"Mornin'," Kingside greeted his pint-sized student cheerily, clad in a crimson & gold-striped shirt and a pair of tattered jeans - those are the ones that the cool kids wear, you know!

Tromping across the deserted Quidditch pitch with Mairead, broomstick slung over his shoulder, Kingside reflected upon what had lead the pair here so early in the morn'; shortly after their season opener, the rather talented young Seeker had requested a bit of informal, one-on-one training with her elder teammate. Kingside was fairly famous - in so much as Hogwarts was concerned, at least - for his fancy flying, and general prowess astride a broomstick; as such, he certainly didn't mind showing a less experienced flyer a few tips and tricks - especially one with such raw talent, playing in such a handy position on his own house team!

As such, he had instructed her to meet him rather early on Saturday the 17th on the pitch for a bit of informative flying. He wasn't exactly a master tutor, nor was he the end-all resource on flying well, but he certainly wouldn't shut down a fellow Gryffindor, so he'd dressed and headed to breakfast somewhat early in the morning for a quick bite - leaving a small stack of homework under his four-poster in the Gryffindor boys' tower - before meeting Mairead out at the pitch at about 7:30 AM.

"So," he proclaimed, about-facing to look her in the eyes, "anythin' in specific ye wanna cover, love? No' much of a tutor meself, y'know, jus' figured I could pass on what I know about anythin' troublin' ye, yeah?"

John Kingside smiled amicably, with a hint of charm, propping his broom up and waiting for her to brief him on what troubled her.

It was seven thirty in the bloody morning on a Saturday.  If the sixth year had posed the question of what was troubling Mairead, she would have provided a quite frank and honest answer.  Getting up at ungodly hours (anything earlier than the time she'd naturally wake) during the school week was bad enough - but on the one day she had neither classes nor homework nor reading to worry about ...

But, it was quidditch.  After their team's victory over the brown-nosing Ravenclaws (Mairead was convinced bronze being one of the Claw's colors was not coincidence), the second year was willing to do whatever it took to ensure they'd secure wins over the Puffs and Slytherin's, too.  It was just harder to remember that when the morning fog hadn't even started to lift from the field. 

Mairead spared one, single, scathing scowl for the sixth year to express her disapproval of the early hour before putting her annoyance behind her and focusing on the task at hand. 

"I practiced tons with Grace last year," Mairead stated, leaning her broom, affectionately named Nyaak[1] against the ball crate and leaned over to tighten her shoelaces.  She had, in fact, spent much of the previous year practicing with the Gryffindor's previous seventh year Seeker.  "We went over a lot of the basics.  So, I know the flyin', the chasin', nabbin' and I figured out the intimidating birds-" 

The second year straightened back up.  She was short - even for her age.  Kingside had an easy two feet on her but she seemed completely unaware of the height difference as she looked up at the fellow.  "There got to be other tactics than playin' chicken with the other Seeker, though.  They talk on all sorts o' stuff on the radio.  How do I learn that stuff?"

1.	[Nyaak - the Shelta word for Rogue

Kingside ruffled his golden hair thoughtfully, glancing about the seven-and-a-half AM ghost town that was the Quidditch pitch. "Righ'," he replied shortly, turning back towards the young girl with a smile. "Yer wantin' t'know about the tactical side o' Seekin', aye? Quite a stretch, tha' is - granted, I ain't no Seeker, am I? Can't teach ye naught that a pro might know, but I can give it me best."

The young Chaser slung his broom over his shoulder once more, clearly deep in thought. "Le's start with a readin' list - don't gimme tha' look, playin' Quidditch takes just as much brain as it does brawn, love. Le's start with Quidditch Through the Ages, iffin' ye ain't already devoured it. Then o'course there's Beating the Bludgers - also by Kennilworthy Whisp. Speakin' o Whisp, he wrote a biography about Dangerous Dai call't He Flew Like a Madman - none too sure what position Dai played, min' you, but he was a right madman on a broomstick! Played fer the Caerphilly Catapults, always pleased the crowds with 'is stunts - er, don' tell Raine a' suggested 'em, aye? She'll think a'm tryina' get ye kill't."

"Real daredevil though, that'n - eaten by a Chimaera on holiday in Greece, o'course," Kingside commented grimly, frowning. "At any rate, a' do got somethin' a wee bit tactical in mind. Flyin' with one 'er no hands - how're ye on that? Right up Dangerous Dai's alley, a'd say - standin' right up on a bit of broom, an' all. Might get yer neck broken, but then again, ye might be able t'catch the Snitch if ye ain't leavin' yer hands on the broom, now, mightn't ye?"

Tactical?  The word was a bit too close to technical which just made it all sound official and boring.  Yes, that was what Mairead was going for but she liked to think of it more as learning how to get the edge.  Score one over on the other guys.  Show them who's boss stuff.  Rough, dirty and unapologetic.  That was really her style. 

"A'right.  I can make do with that."  He wasn't a pro - one day she'd have to find a way to learn from one of the professional seekers (maybe Madame Hooch could help) but, for the time being, he was bound to know more than she did. 

Then, the lesson took an unexpected turn.  Mairead's eyes narrowed and she stared at the fellow, trying to determine if the reading list was a joke.  "A'right," Mairead repeated,.  Sure.  She'd get right on that reading list.  Sometime.  "Doesn't seem like flyin's something ye'd learn from a book."  Which was among the many reasons Mairead had taken to it.  She had to admit, the one where someone got eaten by Chimaeras was promising.  And, reading about quidditch had to be more interesting than goblin rebellions. 

Luckily, it didn't seem the older Gryffindor was planning on turning this into a reading session and suggested some practical exercises. 

"Aye.  I can do a little bit but not very long.  It's kind o' like ridin' horses so I got pretty good balance.  Standin, though.  Not tried that."  She barely gave the comment about broken necks any acknowledgement.  They had a healer at the school.  That was all the insurance she needed.