The last full-sized practice before the Hogwarts cup game had wrapped up and all the team members were tired, sweaty but eager for the big game.  They would have other practices during the week, of course, but those would be shuffled in around class schedule's and the Slytherin team's practice schedule.  Mairead, like the rest of them, was excited.  This would be her second cup game - first as a Gryffindor and the first where she didn't have to sneak onto the field!  To top it all off, she was facing Slytherin for the cup again. 

This game would be epic!

All around her, teammates chattered about practice and strategy and team excitement as they changed robes and put their gear away.  Mairead joined in the excitement, but took her time in the process.  She putzed and folded her socks (a clear sign something was up) and otherwise occupied herself until the rest of the team had started back up towards the castle.  Only once the locker room had fallen empty did Mairead pick up her things and make her way towards Madame Hooch's office.  She loved and respected and looked up to the Quidditch coach but she couldn't be seen seeking advice from an instructor.  Appearances.

"Madame Hooch?"  Mairead knocked on the coach's door, opening it once she was invited inside.  "I was wonderin' if I could talk to ye for a bit.  About.  Classes?"  She knew she was probably supposed to talk to Professor Jowd about this but ... Professor Jowd.  He was ... no. 

"O Fearghail."  Hooch acknowledged the wee head of a student she'd grown to admire these last two years.  She was standing behind her desk looking over a clipboard stacked with many curling and weather worn pages.

"Kit sign-ups," she explained holding it up.  As the year was winding down, she was doing inventory and double-checking on some missing bits and pieces.  Once that was sorted, she engage in the futile quest to track them down and coax students into finding and returning them.  But it was such a pell mell time with tests and end of year and this year the Tournament that she expected the miscellaneous shin guards, bracers and tabards were a lost cause.

"Well, I'm not sure how much help I can be with your homework, but I'm happy to take a stab at it," she said in her normal gruffness, hand on hip.

Mairead smiled, as the coach explained the task, turning one of the chairs to straddle it backwards and rested her chin on the back in a rather un-ladylike manner.  “I can help if ye want,” Mairead offered though it probably wasn’t wise to leave inquiring after missing kits to her.  Madame Hooch probably had a much better grasp on tact when it came to such endeavors.

The young Gryffindor shook her head, swallowing a massive amount of pride as she did.  “I think that’s a lost cause,” the Gryffindor admitted.  “I can’t get half of it.  And, the other half never comes back when I need it.  I try but when I stare at tests, it just all-“  Mairead pantomimed something wiggling out her ear and flying out the window before sighing. 

“I can barely keep up!  And they’re saying I have to choose two new classes for next year.  It’s not even a trade.  I don’t get to drop two to make room.  I’m not smart like these other kids!” 

Wandwork and hands on potions was the only thing letting Mairead get by.  Her practical tests were strong enough but any decent scores she received there were immediately tempered by her abysmal essays and written exams and homework. 

“Do I have to take electives?  Which are the easiest?  Why can’t Quidditch be an elective?  Like strategy or something?"

Hooch set herself down on the edge of the chunky utilitarian desk and crossed her arms when she realised that Mairead wasn't needing help in converting measurement units for Professor de Luca.  Metric to English to Old Pict, or what have you.  There was a larger turmoil troubling the unconventional little girl.

Never long on coddling, old Hooch tried to be encouraging.  "Thousands have survived it long before you, little one. I'm quite sure you'll stumble through in your own way.  And let me tell you this, since you've got me talking: you're smart as a kneazle.  Just as smart as all those dunderheads.  You're just different."

She managed a smile. "Like me."