quiet tune on the harp.

“What?” questions Gabriel, confused at Carrie and showing it with a perked eyebrow and ignoring Briony for the time being. “Oh,” he says, realization dawning on him finally. “Right, I guess I recognize you, K… C… uhh…” he stutters with her name, though he probably did know it at one point. “Yeah, I recognize you,” he says quickly and looks away, a little flushed. As luck would have it, he turns immediately to the teary Felicity. Even worse! Girls and their emotions…! In a last effort, he turns to Briony, safe and always cheerful Briony. “Yeah, I… I…” he starts before crossing his arms and smiling, maybe a little falsely. “I’ll tell you later… this summer was kind of… a failed mission.” He shrugs. “But yeah, my mum’s the head of Gryffindor again this year.”

Alden Wexler arches a brow as Felicity comes bolting in to the compartment, leaving her suitcase at what is, essentially, his feet. Exhaling a long sigh as the Felicity leans over Briony to get to the window, knowing at least in part the nature of the girl’s apprehension and tears, Alden (much like Gabe) looks away. Though his motion is bore more out of modesty than any embaressement. Without a word, he rises, takes Felicity’s trunk, and stretches himself once more to place it in to the racks.

As Felicity continues to cry, Carrie finally breaks her carefully constructed image to shuffle next to her and ask, “Hey, hey. You alright, Jane?” She rubs a hand over Felicity’s shoulder. “It’s alright… shush. It’s alright. I’ll play you a song, OK? Make everyone happy here?”

“Hey, I was here first,” Briony comments and frowns a bit. Felicity isn’t her favorite cousin, after all. Does Briony have a favorite cousin. “Get your own window seat if you want one.” Briony doesn’t say this with as much sourness as usual, because having seen Felicity’s grandmother, even Briony can’t help but feel a little bit sad for the girl. “Oh, a failed mission?” Briony responds to GAbriel, looking almost concerned at it. “Why did it fail? You should have let me help! We would have succeeded together. After all, I’m thirteen now. I’m every bit as good at stuff as you.” So Briony thinks anyway. The train has begun moving, and Briony shoots a beaming look of pride to Alden. “Look, isn’t it nifty? The train ride is so fun.”

Wiping a few tears from her cheeks that manage to escape despite her best efforts, Felicity looks briefly to Carrie — smiling a little, in a brave sort of way, before rising and pulling away somewhat from Briony and the window. “No, thank you, I’m alright –” Briony’s words, strangely, are somewhat comforting to her. The mild harshness in her tone is familiar, and so it’s in the nature of that solid rock that she pushes Briony on the arm (though decidedly more gentle than she would most other times, matching Briony’s understated kindness with some of her own) before flopping down next to her Gryffindor cousin. She passes a small smile of thanks back to Alden, for his putting her suitcase away, and decidedly keeps her gaze from the window as the trainstation fades well from view. Otherwise, she remains quiet.

“I said I’ll tell you later,” Gabriel re-states with much emphasis, eyeing the others in the compartment furtively. Really, it wasn’t the type of ‘mission’ one discussed openly while among others. “And…” though it pains Gabriel to say it, “I… don’t know if you’ll be able to help. Or anyone.” He blinks quickly a couple times before forcing a smile again and trying to change the subject. “It’s okay, Felicity, it’ll be summer again soon. Just think about how fast last year went,” he lies, trying to make her feel better about leaving.

Felicity Wexler nodding slightly to Gabe, in response to his comforting words — words she knows to be false, but words that are comforting never the less, she puts on her best smile, in an attempt to convince herself that she might believe them. Her hands fold in her lap, and she finally turns her gaze to Alden — somewhat curious what it is that Gabe is whispering about, but feeling a little to down to pry. “Are you excited?”

Alden Wexler shifts his gaze back to Felicity once she has regained control of herself, his expression mute — excitement, it would seem, wasn’t a part of his typical profile. “About Sorting, you mean?” Alden murmurs, thoughtfully. His voice mildly high pitched, and somewhat effeminate despite the clarity and certainty he pours in to his words. It only adds to the general air of “delicacy” that radiates from the child. “Not especially, no.”

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.

(Gryffindor) Being seemingly confused due to the events in the train compartment, Andy sits down at the Gryffindor table, keeping an eye on Orion. As Felicity comes in, he wishes he could be invisible or vanish in the ground. Still unsure how to handle the experience he looks down to the table, glancing up only from time to time, checking Orion and the Faculty table.

(Gryffindor) Forcing himself into something resembling a cheerful mood, Gabe glances up to the faculty table, too, as he seats himself at Gryffindor’s table. After he is unable to catch his mother’s eye (she seems busy talking to a child at the table, go figure), Gabriel shrugs, acting like he didn’t try to make eye contact in the first place. “These feasts are always the same, have you noticed?” he asks Briony with a perked brow. “Not that it’s a bad thing,” he adds, catching himself in what could be interpreted as a negative comment.

(Gryffindor) “Well, I suppose so,” Briony answer quickly, shrugging a bit. “I like watching people get sorted. And my brother’s going to be sorted, so I’ve got to pay attention. I do hope he’s in Gryffindor like me and mum and dad. I’ll be so disappointed if he isn’t.” She pauses. “Though, I’ll still like him no matter what house he’s in.” She sounds very rehearsed as she states this and then leans down with her chin in her palm. “I dunno if I’d like him to be in Slytherin, though. I don’t know many Slytherins that I like. I think they’re too mean.” Clearly, the girl hasn’t had many run-ins with Slytherins.

(Gryffindor) Felicity Wexler sinks down in to a seat next to Andy, looking preoccupied and tired. Her gaze lowers toward her empty plate, and almost idly, she reaches up and takes a curly lock of hair between her fingers before absently moving it toward her lips.

(Gryffindor) “Like my sister you mean?” Gabe asks with a grin. “If she’s a model Slytherin, I’m glad that we don’t have much to do with them,” he says. “If my mum would have had another kid, I bet it would have been in Ravenclaw. Then mum would have a full set,” muses Gabriel , idly scratching an eyebrow. “It’s strange how we all ended up in different houses I think,” he continues with, picking up a fork and standing it on its tines, though not letting go. “Don’t you think?” he asks Briony, looking down afterwards.

(Gryffindor) “I guess it kind of is,” she answers cheerfully. “But my dad was in Gryffindor, and then Uncle Logan was in Slytherin — dad still doesn’t like that; I think he wishes Uncle Logan had been Gryffindor, too — and then Uncle Jared was a Ravenclaw and Uncle Gilbert was Hufflepuff, and then Uncle Freddie was Gryffindor, too, and Auntie Eva was Ravenclaw. So I guess they have all the houses, too. Maybe it’s not that uncommon. I wonder if any families have only people who go to one house. That would be neat, don’t you think?” Briony giggles as she says this, thinking more about it. “Imagine, a whole family of Ravenclaws. I bet they’d all own libraries!”

(Gryffindor) “No, no,” Gabriel says, being caught up in his excitement of times past. “One, a sister, would own a library. The parents would own a dusty museum and the brother would be the manager of Flourish and Blotts,” he says, ticking the entities off on his fingers. “The youngest sister would be an editor for the romance novels of the oldest sister, and the oldest brother would be a guide on the tours of his parents’ museum,” he says, grinning as he pictures the family, all with inch-thick glasses and disheveled hair.

(Gryffindor) “My mum was in Slytherin,” Felicity says, quietly, turning her gaze toward Gabriel and Briony. Her tone is somewhat shy, almost as if she isn’t certain she should be joining thier conversation. But all told, she needs to talk, to get the image of the receeding train station out her mind. “Dad, too, I think. I’ve never asked him. Not sure about my sisters, either, though I’d bet Maura was in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff.” Felicity didn’t have much oppertunity to speak to her family often, socially, considering how busy they all were.

(Gryffindor) Sensing the pathetic tone in Felicity’s voice, without really understanding what she, Briony and Gabriel were talking about, Andy is torn between staying quiet and involve in the conversation and maybe find out what was her cause of concern. He finally lifts his gaze and turns to his housemates. “Hey, I…ahm…unfortunately didn’t find you in the train.” he attempts with a tiny voice.

(Gryffindor) “You don’t even know what houses they were in? How could you not know?” Gabe asks Felicity, obviously surprised at learning these things. Just how someone could never have heard what houses their family members were in is completely lost on Gabriel. The boy shrugs as he lets the subject drop, sensing somewhat that Felicity is still a bit depressed about leaving that woman he saw her waving to.

(Gryffindor) Felicity Wexler cringes a little with subtle voracity of Gabriel’s question. Any other time, and she might have bristled, lashed back with a stressed few words of her own which, likely, would met and exceeded anything Gabe’s slightly exasperated question might have delivered with a hint of sack full of righteous anger. However, the simple fact that she has had a lingering, mild crush on Gabe ever since they were first years, combined with the nature of her current, delicate state, instead only lowers her voice and makes her retreat a little. “I.. mum and dad.. are just busy, I don’t see them.. much, and Maura and Ariena are so much older than me.. and they’re gone, living on their own.. and really, it’s just me and Grandmother Larsen.. and she’s a muggle..” Her voice sort of drifts away, accepting Gabe’s willingness to shrug and let it go, before turning to look to Andy. “What cabin were you in? Who did you sit with?”

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.

(Gryffindor) Andy shudders a bit at Felicity’s question, but answers right away. “Uhm…It was the…third, yes. And there was this Hufflepuff with me. Orion. I suppose you know him?” Andy tries to look into her eyes for the first time this evening. He can’t hide a hint of reproach in his glance.

(Gryffindor) Felicity Wexler blinks, twice, before looking at Andy wide-eyed. “You sat with Orion Kari?” A small, quiet hint of excitement fills her voice as she turns in her seat and reaches out to take both of Andy’s hands in both of her own. “What was he like? What happened? Did he say anything?”

(Gryffindor) Another world collapsing for Andy, every crumb of hope has just been blown away. Shutting his eyes for a split second, Andy gathers some power to be able to speak again. “He has been drawing, just sitting around, not talking much or let’s say hardly anything. Just not my type of person to be with, I think.” he replies, rolling his eyes a bit.

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.

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.

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.

(Gryffindor) Gasping, Briony‘s face falls ever so slightly as her brother is sorted into Hufflepuff. Brothers apparently are to go to different places than their sisters this year, and it is clear that Briony was hoping rather hard for him to come to Gryffindor. “He would have made such a dandy Gryffindor,” she comments. “It’s sad, now he’s a Hufflepuff.”

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.

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.

Leaning on her broom, Noémie looks over a bit of parchment as she stands in the center of the pitch. The falling snow doesn’t seem to bother her, though she is wearing several more layers of clothing than usual, including not one, but two scarves. The prefect waits for her team as she peruses the information on the parchment, a very serious expression set on her features. No, Noémie does not look thrilled today.

It is a busy day for David. With the school year going slowly towards the end, the essays begin to be more and more demanding, and David is often spending his entire evenings in the Library. Having Quidditch practices on the top of all that work is not helping much, either, especially since the Ravenclaw team has now a clear chance to have the Cup, which means that practicing is now essential. Running to reach the pitch before the practice begins, David arrives there totally out of breath, and with a red face. “It has not begun already, as it?” he asks nervously, but apparently he is among the first to be on the pitch.

Following David from afar, Tegan walks at a slower pace. The fourth year is totally unwilling to run to get on the pitch; this is ridiculous, especially since they were both on time. Finally reaching the spot where David and Noémie are standing, she makes a quick nod as a greeting. “Hello, Noémie. So, what do you have in store for today for us?” she asks, trying to focus her mind on Quidditch, when she is really only thinking about one particular team member. “Bailey isn’t here yet.” she states, simply, thus revealing what is really going on in her mind.

Bailey Williams strides down to the quidditch pitch, wrapped up in several layers of clothing and looking for his teammates and especially for Tegan. He is determined to show his best in the upcoming practice. As he comes into range, Bailey waves and greets his teammates. “Hello Noémie, everything set up, yet? Hey, David, Tegan.” sounding very businesslike during the last name.

“Damn, it’s cold,” Riley mutters, pulling his cloak closer about his shoulders as he trudges his way out on to the pitch. His broom drags along behind him, and his eyes are heavy. His long, wine-red hair is unbound, and moves behind in like a flame streamer in the light breeze. He doesn’t looke very well, all told, pale and puffy-eyed. Never the less, his black beater dangles from his wrist idly.

Trotting out to the pitch several moments after the rest of the team has convened, Van looks quite happy, despite it being quite cold for March, and her having to bring herself out to practice. “Hello, everyone,” she calls chipperly as she finally makes it onto the pitch with a beaming smile. The seventh year slings her broom over her shoulder and comes to stand casually near the center of the group of them on the pitch, grinning to all of her teammates as she does so.

“You’re late, Van,” Noémie comments, her voice low and rather sharp as she says this. “Alright, good job beating Slytherin last weekend,” she tells all of them, though her face doesn’t have a single bit of congratulations in them. “I think that was the least organized we ever were,” she tells them all, her eyes narrowing as she looks to each of them individually. “Today, I want us to work on our teamwork, flying and playing as a fluid team.” She peers a bit and then turns around, gathering up some cut twine. “Alright, Bailey and David, you two together. Tegan and Riley, here for you two, Van, you go over there to the hoops. No, I’m not tying you down to the hoops. I don’t want to see your legs separating,” she directs to the two teams she has designated with a fierce look. “If we can’t work as a team, then we’re not going to beat Hufflepuff. They’re a good team, they work together, and they pay attention to each other. I don’t want anyone to get ignored this time, and I want us to take the cup. As of now, we go into double-duty. We’ll break for supper, and then come back down to the pitch for more drills afterward.” The girl looks at each of them. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get situated and get in the air. I’ll pass out the balls momentarily.”

David Mildred nods silently at the team captain and walks towards Bailey. “So it’s you and me, apparently.” he says, looking at the fourth year boy while attempting to smile. “Let’s take off, shall we?” he says, grabbing his own broom, and flying up in the air in a matter of seconds. When he reaches a few meters over the pitch, he slows down and turns around to wait for Bailey. The nagging impression that much of Noémie’s speech was directed solely at him is beginning to bug him, but he tries to shrug it off and concentrate on the drills.

Tegan Madison nods silently as well, looking at her bat as the speech goes on. When the pairs are made up, Tegan walks towards Riley, but steals a last glance at Bailey before talking to the other Beater. “Let’s go, then.” she says to him, trying not to mention anything about Riley’s tendency to send the Bludgers towards the public or even the Ravenclaw players, instead of the opponents. “We’ll do just fine. Or so I hope…”

Bailey Williams initially quirks an eyebrow as his captain reveals her plans for today, but then cottons on to the rather unconventional drill method. Glancing over to Tegan, the faint wish of having tried out as a beater emerges. “Alright.” he replies to David and briskly mounts his broom. Bailey zooms up and positions himself next to his fellow chaser, waving with the piece of twine. “Come a bit closer and I’ll tie us up. I hope we won’t totally crash.” Bailey chuckles.

Riley Markham passes Noémie a somewhat curious look as he accepts from her the length of twine, before turning to Tegan. His expression isn’t it’s usual brash, energetic cast — instead, he looks tired, and vaguely pained. Knotting one end of the twine about his wrist, he hands the other end to his partner, mounts his broom, and kicks off a few inches off the ground. Hovering there until his partner is prepaed and they can both soar high. His flight is as always smooth and fairly natural, one of his better attributes. But it lacks it’s usual umph.

Van sighs a bit and rolls her eyes at Noémie as she says this. “Oh, like you’re any better. I heard you skived off Wizo-music the other day.” This is no sooner out of Van‘s mouth than she is up in the air and flying towards the hoops. No, she doesn’t want the captain’s wrath on her, and she certainly doesn’t want to get an earful at how often she’s late because of her boyfriend. This thought quickly passes out of her mind, though, as she spots that very person sitting in the closest bleachers. An animated wave is given to him and she grins widely while doing small figure eights on her broom, waiting for everyone to get situated and take to the air. Though, how this was going to work, Van can only guess.

“Alright, let’s go,” Noémie calls, pulling out a Quaffle and tossing it to David, then getting out what appears to be a modified bludger and holding it up. “This is a different kind of bludger. It’ll only come back to you, no matter how hard you hit it.” She tosses it up in the air and it hovers. “It will go when I say for it to go. “Now, I expect you all to be able to run your own plays, for I’m going to practice with this practice snitch that I’ve nicked off of Eliza. Holler for me if you really need me, but remember, I can’t help during matches, I’ve got to focus on finding the snitch. Can’t be letting Leong get it!” With this, Noémie hops on her broom and releases the practice snitch that she has had in her hand, and waits for it to disappear upwards before following it without another word.

Bailey Williams bends down and fixes the rope at his ankle with a firm knot and reaches over for David’s foot now, tying it to his not too tight and not too loosely. After having swathed their entire shanks together Bailey readjusts his seat and smiles. “You heard it, let’s go!” Bailey calls, definately being up for some new experience today. “I think we should get used to it a bit.” he offers and slowly begins flying straight as a start.

David Mildred catches the Quaffle and begins to fly away, but the flight is not as smooth as usual. Somewhere behind, something is tugging him away and prevents him from flying towards the hoops. “Oh…” says David, realizing his mistake. “Sorry about that, Bailey.” he says. “Where should we go? I thought we could perhaps, uh, toss the Quaffle to Van, but if you feel like going somewhere else…” Flying in close pairs is definitely a hard thing…

“Okay… we could perhaps try to fly in a straight direction for a moment, just to get used to that rope? Then perhaps some turns?” says Tegan, eyeing the twine with some suspicion. “I hope this won’t cause us to crash.” she says, a bit worried. “You never now what could happen…”

Riley Markham exhales a deep yawn, covering it briefly with his beater bat. “Sounds good, eh?” Taking the lead off, he flies forward quietly, taking a moderate pace. Allowing him and Tegan enough time to get used to the bound flying, before motioning briefly with the bat toward the right indicating a turn and shifting toward the right on his broom. He seems to be adapting well enough, though it doesn’t seem like he’s really allowing himself to get worked up over it. Most of Riley‘s problem seems to be stress and nerves, but today he seems to be opperating out a part of his mind where stress can’t quite reach.

“Give it right here!” Van calls with animated motions, pointing directly to herself. The seventh year chuckles as she says this and waves at the two chasers who are tied together. “C’mon, give it here!” Truth be told, though, she can’t hear a word they’re saying, so she has no idea what the two of them are planning as they get used to being connected to one another as they begin to fly along, though not getting close to her at all.

“Just hit the bludger when you’re ready to actually practice,” Noémie calls to Tegan and Riley, closing her hand around the practice snitch, then letting it go as she looks down at them from far above. “Just make sure you get to it soon. No slacking today!” The girl nods curtly down to all of her teammates before flying off again to locate the practice snitch, which, thankfully, is a bit slower than the game model, but fast enough to challenge the seeker during the practice. Back and forth over the pitch, high and low, Noémie seems to be avoiding where the majority of her team is for the moment while she executes her own exercises.

“Woho! Slow slow!” Bailey shouts, getting dragged forward as David seems to underestimate the difficulty of performing a synchronous broomflight. A wonder, that Bailey did not fall off his broom, but as he didn’t he does not really care about it. “Alright, let’s head towards Van and try to provoke a good save. What do you say?” the boy asks his teammate, with a grin, not blaming him for his unawareness.

“Okay. Let’s do that. And, uh… sorry again about that.” says David, giving himself a mental slap behind the ears for what he just did. “Let’s do it slowly, this time…” he says, steering his broom gently towards the hoops. When flying at a lower speed, and looking at Bailey, it is easier to actually fly as a pair, but it is nowhere as comfortable as when flying alone. “Not that easy, eh?” he says, before adding: “Which hoop?”

There is a bit of resistance, but not much, as Tegan belatedly understands Riley’s intentions. A split second later, though, she leans on the right to negotiate the turn with Riley. Being slightly on the outer side of the turn, she feels that she must slightly accelerate to keep up with the boy, but the manoeuvre goes smoothly enough. “It’s not that hard, finally…” she says, with a grin. Of course, it’s easier to fly with Riley than, say, David. Another quick glance is given to Bailey as she hears him complaining about David’s brutal acceleration…

“Yeah…” Bailey answers briefly, concentrating on the unusual drawback. Bailey increases the speed slowly but constantly, always assuring, that he doesn’t fly at a too fast pace for David. “Still fine?” he asks another time. “We could try to get some swerves in before heading to the left hoop and we could keep passing the quaffle among our hands.” Bailey proposes.

“The speed is fine for me…” says David, checking on his trajectory before turning his head towards Bailey and adding: “Yes, let’s do some passes…” Without changing his flying direction, he holds the Quaffle for Bailey to take it. “There. Your right hand” he says, so that Bailey could take it without looking at him.

Van hovers in front of the hoops, looking from David and Bailey to her fingernails, and then back again, as if bored while she waits for them to come close enough to shoot. The girl doesn’t appear to be particularly concerned today, though, as if she will be able to block shots no matter what. This attitude gives her a rather nonchalant air and she even goes so far as to yawn while she waits for the chasers to make their way towards her, clearly underestimating the ability for her teammates to suddenly get their speed and surprise her with a quick shot.

“No, not really,” Riley agrees, suggesting another turn with the point of his bat. This time, so that he is on the outside edge of the turn. He catches somewhat in the accelleration, but it moves relatively smoothly as well. “Alright,” Riley murmurs, finally, in response to Noémie’s call. “Let’s get the bludger, then? You first, then me, then you? Sound alright?” Even his voice sounds a bit lackluster, and vaguely hurt. Never the less, he offers a faint smile to Tegan after brushing his long, wine hair from his face, even if the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Tegan Madison nods, feeling something strange about Riley today but unable to precisely pinpoint what it could be. “Okay, let’s fly towards the Quidditch box. The Bludger is hovering nearby, that’s where Noémie left it.” she says, and the pair begin yet another, smoither turn towards the ball. Once they’ve finally reached it, Tegan hits it with the bat, finding it very difficult to swing her bat without hitting Riley, who is just flying at her right. “Be careful”, she yells, just before hitting it.

“My right hand? Oh…” Bailey says and reaches for the quaffle. After letting it bounce from hand to hand a few times, while trying a few understated swerves, Bailey bounds it to David again. Now coming into the zone, they’ll have to prepare for a shot soon. “I could pass the quaffle to you behind my back, when we are in shooting range.” Bailey suggests with a chuckle and glances over to David shortly. “Maybe it confuses Van a bit.”

“Hehe, let’s do that.” says David, happy to try something that could show Van that she should pay attention to the game. “Just tell me when you’re ready” he says, readying his right hand and waiting for Bailey’s nod to catch the Quaffle and toss it through the hoop. The two boys are approaching the goals at a modest speed. “We need to make a powerful throw…” thinks David. “Ready.” he says simply.

The seeker seems to be on a bit of a rampage, throwing the snitch away from her after she has caught it, and hovering for a moment to observe what her team is doing. One would think that after winning to Slytherin so completely, Noémie would not be quite in this type of mood, but instead of being congratulatory, she is instead a bit short with them all. Instead of saying a word, she flies higher until she is but a spec of brown and gray to those who are closer to the pitch. It isn’t long, though, before she comes zooming downward after a snitch which seems to have found a bit of speed that she had not been expecting.

Riley Markham simply nods as Tegan warns toward caution, before pointing up with his bat suggestively and pulling up on the broom’s handle. Gaining altitude at a marginally quick pace, holding off long enough to allow Tegan to adjust before he is sufficiently near enough to club the bludger back down. Using an overhanded thrust, he has someone knock it down toward the ground. Obviously trying to stay in the spirit of the excersize by making them fly up in differant directions together. His eyes remain distant, somewhat clouded.

Tegan follows Riley without a word, and adjusts without too much difficulties to the new changes in the flying direction. Leaning a bit forward, she observes the Bludger as it flows towards the ground, eventually flying up again towards them. She wonders privately if Riley has really intended to hit it that way, but says nothing, realizing that Riley hadn’t spoken much since the beginning of the practice. “All right, Riley?” she asks, finally, wondering if there is something wrong.

“Fine,” the flame-haired boy responds, tilting back on his broom and pointing with his bat in a downward direction and toward the left. There’s a serious look on Riley‘s nearly fourteen-year-old features, that would suggest that the previously shut bludger went exactly where he believed it would. And as he reaches out with his bat, and sends it sailing out againt toward the edges of pitch, there is no indication that the bludger went anywhere other than exactly where he wished it to go. “This one is yours, Madison.” There’s an air of tired maturity to his pale features, one that gives him a much more grown up cast that he usually allows him.

Eyeing his keeper’s moves and performing a slight draft to the right, but still being in range to score at the left hoop, Bailey nods and adds a low “Go.” to call up the choreography.

Nodding slightly, David takes the Quaffle and from behind his back and throws it as fast as he can towards the nearest hoop, which also happens to be a free one. The whole movement lasts perhaps a second, and the ball flying towards the hoops is now sure to wake Van up. In the meantime, David stops his broom to enjoy the spectacle.

Van readies herself a bit more as the chasers approach, reaching out in a bit of a dive as the quaffle is thrown to the hoop. She has drifted perhaps just a bit too far to be able to manage to block it entirely, though the tips of her fingers do send it off track a bit, and rather than going straight through the hoop, it knicks one side of the hoop, bouncing to the other, then falls through with a loud CLANG. Scoffing a bit as this happens, Van flies down and catches the quaffle before it falls to the ground, and from her position, chucks it back to the chasers, a more determined look on her face as she flies back up to the hoops. “Just try that again now, won’t you,” she calls and puts her arms out at the ready.

Swooping about, Noémie‘s attention is caught by the clang. “Go again!” she calls to them, looking at Van specifically. “A few more shots and we’ll call it a practice for now.” Either Noémie is letting them off a little early to study a bit, or she’s trying not to wear them out before their evening practice after supper. One way or the other, it isn’t possible to tell by the look on her face as she closes her hand around the practice snitch quickly, flying down to the ground where she has all of the storage for the equipment out and just stands on the ground, snitch in hand as she watches her teammates perform their drills.

“Are you sure?” says Tegan once again. “You seem a bit tired, to tell the truth.” Her look is concerned, but she still tries to concentrate on the practice, and especially on that Bludger. Riley managed to throw it rather far away, but here it comes back again, as if attracted by an invisible force towards Tegan. She readies her bat, muttering “Careful!” once again a second before she swings her bat and sends the bludger away.

Bailey grins, as David scores, demanding a bit of effort from Van, who seemed to be rather absent-minded. “Good shot, David.” he cheers and cheers up Van. “Keep your eyes on the quaffle and you’ll save the next one.” Bailey says with a blink. Readying himself for the next attempt, he catches the quaffle and heads for the hoops again, always considering David on his side. Coming closer to Van with every second, Bailey fakes a pass to his partner and lets off the red ball towards the left hoop. Grimacing, as this shot is more than saveable, Bailey turns around to set up for the next and hopefully more satisfactory try.

“That last was a gift!” Van calls, just before the quaffle is shot at her again, this time in a more catchable place, as she is more ready for it to go this direction. Van dives for it, and this time manages to secure a catch of it in her hands. Coming to fly in the center, she tosses it back to them with a grin. “Come again!” she calls to them, staying in her readied position, so as to better catch the quaffle this time around.

Riley Markham passes a brief glance toward Tegan in regard for her concern, but he says nothing of it. Instead, pulling forward on his broom and pushing on. Waiting long enough for Tegan to adjust to the new direction before laying on the speed, to meet the bludger in mid-course. Shifting the bat in his hand, he gives the bludger an underhand struck from the bottom side of the bludger, sending it blazing almost in a directly upwards direction. The strike is powerful enough that the crack echoes through the stadium, and the reverbation shakes through his bat to his scarred hand, causing him to yelp almost in spite of himself. His bat slips from his fingers, but the leather strap about his wrist keeps it from falling to the ground. Wincing somewhat, he pulls his hand close to his, openning and closing it as if it ached. Something a shot even that hard shouldn’t have done.

Tegan Madison decides to drop the matter about Riley for now and instead concentrates on the match. Wielding the bat with someone at her side is hard, but shot after shot she improves, and the formation flying becomes rather natural after a few moments. Deciding to adopt Riley’s style of silent communication, she indicates the direction she wants to take with her bat, which is efficient enough in her mind. “Plus,” she thinks, “it could also work from afar, and help us to coordinate our strategy.” She decides to talk about that to Riley once they are on the ground.

Shot after shot, the awkward flying pair formed by David and Bailey turns into a more coordinated team. It is still not perfect, but they have gone a long way and are flying together more intuitively. Finally, starting to notice that the sun is getting low near the horizon, David looks at Noémie. “Hey, Noémie, isn’t it a bit late if we want to have our dinner?” he calls out, a bit worried now about that Herbology essay that he planned to finish this evening. The practice has been lasting for quite a long time now, and even if the drill has been extremely profitable to them, they need to eat as well.

For the remainder of the time that Riley and Tegan are practicing, Riley never seems to strike the bludger as hard. Even as he holds his bat, it seems as if it’s causing him some obscure pain that he’s attempting to hold back. Once they’re on the ground, he actually seems to be having some trouble standing. It’s subtle, but noticable under careful observation. Again, he hardly seems to lift his broom, and he waits officially for Noémie to call break so he can walk to the castle, though he doesn’t directly look at the team captain. “Aye, sounds good,” he mutters to Tegan, whom before now always seemed vaguely annoyed with his presence in her general vicinity.

Several shots follow as Bailey and David head towards Van again and again. The first of a series of attempt is thrown hard at the opposing hoop, with a good spin, curving nicely towards the ring. Following, there is a last-second hand off from David and Bailey tries to score, tossing the quaffle inbetween Van’s legs, a bit too obvious maybe. Getting it going they seem to harmonise better and better. Now they are trying to embed more complicated manouvers to increasingly challenge Van’s skills. One particular as they fly straight towards their keeper and lean apart to opposing sides, trying to let Van slip through the gap inbetween them and to score at the lonely hoop afterwards. They finally get untied and land to get into the warm castle to attend dinner.

Catching some shots and missing some, Van continues to go through the rest of the practice with a very set expression of concentration. No, she isn’t angry, but she doesn’t appear to be so cheery and nonchalant as when the practice first began. The girl pauses as the last shot comes to her and leans on her broom, looking around, not daring to look at Noémie, who she knows is watching them all from the ground now. “Good shot!” She calls to the last of them who made the throw, but she does not throw the quaffle back, hoping that Noémie will call the end of practice before she has to block any more shots.

“Alright, everyone come in!” the captain calls, her expression still rather tense as she watches them all. “No, David, it is not too late for supper. In fact, you’ve got plenty of time to do some homework before you all get to return to the pitch for our evening practice tonight after supper. We’ll be doing a lot of exercises, so make sure you get enough to eat this evening. Anyone who’s late will pay the consequences.” Without another word, Noémie watches for them to all come in, then goes and sets her broom in a large stand that she has drug out for the purpose of practices today. “No need to put the equipment away just now. We’ll be back after supper for it.” The girl nods to them all, then grins a bit. “I’m going to do homework and have supper, and I will see you all on the pitch this evening.” She doesn’t say another word, rather turns and strides off the pitch and into the castle quickly.

Scoffing as she lands and hears Noémie speaking, Van has barely removed herself from her broom and put the Quaffle in its box before Noémie has finished and turns to go into the school. “Snog her little boyfriend, more like,” Van comments, putting her own broom into the stand and grinning at her teammates. No, Van isn’t immune to the grapevine that has been busily spreading rumors of the prefect and her boyfriend. “I’m sure Joseph Wexler is great homework to be working on,” the seventh year adds with another chuckle then glances to everyone else. “I’ll see you at practice this evening then,” she tells them all with a sigh and makes her way off of the pitch slowly, waiting for a certain someone to make his way down from the bleachers before heading into the school.

Riley Markham nods vaguely, now that the official word has been given, before turning and starting toward he castle without a sound. His movements are natural, but slow. As if he were walking through quicksand, but trying to make everyone else believe the air was no more thick for him than anyone else. Again, he pulls his cloak tighter about himself, but he says nothing about it. Riley Markham does pauses, briefly, in his retreat, as Van’s voice reaches him. But his gaze remains downward cast, and after a moment, he continues on.

Once back on the ground, David walks away, more than a bit unhappy about the prospect of staying up late at night to catch up with his essay. “Plenty of time… yeah….” he says to no one in particular, but far enough from Noémie not to risk to be the target of her wrath once the practice resumes after the dinner.

Having gotten untied from David, Bailey stores his broom away with everyone else’s and sighs a bit. Double practices were not his favorite by any means, and he was certainly not looking foward to whatever exercises were in store for them after supper. Once he’s got his things situated, he runs back into the school, so as to make the most advantage of the time that has been awarded to them between the practices, and is gone from the pitch.

Back on the ground, Tegan unties her rope, pretending to need much time to do it but really only waiting for Bailey, who she looks from afar. Once the boy is free, too, she follows him, being careful not to run directly at his side: the last thing she needs is to spark another rumour in the school…

“Ahem!” Melvina chirps hoarsly, clearing her throat after covering her lips with a hastily risen fist. Her nose seems a bit shiney and red, and dark-colored eyes are ever so faintly puffy. “Oh, oh dear.” A late winter cold, to match the terrible that blankets world outside the cozy walls of the castle this mid-January evening. The famed library of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has been done up much as it was for the last assembly of the Student Events Committee, with four of the long, plank tables edged up in to a large box shape with chairs scattered about the sides. Off to the side sits another table, laden down with the sorts of treats on might expect to encounter in mid-winter. Steaming hit cauldron cakes, gooey, melty chocolate biscuits, hissing kettles of hot chocolate and spiced tea, and curiously enough, a log of fruit cake so impressively large that if it were real wood it might fuel a common room hearth for several weeks. Sitting at the large, square table in the middle of one length opposite the door, the Headmistress shuffles a handful of parchments in front of her for a few moments, before giving a sneeze so great that she actually knocks the wide-brimmed, tall pointed hat she forever wears off her head.

Saphia Bona comes in quickly, with about fifteen different books with her, flopping down onto a desk and raising her hand immediately upon sitting down. “Headmistress Pritchard? I really really can’t stay very long with all the mid-year assignments we have, because I still have twenty books to read between Charms, Transfiguration and Potions, but I earnestly wish to help out with the ball.” She spreads the books out and looks over them in a tiny panic. “I promise I’ll offer any suggestions I can here!”

Riley Markham strolls in a few steps behind Saphia, conversely to her, completely unladen with any sort of reading material. Or anything at all, for that matter. His pack is missing, his robes are open, revealing his untucked button up and wrinkled slacks, and the leather thong that usually holds back his hair is completely missing. His wild, wine-colored locks tossed this way and that as if he had only just woken up. He passes Saphia a slightly crooked glance, as if to awe at her briefly, but without a word he flops down in to a nearest chair to him and shoves his hands in to his pockets. Already looking bored.

“…Already has an escort, and honestly, she wouldn’t tell me who it is, but it’s just appalling! A second year!” Gertrude strides in, flipping her brown hair over her shoulder and looking around haughtily. Nevermind that she’s only a third year herself — second years are so childish. The Baxtor girl scoffs a bit as she continues. “She must have used a Love potion on the poor sap who asked her, because I can’t think of any other reason he would ask her, and this soon! There are plenty of better options. Don’t you agree? Helen?” Gertrude looks to her sister, who is far from identical, for a response as she takes a seat perhaps a bit farther from Melvina than is really necessary.

“Hello, Professor Prichard,” Noémie greets the woman as she comes in and sits very close to the front, only glancing at the refreshments. No, none for her. After all, she’s far to excited about the event to even think of having sweets and things. Must maintain her figure, of course! Then again, it looks as if Noémie needs very little in the way of help with her figure. “Helen, Saphia, Riley,” she greets her housemates with a jubilant smile as she gets comfortable, crossing her ankles underneath her seat and watching as several others make their way in.

Hesitating in the doorway for a moment before entering, Kelly Pantall is decked out in as much winter gear as it would be possible to imagine on one person – earmuffs, beanie, gloves, mittens, cloaks, the works. Her approach to the table is a slow one, and not solely because of her obscene amount of winter clothing. It seems partially, at least, due to her terrible mood, for her eyes are downcast and her feet drag as she walks. “Hallo, Professor Prichard,” she offers in a low, sullen tone, taking a seat on the far side of the table, conveniently rather close to a pot of hot chocolate.

A scroll of parchment, a long quill, and a decanter of ink cradled to her chest by crossed arms, Felicity Wexler makes her way quietly in to the Library. Her cheeks already a bit rose-tinted, still having not forgotten her very first encounter with the Headmistress that had lost her house so many points at the beginning of the year. She picks out a chair, a respectable distance from the headmistress, but not so far as to seem room, then sets down her things and moves to check out the refreshments.

“Oh, I know,” Helen Baxtor opines in response, folding her arms across her chest and sniffing arrogantly. “That really is appalling. She ought to be ashamed of herself. Especially if she used a love potion. And you’re right – what alternative could there have been? No one would have asked her otherwise.” Hesitating a moment as she reaches the table, she eventually sits herself alongside her sister, combing her red hair through her fingers with a vague, disinterested expression. Then, looking up at Noémie, slightly startled, she offers a distracted, “Oh.. hello.” Another pause, and she turns back to her sister with small smirk. “How many of them do you think are just here so they can guarantee an invitation?”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” Melvina says, after reaching down to collect her hat, brushing it off, and settling it back on to her silvered crown with a slightly disgruntled expression. She does find it in herself to smile past the cold, however, as she lifts a hand to wave Saphia off. A gesture that is both dismissive and friendly. “Go on, go on. I’m sure you’ll be able to help and attend the ball, and if nothing else, I’ve not doubts Mister Markham will invite you, if only so that you don’t miss out. Now off with you. Academics is more important.” And that said, she shifts her attention elsewhere. Not watching Saphia leave, nor her grandson’s reaction to her pairing him off for the ball. Instead, looking toward whom just greeted her. “Ah, Noémie, dear. Glad to see you here, dear. Glad indeed.” She gives the Ravenclaw quidditch captain a warm smile, before looking toward the room curiously. “And Miss Pantall, how are you dear?” She greets in return, dabbing at her nose with an emerald hankerchief. Lenore and Helen are given polite nods, as is Felicity. Riley, despite having been mentioned before, is curiously ignored. “So, I suppose we should be getting to this. Those of you who were here last, I assume you remember the procedure. Sit where you like, as it seems you have, and help yourself to refreshments. The policy of this committee is, quite simply, if you have an idea, offer it. If it’s seconded and thirded, we vote as a whole and if it passes, we use that idea. As you all know, the topic of coversation this day is to be the upcoming Governor’s Ball. Any questions before we begin?” A faintly amused grin touches the corners of her lips, quite despite her cold. She was already looking forward to this.

Seeming a little perplexed by the Headmistress’ greeting, Kelly looks up, shrugging her shoulders lightly, then busying herself with the hot chocolate. “Oh.. I’m alright. Thank you?” This last is offered as a question, as if she’s not quite sure that she should, in fact, be thanking Melvina for the query. But, oh look, biscuits. And hot chocolate.

Riley Markham had just started leaning back in his chair, propping it up on the two hind legs, when Melvina arbitrarily declares Saphia as his assumed date. A statement which causes him to jump so profoundly in his seat that only the fact that his foot got caught between two legs of the arranged tables keeps him from toppling backward completely. For a moment, after he has regained his balance and thrust his himself forward so that the front two chair legs collide with the floor in a resound thunk, Riley looks quite like he might scream something obscene at the Headmistress. But whatever better judgement he holds obviously grabs hold of him, as he folds his arms across his chest and sinks so low in to the chair that he might as well be laying down. His eyes narrowed in slits, that were the Unforgivable Curses, would have killed Melvina there on the spot.

Felicity Wexler pours herself some hot cocoa and cuts off a small piece of fruit log and returns to the table as soon as she hears Melvina start to speak, settling in to her chair and unstoppering her ink. She looks toward the Headmistress briefly, then around the room briefly. She had no questions, herself, but she was here last time.

“Most of them, I bet,” Gertrude whispers to her sister in a conspiratory fashion before turning her attention to Melvina. For her part, she, too, was only here to ensure an invitation, though she would never admit it, in all her life. “Well, perhaps not that prefect over there, nor that one there. She looks to be at least a fourth year, I think.” No, even the headmistress speaking cannot halt Gertrude‘s speeches to her sister.

For Noémie‘s part, she just leans back comfortably and looks at the headmistress expectantly. She ignores the whispering nearby of the Baxtor twins, as well as the giggling of some second year girls behind her. After all, she isn’t here to police library etiquete, instead to help plan for the ball coming up. A question does occur to her, however, and as is her habit, Noémie raises her hand into the air.

Peering over at the indicated girl, Helen waves her hand in the universal gesture of ‘so-so’, not committing to an opinion about the girl’s year either way. For her part, she is indeed here to secure an invitation, but is she going to admit it? Never. “Pft, of course. Children.” And, indeed, in this count she is including both those in younger years and those in the same year group as herself. Obviously, anyone other than the Baxtor twins who is not evidently older than the girls by a considerable amount is more childish, until further notice. Relaxing back in her chair, Helen seems to be paying little attention to anything other than the gossip, still combing out her hair with her fingers idly as her eyes scope the library for something else to comment on.

Setting down her green-dyed hankerchief near her empty scone plate, Melvina pushes herself up from the table with a faint nod. Preening briefly, vaguely smoothing and adjusting her robes as an old woman is want to do, she folds her hands behind her back and slowly begins to make her way about the table. “Fair, then, no questions. Good. Let us begin. When last we met, we discussed and planned the Barefoot Social. Those of you that were here, you did an excellent job. Brilliant, even. It was a smashing success, even beyond my own wildest expectations. And if I do say so, my expectations are quite, quite high.” She grins, giving a faint wink. An expression that looks decidely clownish, with her bright red nose. “Well done, pat on the back to all of you. …Oh, Noémie, dear, sorry, I missed you there,” Melvina says, appologetically, as she turns and sees Noémie’s hand in the air. “How about this? Let’s not stand on tradition of handraising, shall we? Assure equally that we’re all heard. Go ahead, Miss Ribouet. What’s your question.” She as well seems to ignore the whispering of the Baxter twins, though she does pause directly behind their chairs to look toward Noémie.

“It’s an old habit, I’m afraid,” Noémie admits with a chuckle. “Are students allowed to invite adults as their guests to the Ball?” she queries, a small grin playing on her lips as she asks this, as if she knows something the others don’t know. Her hand is now in her lap, fiddling with a ruffle on her long skirt while she still leans comfortably back in her seat.

Slipping back a little further into her seat at the mention of the Barefoot Social being a smashing success – after all, as far as she recalls, the most successful part was the fact that the boy she publically humiliated at the Social is still willing to speak to her – Kelly remains entirely silent, sipping her hot chocolate and nibbling on a biscuit quietly. After a moment, though, she tentatively begins to raise her hand – then, noting Melvina’s discouragement of this activity, adds her own question after Noémie’s, not waiting for Melvina to answer the first query put forward. “And, and, since students on the Events Committee are allowed to attend, even if they’re not fourth year or up, are we allowed to invite other younger year students as dates?” As her cheeks flush pink, she offers a quick addendum of, “I mean, not for me. Just for – you know, future reference.” Her words come a bit too quick, a bit too hurried, and eventually she just fills her mouth with biscuit to avoid the matter entirely, slipping a little further below the table. Nice one.

Riley Markham sits quietly, his gaze shifting toward Noémie with her question. A brow quirking slightly. His annoyance with his grandmother vaporating slightly as a somewhat new conundrum has manuvered in to the picture. He sits up a little, but his expression remains dark and his arms remain folded staunchly over his chest.

“Imagine, asking an adult to the ball!” Gertrude scoffs, looking slightly shocked in Noémie’s direction. “Did you ever?” Ah, a phrase so often used by her mother, for which the girl may or may not even know the correct use. “It must be her father, or perhaps a brother,” the third year slytherin decides, a snide look on her face. “I’m sure nobody else would have her with hair like that. Hmph.” Snotty, much, Gertrude? It’s an apple and tree scenario in Gertrude‘s own case, though she doesn’t realize and would never acknowledge it.

Felicity Wexler blinks, slightly, as she turns her gaze toward Noémie — that question certainly not what she had expected to hear. Though she couldn’t help but think it made sense. After all, an older student so perfect must be in to older men. It only stood to reason. School boys would be too immature for someone on Noémie’s level. A slightly frown touches her lips, and she glances briefly to notebook, then to Noémie, then to her notebook, before lifting her gaze sharply to Gertrude. Her own wild and wavy hair, bright blonde and tangly to Noémie’s brown and somewhat more controlled, falling about her face in a small bounce. “Imagine anyone asking you. Coming here is the only way you’re going to get to go, huh? Guess that’s why your only now on the club, then, is it?” A flare of fire suddenly in her voice. The hair comment having stuck a bit close to home, perhaps.

Tossing her hair over her shoulder as she hears these two questions, Helen sniffs arrogantly and shrugs her shoulders vaguely. “Imagine asking an adult.” She scoffs, raising an eyebrow at Noémie – but then, her gaze sweeps back to Kelly, and she shakes her head at the other girl. “You’re always talking about your fourth year. Wouldn’t you go with him?” Her tone is scathing, if nothing else, and without even waiting for an answer, she rolls her eyes and leans back again, turning her eyes towards the ceiling with a disapproving ‘tuh!’ sound.

“Who asked you?” Gertrude snaps at the third year Gryffindor nearby, rolling her eyes. “We’re here because we want to contribute. For your information, though I don’t know why I’m telling you, we’ve as good as got escorts.” She smirks to Helen before giving another glaring glance back Felicity’s direction and turning her eyes forward. “Honestly, some people,” Gertrude sighs to her sister, shaking her brown ringlets with a dramatic look on her face.

Melvina Prichard lofts a brow, more or less at the room on whole. Tensions seemed to be rather high today, what with her Riley’s glaring, Gertrude Baxter’s tongue, and Miss Wexler’s readiness to spar. Yes, best to head this off quickly. Placing on hand on the back of each Helen and Gertrude’s chair, as if to remind them each that the Headmistress of the school were standing directly behind them, before looking afixing Felicity with a look that quite clearly says she’d best not stoke the fire anymore. “Thank you, Miss Baxter, Miss Wexler. I think that will do. Noémie,” she says, finally looking to the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain. “Yes, dear, you may. Miss Pantall,” she shifts her gaze toward Kelly then, in turn, and gives her a simple nod. “Yes, you may as well. Anyone on the events committee will be issued an invitation to the Governor’s Ball for themselves and a guest as special guests of the Headmistress of Hogwarts School. That guest is entirel y up to the choosing of the individual with the invitation, naturally. Adult or student. Now,” obviously deciding it better to move on rather than allowing the fighting to continue, she plows on through any further questions. “Planning. As I was saying, the Barefoot Social was a ravishing success, largely due to your efforts. The Governor’s Ball is going to be a lot more complicated. We’ll have not only the Hogwarts population, but adult wizards of every creed and stripe paying visit to our magical home. Indeed, it could very simply decend in to chaos without a fair bit of prior planning. And for that, I’m counting on all of you to help me.” She pauses, then pats the Baxter chairs, and begins to move around the table again. “Food will be provided by catereers, from various wizarding eateries scattered about the English Isle. But we still have the choice of items to request. We still have to pick the colors and decorations with which to shroud the hall, we still have a great many choices. And since they all blend together, I though, perhaps, we should start by looking at themes. This will be our first big milestone planning this part. We must decide on a theme.”

Felicity Wexler actually had begun to rise from her chair, and had been about to slap her palms down on to table in reaction to Gertrude’s response — She and Briony had been on relatively good behavior for a while, and the itch to fight and been spurred in her. A word starts to escape her, one that might have gotter her in to trouble all on it’s own, but Professor Prichard’s look quells her almost instantly. She dares not lose another twenty five points. A flush of crimson sweeps up on to her cheeks so quickly that one might expect steam to wistle from her ears, and she firmly ahears her gaze to her notebook to try and hide her face between the walls of her bushy mane that fall about her. “…think it’s a fine idea… asking an adult… shows maturity…” She mumbles, but says nothing more on the subject, concentrating on writing down everything Melvina says.

“Of course I’ll go with ‘my fourth year’.” Kelly snipes in response, glaring at the Baxtor twins across the table. Whatever her feelings happen to be on the issue, she does seem somewhat annoyed about the reference to Rafe – assuming it is Rafe to which the other girl refers – as ‘her fourth year’. “I was just asking for future reference.” Because that is the kind of thing you need to know for future reference, of course. Taking another biscuit and stuffing it into her mouth with unnecessary viciousness, she lowers her gaze to the table and falls into silence, only offering a small nod to Melvina in response.

“Perhaps there ought to be someone to canvas for people to cater, unless they have already been arranged,” Noémie suggests, tucking one leg under neath her before pulling the other up next to her on the seat. “Or maybe a committee. That way we’re sure to have enough food and things.” Noémie smiles, ignoring very blatantly the conversation of the twins nearby, especially as the Headmistress seems to have the situation under control.

Riley Markham had demonstrated a modicum of interest when the quasi-fight had begun, enough so that his gaze after moved away briefly from Noémie to Felicity and Gertrude with a slightly arched brow. Any attention to the others is short-lived as Melvina’s answer not only allows Noémie the approval to invite an adult, but full carblanche to invite whoever she darn well pleases. A funny, contorted expression dances over his face, not unlike he were constipated, and he finally turns his gaze ceilingward with a dull expression. “What sort of themes?” He says, in a bored tone. Melvina’s ignoring him obviously was being paid in return. “Like, “Enchantment Under The Sea” or a masquerade or somethinge cheesy like that?”

“Very sage, Miss Ribouet,” Melvina nods, approvingly. “I already have taken care of a large amount of securing the foodstuffs for the evening. I have over seventeen differant Wizarding eateries and groceries pulled on board already. I’m only missing deserts and refreshments this far, though I had considered simply contacting Honeydukes down in Hogsmeade. It seems the logical choice, though I had hoped to offer the students and vistors something a bit more exotic. Students are able to visit Honeydukes every Hogsmeade weekend, after all, and while I love them — especially their double-layer sparkling truffles–” said with no small amount of hinting “–it would be good for a taste of variety. And yes, Mister Markham, exactly that. A theme will help shape everything together, and allow us to set the finer details as we go.” Kelly’s barb is ignored for the moment, but her nod is offered a faint smile. Push on and leave no time for arguements. “Now, ideas for themes, anyone?”

A thoughtful moment seems to pass through Kelly‘s venomous annoyance as she thinks over different ideas for themes before she finally offers one forth, though her tone is uncertain and tentative at best. “Er… maybe, ‘All That Glitters’? Or, or, ‘Classics’?” These ideas seem to be offered merely for the sake of offering ideas, for she seems not at all attached to either of them, and she shrugs her shoulders vaguely and reaches for another biscuit. She’s not just here for the food, of course not.

“My aunt could do it,” Felicity says, quietly, to her parchment. It taking almost a full moment for her to realize that the slightly squeaky, embaressed voice that just floated out in to the air was her own. Blinking, twice, she looks up slowly and swallows a breath. Why did things always fall apart for her like this. “Cousin, actually. Not my aunt. But I call her aunt, because everyone else my age does, but–” With a small wince and a shake of her head, as if to clear the cobwebs of embaressment and the lingering anger from before, Felicity presses on. “My aunt could do it. Not the theme, I mean, but the deserts and refreshments. She owns a sweets shop in Diagon Alley, and specializes in exotic sweets foreign and domestic. I’m sure you could ask Aunt Sibyl–Madam Wexler to talk her in to it. She’s really quite good. I think I still have some of the chocolates she sent me for Yule, you could try them.” Confidence sweeps in to her again by the end of the her spiral of words, and by the time she’s finished, her cheeks are only slightly rosy.

“Certainly,” Helen replies, her voice dripping with quiet sarcasm, arching her eyebrows curiously at Kelly before she finally shakes her head and distracts herself with something else – in this case, the state of her nails, which largely occupies her mind for a long moment before she leans towards her sister and offers the quiet remark, “Some of the students here need a serious lesson in taste, don’t you think? They’re so… so…” She waves a hand, unable to find an appropriate word, trailing off into a somewhat disgusted silence.

“Oh, I’ve been in there, her sweets are brilliant,” Noémie comments slapping her hands together in a bit of an excited clap. “Perhaps we could have something enchanting. Maybe snowy, icy, with faeries. A bit of a wintertime … hmmm… Wintertime Wonderland?” The prefect suggests, draping her arms around the one leg that has been brought up to her chest. “With everything white and blue, and looking snowy. I imagine we could manage some ice sculptures, and perhaps Professor Helit could bring in some fairies to create a bit of shimmer to the decor?” The artist in Noémie seems to be coming out in this idea as she spouts her idea for the theme.

“So,” Melvina says, sharply, turning on her heel and moving to sit herself on the edge of the table next to Helen’s free side. Her arms folded across her chest and a brow lofted. Her smile is both amused, but somewhat serious. Obviously, she’d cleared the wake of the table already while going on earlier. “You seem to be a young lady of impeciable taste,” the words laced with emphisis. Old as she may be, obviously her hearing is still keen. “A theme, dear. What say you for a theme?” She does, however, allow Helen the reprieve of time, as she shifts her gaze to Felicity, then to Noémie, nodding sagely. “Very good, then. I’ll talk to Madam Wexler and see if she can’t put me in touch with you–relative, dear. Very good, indeed.” She nods, thoughtfully, to Noémie’s theme idea, considering it briefly. The memory that she had only just meant to put Helen on the spot having faded briefly. “Not bad.”

“You said it,” Gertrude whispers to her sister, before the headmistress comes to sit next to her sister. The girl’s eyes widen ever so slightly as she looks up at the professor. “Er–” is all she can manage, before she realizes that it isn’t her who’s being addressed, and Gertrude is grateful for this. Instead of attempting to bail her sister out, she merely sits mutely and looks at her fingernails as if she has suddenly grown new fingers.

Briefly, Helen seems stunned to be put on the spot and entirely perplexed, sitting up a little straighter, uncertain about what to suggest. After a moment of hesitation, though, she offers the smooth suggestion, “Something tasteful, but not limiting. How about just an unthemed Masquerade Ball?” Her tone calm and collected, if a bit uncertain, as if she is – and, indeed, this is probably the case – just making it up as she goes along. To offset this, she smiles as innocently as she can muster, though this does not last long before the urge to roll her eyes at her fellow students overcomes her and she flops back into her lazy position, staring back up at the thoroughly unexciting ceiling.

Riley Markham gazes off in to space for several moments, thoughtlessly, before lifting his head slowly and shifting his attention toward Noémie. “Wintertime Wonderland, or a masque. If we’re supposed to be socializing and building ties with the adult world, wouldn’t a masque be a little counterproductive? You’re not supposed to let anyone know who you are at a masque, right? Doesn’t make sense. The winter things sound a bit of a lark, though. On season, at any rate.”

Felicity Wexler nods, as well, slowly. “I don’t know that a masque makes sense, either. Wintertime Wonderland sounds simple enough, especially right after Yule. We could get discounted decorations, I’ll bet..” She muses, thoughtly, lifting her quill to her lips and nibbling on it. “All That Glitters wasn’t bad, either.”

“Maybe it could be done up like a garden. Professor Walsh would love it, I’d wager,” Gertrude contributes, not really looking at anyone else particularly. “Do up everything in green and flowers, get ready for spring and all that?” Gertrude‘s response is nearly the opposite of Noémie’s, though it is in the same sort of theme, and yet the girl seems rather proud that she’s thought of it. “Everyone could wear flowers to it.”

Riley Markham nods, thoughtfully, after a moment, shifting his gaze toward Gertrude almost as if impressed. “Not bad. We could do it up in one of the greenhouses, maybe? enchant it like that tend, so it’s bigger inside, to fit all the people? Or even still in the great hall, just have Walsh do up everything in there, so it’s still warm?” He shrugs, slightly. Almost in spite of himself, his curiousity and the willingness to create was pulling him in.

“Four seasons!” Noémie chimes cheerfully, sitting up straighter and putting her feet back onto the floor. “We could have all four seasons represented over the course of the night. At first, it could be spring, and then it could blossom into summer, and then to fall, then to winter, to top off the night. Of course, it would take a lot of charm-work to get it to work right, but imagine the spectacle! ‘The Four Seasons Ball’ or something, don’t you think?” Noémie waves her hands about, showing with her hands what she describes with her voice as she stands and nearly jumps with excitement.

Melvina Prichard nods, thoughtly, having been fairly partial to the notion of “All That Glitters”. Still, she couldn’t help but feel that Noémie’s last idea seemed bright enough. A wonderful comprimise. “Nice idea, my dear, nice indeed. A fair comprimise, nearly all around. Seconded. Thirded, anyone?”

Waving a hand vaguely above her head, having tuned out most of the conversation in favour of various snack foods which she has been steadily plowing through, with the help of plenty of hot chocolate, Kelly nods her agreeance. “Thirded, I suppose,” she volunteers, though her voice is low and sullen yet again.

Melvina Prichard nods, noting that both Riley and Felicity had lifted their hands to indicated thirding as well. That seemed to put the majority in lead. “Vote, then. In favor.” And she lifts her own hand, Riley and Felicity both follow likewise.

Well, at least her idea was sort of included. And at least it meant that she didn’t have to go digging in any yucky dirt to create the decorations. Gertrude apathetically puts her hand up and leans back against the table, stifling a bit of a mock-yawn as she looks to Helen. The slytherin is clearly unimpressed with the idea outwardly, though it was better than her own.

Shrugging her shoulders vaguely, Helen raises her hand idly, still inspecting the nails of her other hand. Why not vote, after all? She does, however, lean across to Gertrude, gesturing vaguely to another female student, and whispers, “Oh, goodness. Do you think that girl has ever heard of a comb? Can we say ‘ew’?”

“Well, that does seem to be the majority then, doesn’t it?” Melvina chirps, happily, after counting hands. “Very good, Miss Ribouet. The theme of the Governor’s Ball will be ‘Four Seasons’. Take ten points, dear.” A deep breath fills Melvina, which ends in a tremendous sneeze that she only barely contain with her hands. Her hat tumbles off once more, this time in front of Helen. “Okay, that’s enough for today, I think. We can meet again after a time, finish up the details. Good work, all. Five points all around.”

“Brilliant,” Noémie smiles happily and claps her hands a bit. “Can’t wait until we get together again,” she tells Melvina and stands up, looking around at everyone with a happy smile, then strides off slowly, making her way out of the library. Where she’s going is anyone’s guess, but she’s whistling happily as she goes, her hands tucked neatly into the pockets of her skirt.

Nodding to the Headmistress, Kelly picks herself up from the table and shuffles out of the library, though admittedly she does slip several chocolate biscuits into her pockets. Waste not, want not, eh? Her uncharacteristic quietness – probably related, in some way, to the seasonal chill to the air and her embarassed question during the meeting – continues, remaining entirely unexplained, though she does mumble to herself on her way out the door, perhaps just loudly enough to be overheard by the others. “‘My fourth year’ – tuh!”

Melvina Prichard waits for everyone to leave, before vanishing the food she’d had made for the meeting and collecting her parchments to leave as well. Only after taking up her hankerchief and wiping off her hands.

“Honestly,” Gertrude scoffs, standing as Melvina bids them to go. The girl turns. “Anyway, we’ve got to get together with Suki and Nellie soon to get to work on that paper some more. After all, we’ll need our first issue out before the ball comes, so we can start a Ball Edition.” The girl strides out of the library, chatting about various things, more gossipy than not.