International goodwill and punching spiders to death aside, the Tournament was hell on practice season. Erin, clad in his Quidditch robes, broom slung up over his shoulder, and chest full of equipment on the ground next to him, surveyed his team. This was, besides all the club day stuff and try-outs, his first official practice as captain, and he was a bit wary. For all that he knew the students standing in front of him were the most ruthless group of fliers a bloke could hope for, he was also fully aware that getting a parcel of aloof and moody Slytherins to cooperate could most kindly be compared to herding cats. It didn't help that his pride was still smarting after the deduction of points in the Task last weekend, coming in second-to-last only after that Beauxbatons ninny who fell right into a trap. How had Knight kept the team in line last year?

Oh, right, by being a viciously effective pureblood bully right up until his reformation. That wouldn't work for Erin. Besides the fact that his more manic style of fly-into-a-bouncing-fury-until-they-give-up-out-of-sheer-exhaustion urban kung-fu did not lend itself to adjectives like "cool" or "admirably badass," he'd also been put on notice by Landis at the very beginning that if he got into even one fight this year he'd lose the captain position. So bollocks to that, he had to be responsible and fair and stuff. Well, Erin amended to himself, having seen several Slytherin captains come and go in his time, or not get caught at it.

Still, he was on good terms (or at least neutral terms) with most of his teammates; wasn't like he really wanted to bully them anyhow. Or like it'd work, either.

"Right, you lot," he said, painfully aware of how silly he sounded in an authority position, "Mount up. I'm letting out the bludgers and quaffle for a mock-game." He pointed to a bundle of colored scarves on the ground, light scraps of fabric easily twisted into belts or around arms. "Green team's O'Doherty, Strelnikov, Slant, and Tawse. Silver team's Li, Roh-Ballentyne, Foley, and I'll play Keeper. No Snitch. We'll go for an hour to warm up, then run drills for the rest of the time." He hadn't been able to russle up a referee, which he'd hoped would be okay for a mock-game but could be problematic. At least with Slytherins playing Slytherins, both teams would give as good as they got. Erin tapped his wand on his own throat with the Sonorus spell; he'd do the best he could to keep an eye on everything from the Keeper's spot in front of the goals.

"That's not fair, Strellie and I always play together." Kitty frowned, crossing her arms like a petulant child being refused the last chocolate frog. Her Quidditch robes were immaculate, and big bucks Daddy Li had purchased a brand new set after she excelled during the infamous Hufflepuff game. Some adjustments had been made, however. A black cinch belt gave some shape and structure to a largely 'unflattering' garb, and as usual, Kitty had a full face of unnecessary makeup. Jet black hair was scraped back and debatably the harshest Slytherin was looking even harsher - angular features, slanted eyes and a perpetually furious expression. Erin as captain made things even worse.

It wasn't that she disliked him - quite the opposite. Kitty always harbored a soft spot for the blonde beauty, but the disgrace he publicly caused her at Spellpunk all those months ago was too much to contemplate. He'd rebuffed her, and for that, Kitty was unapologetic. "What's the point in playing with others when I always play with Strellie." She shrugged one shoulder, casting a glance at her best friend. It did seem awfully silly. Why on earth should she practice for situations that just wouldn't occur? If Demitria wasn't on the pitch, neither was Kitty.

Holding her broom, Kitty sauntered up into the sky gracefully, hands wrapped around the polished handle and legs swung over in a side saddle position. "But if you really, really want me to do it," she tittered. "Then I'll do it, captain."

This was going to be the day, long time coming as it was. After two years of never making the cut (even Casey would admit, in retrospect, that his 12-year-old self was not any kind of broomstick material) he was going to be on the Slytherin quidditch team. It didn't take an arithmancer to recognize that this even balance for a mock game was one higher than the standard team seven players. Someone was not going to be playing in the upcoming game.

October added a chill to the air but Casey felt warm from the layers he was wearing under the protective quidditch gear, sporting a few more pieces than what a Chaser really needed. For the pieces that were only made out of leather he had to ensure his skin wouldn't come in contact with them or the following reaction on his skin would make the game a hag to play. The gloves, a winter pair, were not clingy as they should be but Casey had looked into a gripping charm for them, no worse than the set of spells built into quaffles. No one could claim he was seeking a handicap.

The final preflight checklist: motion sickness potion and other medications taken bellow Quidditch League Game Alerting Substance regulations; Comet 470 polished and clipped, delivered by Dingy days ago so no one continued to add observations of master and elf that could be reported to Mr. Morgan, Casey had even done his own polishing on it under a Bubble Head Charm; breathing exercises where he didn't sound like a wheezing prima donna soprano; amulet secured to not get in the way; and wand secured in another location for the emergencies of the 'holy crap I'm going to fall off this broom and die if I don't do something' kind.

The accusations leveled by Mr. Morgan still stung sometimes because Casey realized the Head of House did have some points even if he had been unknowingly transfigured into a woman at the time, making it all the more sore for Casey to admit he was wrong. Well, in order to forge proper connections with other people, he supposed it would start on the quidditch pitch.

But why did it have to be these people? Slant, Tawse and Strelnikov. Specifically Strelnikov and Li as she launched into it, the Slytherin bloody monarchy. Oh look at us, we're pretty girls that demand your attention! It reminded Casey too much of his aunt Maeve, enough like that other Maeve that had graduated last year.

Boo fridgedly hoo, Casey would have said of Li's faux-complaint if he wasn't trying to not anger people and miss his chance. Instead he gripped his broom tightly after tying the green bandana around his arm. Remember to stay balanced and not fall over the moment you get the Quaffle.

Naomi wasn't quite sure how this all fell into place, but after being dragged to tryouts by Gracie and being allowed to bat a few bludgers at her friend and some unsuspecting housemates, the younger Slytherin girl was decked out in her Quidditch uniform: a green and silver-striped sweater hugged her scrawny waist and hips, white leggings were snug against her brawny hips and legs, heavy dragon-hided boots, leg guards, and arm guards gripped against her limbs, and her hair was braided in six thick cornrows, tightly woven at the top of her scalp and then allowed to fall into several braids twisting into a ponytail that rested against the back of the witch's head and fell down the tall her back.

As Naomi stood with her robes hanging off her shoulder and hand gripped against her brother's old and discolored broom[1], she waited for Harper to give them orders for practice, the witch was nearly a mirror image of her mother--sans metamorphing skills; It was part of why Naomi never wore her hair in anything resembling dreadlocks, but sometimes it was a necessity.

When the teams were picked the dark-skinned witch flashed a sharp smile at Gracie and then swiped up a silver scarf and  wrapped it around her waist, "A warm up, Gracie--" the witch paused to let her foot lightly punt a beater's bat into her free hand before her heel wedged between the bristles of her broom and the shaft, "Still means you gotta keep up."

Naomi then leaned into the upright broom and floated above the field, keeping an eye out for the charging bludgers circling the field. She knew she was the youngest player on the team, but Slytherin monarchy or not Naomi wasn't at all put off by the older yeras, or terribly amused by them, "Don't be sour, Li--'fi you don't play 'gainst her how are you goin' to get better?" Naomi rolled her eyes at the older girl as her lilt smoothly curled around her words as she slid her legs over her broom and then pushed it down to properly sit on it as she waited for her teammates to get ready.

1.	An old Firebolt model that is worn, but well taken care of

Tying a silver scarf around his arm, Erin raised his eyebrows at Kitty. He'd deliberately split the two up, and of course Li zeroed in on that first-thing. What use was either to him if they couldn't play on their own? Not to mention it'd be unfair to unleash the two of them on their poor housemates. He'd split up Foley and Gracie for the same reason, even he didn't know yet whether the two of them had claws quite like Kitty and Strellie.

"Didn't know you were a one-trick pony," he said, giving her a grin rather than a scowl (easy-going, even charming, 'cause he couldn't afford to piss her off yet). Leaning forward, braced on his broom, he drawled, "I really, really want it, Kitty, we gotta save the big wands for the other Houses."

First one player rose into the air, then another and another. Erin bent and unchained the bludgers, which zoomed menacingly off. Tucking the quaffle under one arm, he strode to the center of the field in preparation to throw it up in the air for the waiting Chasers. He'd have to hop on his broom and race to the goals to get there ahead of any possible Chasers, but he wasn't a Seeker for nothing - he had plenty of speed.

Huh.  Foley and Kitty's team.  This should be interesting, she thought with a wicked grin and a roll of her eyes.  She had no personal beef with the fellow Slytherin, but she knew well enough what kind of madness lay beneath her deceptively pretty face.  In fact, she rather liked the girl's spunk, even though it often went to extremes.  She liked Naomi and had hung out several times before, though she secretly envied her gorgeous blue eyes.  "Aww, but silver washes me out," she complained with a fake whine.  Now, gold, however... it's a shame Slytherin didn't harbor Gryffindor's sense of fashion.

"I'll just have to work extra hard to make an impression,"

Mentally thanking the Gods again for her amazing new broom she got for her birthday, Waverly kicked off the ground and soared into the sky.  Given any other situation, she'd tear out her own eyes before subjecting herself into wearing these goggles.  Quidditch was the one place she could shed the glitter and pomp and get knee-deep in mud, sweat and tears.  Laughing at the sheer adrenaline flying gave her, she began focusing on the quaffle clutched in Erin's arm.  "Oi, just toss it already!" she yelled good-naturedly, the anticipation killing her.

If there was one thing on this earth Waverly excelled at, it was this.

Demitria swept her hair back into a pony tail as she stood on the pitch, waiting for practice to begin. It was an uncharacteristic look for the tiny blonde. Without her waterfall of hair, her large lips and eyes dominated her face. She couldn't say that it was her preferred look, but with some lipstick, it made her look harsher than normal. That was fine by her. Soon, everyone else had arrived and Erin had begun practice.

A scrimmage? That promised to be fun. Except... Oh, she and Kitty were separated. When Erin announced that, Kitty immediately pouted and complained. Strellie was, after all, was the major reason that Kitty had decided to join the team. Still, they had to know how to play without the other. Of course Mimi knew how. She had three brothers and numerous cousins. It didn't mean that she liked it. When Erin answered Kitty, though, a smirk crossed her vibrantly colored lips. Of course he didn't want them together. Slaughter was their modus operandi and Harper didn't want friendly fire. Well, she could agree with that. "Okay, Harper, but I can send you to the Hospital Hut just as easily on my own." She winked at her captain and mounted her broom. She was joking... moderately.

She blew a kiss at Gracie. At least she had one lovely face to keep her company on this team. She knew that O'Doherty didn't care for her that much, and Xavier... She wasn't even going to go there. Well, she was going to have to work with it, so she shoved her personal opinions of her scrimmage-mates behind a mask and was all business.

She flew across from the other team, anticipation buzzing through her. She was just as ready as Waverly, but stayed quiet, her eyes trained on the quaffle. Erin was going to have to fly back to the goals. He was fast, but she could keep up just as long as she got that ball first.
   

Cheerfully flipping the younger girl off with an indolent scrape of her jaw, Gracie turned away with a smirk, still all too amused by the match-ups that’d been made and the bickering that’d resulted from them. Inwardly, she agreed with Erin—there was no denying that their captain’s logic made sense—but it was fun to watch the occasional fit every once in a while.

And she was curious to see how she’d fair without her partner-in-crime, too.

Looking over the faces of her temporary teammates, the green-eyed Slytherin felt some of her amusement—and that eagerness—fade. “O’Doherty, Strelnikov, Slant, and Tawse,” he’d said. That left her with… Let’s see… the weakest player on the team and a pair of best friends who were on the outs.

She mustered up a smile and blew the Russian a kiss in return. Merlin, talk about rigged.

As the Chaser shrank into the distance, Gracie turned back to the boys and smothered a sigh. “C’mon, then,” she said, circling around the lot of them once—and giving the shorter of the two a pat on the head—before following Demitria to the skies at a pace only a snail could admire. “Casey, Tawse—perk up, you two,” they were told as she floated past. “You, Casey, I’ll cover you-”

She paused, eyeing the fourth year’s heavily padded form skeptically. “Just… try not to pass out or anything, yeah?”

And with that said, the girl tugged on her pair of goggles and put on a burst of speed, her Beater’s bat gripped with worrying expertise.

   

(( Green team's goals are the North ones. Silver's the South. ))

"Okay, Harper, but I can send you to the Hospital Hut just as easily on my own."

Quaffle tucked under one arm, broom under the other, Erin's eyes gleamed as he turned his head up. "Prove it," he called with a daredevil smirk, the only bloke in Hogwarts who'd find the prospect of personal injury exciting, and laughed outright at Waverly's good-natured impatience. The rest of the team mounted up and rose into the air, the Chasers circling above waiting to grab the quaffle as soon as he threw it. Erin grinned up at them, swung a leg over his own broom, and threw the quaffle up into the air.

Immediately he shot up to follow it, low at first to avoid the immediate scuffle and headed in a straight shot towards the south goals. He didn't look behind him, didn't look anywhere but ahead, bent low over his broom to beat any Chasers there. He swung round in mid-air once he reached them, eyes scanning to see if anyone was just behind. If being Seeker had taught him anything, it was how to risk his life in new and exciting ways flinging himself near off the broom to catch things, and he'd played Chaser for a couple of years before the Seeker spot had opened up. Keeper wasn't too difficult to improvise. He kept an eye out specifically for O'Doherty, whom he'd paired with the more forgiving of the Kitty/Strellie dreamteam. The kid wasn't the greatest, but he'd been so determined - and they all had to start somewhere. If need be, Erin'd train him up himself.

The moment Erin's hand left the quaffle, the Russian chaser leapt forward. Even though she was stuck with O'Doherty, she was going to give the other team a run for their money. She pulled the short end of the stick this time, but that wasn't going to stop her.

At least she wasn't Kitty who would've eaten the fourth year alive if they had lost a scrimmage. No... she was slightly kinder than that.

Her arm wrapped around the red ball and she dipped her head forward to chase Erin towards the goal. He beat her, there was a reason he was seeker after all, and she growled slightly. Chancing it and hoping, hoping Casey had kept up, she pulled a quick U-turn and threw the quaffle at her team mate. "O'Doherty! Heads up!"

She then flew under the ball to try and intercept if anything went wrong. 

While Casey was running the preflight checklist for the third time Slant had the gall to pat him on the head. He nearly collapsed there in his bundle of nerves. Try and perk up indeed when Slant was being slanted.

"Just...try not to pass out or anything, yeah?"

That was the idea. In a huff Casey took off on his broom, a mistake because his air was traveling in the wrong direction from the lungs that felt left on the ground.

Even the slowest fast room he could find (Comets always being behind the curve on new models) could leave him with motion sickness. It still had to compete with everyone else's racing brooms. But he knew he wasn't going to win the scrimmage when Harper released the quaffle.

"O'Doherty! Heads up!"

Strelnikov tossed the quaffle back at him. Not expecting the have the ball so quickly Casey scrambled to have his hands free to catch it, letting his broom drift as it was. Whump! Blazes, if that's what catching a quaffle was like a bludger was going to murder him.

"Get out of the way!" Strelnikov had followed the ball after she had thrown it. Luckily the Comet 470 made up for handling where it lacked speed. He banked to avoid her as, quaffle in hand, he speed off towards the southern Silver goal.

As the game started, Demitria caught the ball and sped off towards the goal, so Naomi sped off behind Erin, letting her robes and hair float and rise in the air before they flattened against her back as she dove low onto the pitch, catching the attention of one of the bludgers, which veered towards her as she wound her way towards the bottom of the southern hoops.

The wind whizzing buzz of the bludger grew louder as Naomi paused and turned her head back and looked up to see Demitria had passed the ball to Casey, before ducking beneath him to babysit the pass in case anything went awry. But nothing did, and the little padding of panic that was O'Doherty caught and held onto the ball. But as the sickly chaser moved closer to the hoops the bludger caught up to the silver team's beater, who  twisted into a stop to meet the thing.

Naomi turned and crossed her bat over her legs as the bludger charged for her stomach, but the witch whipped her bad at the bludger, backhanding the snarling little canon upwards; in response, the bludger swerved and rocketed into an arch towards the front end of Casey's broom.

Before Naomi could see the results she circled around the silver Slytherin team's goals to catch sight of another bludger in case the one she hit didn't quite do the job, or in case Gracie was batting around another bludger.

Xavier's cool grey blue eyes were narrowed as he observed the start of their mock game from his new position at the Northern Hoops. Where Callum had been adamant about keeping girls off his pitch Harper seemed to be channelling as much Girl Power as he could muster which for Slytherin seemed to be a helluva lot. He was happy to see Strellie and Li back in uniform (even if he was still on the outs with his best friend) and seeing Slant and Foley with bats was going to be . . . interesting. He knew first hand that Slant had a wicked arm and had no doubt that she'd be vicious on the pitch and Foley was developing quite a reputation herself. It was enough to keep him from getting sour about being relegated to Keeper.

He followed the movement of the quaffle as it got closer to Erin's end of the pitch. He knew it wouldn't be long before Li or Ballentyne got hold of it and would be sending it down his way. He hadn't been the kind of bloke to play Quidditch with his cousins growing up (though he knew Kyson was dying to get on the Slytherin team himself) and had only been on the team for the past year but he was determined to prove himself. Quidditch lept him occupied and involved and less likely to run away from school again.

Strellie and O'Doherty were hot on his heels after he reached the hoops; Erin kept a ready stance low on his broom, shoulders ducked and eyes intent. He watched both of them, equally wary - though Casey had the quaffle in hand, he wouldn't be surprised if the boy handed it back off to Demetria when it came time to make the goal. Even now she circled underneath, ready to make grabs for the thing if Casey fumbled it.

She might have to - out of the corner of one eye he caught sight of Foley batting a bludger straight at the boy.

While the Green Team’s Chasers dealt with the quaffle, Gracie zipped past below, her own eyes wide with intent as they fixed on the ball in front of her. Lazy though she usually was, with no fucks to be given for anything but what she wanted… none of that was anywhere to be seen. Despite her earlier indolence, there was no trace of it now; as soon as a game started, she meant business, come Hell or high water and all the poor suckers caught between. Behind those goggles, those green eyes glittered like cut glass—there’d be time for jokes later…

Right now the bat felt so very natural in her hand.

All of a sudden, a hidebound blur of malice shot past her, cutting through the air at a violent speed. As those same green eyes narrowed into slits, the grip on her broom’s handle tightened—a split second before she hauled it up to the side, bringing the old Firebolt into an almost looping, upward curve to face the thing. While Ny had been ahead of it—more or less—she hadn’t been and as such chances of the maneuver she was planning were distinctly slimmer-

But CRACK! went the ball when it met the blunt of her swing, and in a V-shaped arc it hurtled off into another direction. She’d made it—barely—but it had been enough.

And so off it flew into Kitty’s direction.

Heart thudding with adrenaline, Gracie started after the other, so intent on cracking it down south that she didn’t spare even a backward glance.