"Tymerek...I don't think I like you anymore."

It was a half-hearted declaration from one disappointed Grace Eddy. She leaned toward the tawny owl and used her extended index finger to ruffle the feathers on his puffed out chest. Then, just as half-heartedly, she whispered, "You brought me bad news."

The owl stared blankly back at her with his amber colored eyes and softly cooed. It was hard to be cross at him then. After a few more moments of showering Tymerek with affection, Grace sighed and dropped her hand to the table.

Her eyes lamentably found their way to the headline of the Daily Prophet that was opened in front of her to the sports section. The headline prominently read, In Clash of Quidditch Titans, Puddlemere Victorious.

To add insult to injury, there was an animated photo for the article and the byline for it spoke of the Tornadoes Keeper, Ian Cuddyer, being taken out of the game midway through after a run-in with a pair of bludgers.

Life is so unfair, she inwardly groaned. She remembered full well her barbs tossed back-and-forth to Sebby in almost every Quidditch practice about how her (adopted) team was going to beat his team. This was surely going to give him oodles of ammo to use to torment her about her choice in teams to root for.

It wasn't even that Grace was unaccustomed to her team losing and getting a razzing for it. Quite the contrary. She seemed to have a natural affinity for the teams who were perennial losers. There was something to be said about rooting with all one's might for the underdog or the ones who never quite lived up to expectation. In Baseball, it was the Mets; in Quidditch, it was the Cannons.

So accepting this loss should be easy for her, right?

Wrong. Grace was uber competitive and talking sports with the likes of Sebby made her even moreso, perhaps because deep down, she was hoping to impress them and completely oblivious to the fact that it might be wholey unnecessary.

Grace had just pushed the paper aside when she heard someone else walk up to the table. She didn't need to look up to confirm who it was. With a roll of her eyes she sarcastically quipped, "Come to gloat?"

In Clash of Quidditch Titans, Puddlemere Victorious!

Sprawled hazardously on his bed, Sebastian flung the Daily Prophet across the room and pumped his fists triumphantly into the air. If not for the disappointed glares of his dorm mates, half of whom were Tornado fans, Sebastian would have seriously considered jumping onto his bed and doing a victory dance. Instead, he petted his owl, Quaffle, (it used be named Snitch, when Sebastian had been the Seeker of the Gryffindor team) affectionately on the head for bringing him the good news and left for breakfast. Nothing more needed to be said. The resounding defeat spoke for itself.

Besides, he had more important things to do than to stay and gloat over his peers...Namely, matters of the heart concerning a particular upcoming social function and a certain redhead he had been staring a lot at for the past few days.

Sebastian made his way to the Great Hall and spotted Grace Eddy sitting at the Gryffindor Table. She looked rather sulky for reasons he could probably guess. Tornado fans, Sebastian shook his head, when will you ever learn...  He watched her bemusedly from afar, noting the less-than-enthusiastic manner she pushed the paper aside. Grace was an avid Quidditch fan, much like himself, a characteristic which he found devastatingly charming in the fairer sex. Considering the circumstances, he would have to approach her carefully today if he were to succeed in what he came for.

Sebastian took in a deep breath and was about to approach her when a third-year cut in front of him to grab a muffin off the silver platter in front of Grace. He rolled his eyes and was about to say something when Grace muttered sulkily from her seat without looking up, “Come to gloat?” The scrawny boy shot her a baffled look and frowned. “What...?” He asked, rather taken aback, “I just...wanted a...muffin...Sorry...?”

The third-year slowly backed away, but not before shooting her a look as if she was going mad. Sebastian nearly burst into laughter. He patted the kid on the back and whispered, “Good going, mate.” The boy shot him another bewildered glance before walking off, more confused than ever. Now that the road was clear, Sebastian made his way to Grace and sat down beside her, trying hard not to smile at the incident. It was as if she knew he would come over to gloat, and Sebastian had no intention of meeting her expectations.

Rule Number Twenty-Six: Be unpredictable. 

He grabbed a clean plate and set it on the table. Sebastian helped himself to a ham and Swiss omelette and a very generous serving of hollandaise.

“Good morning, Grace.” He smiled brightly at her and remembered to address her by her first name. It was a nice change from “Eddy” on the field or just “Ed” at times when he was feeling lazy, a nickname which he imagined she probably hates.  “Ah,” He glanced over at the paper to her side, “I see you also subscribe to the Prophet.” Despite the blatant headline boasting of Puddlemere’s victory, Sebastian was determined to leave the subject untouched. “Did you read the article about Romulus Dole’s little slip-up?” He asked offhandedly, “Another ministry employee caught making a bigoted remark about Muggleborns. Ah,” Sebastian sighed dramatically, a bit more so than necessary, “Politicians these days...” 

When her barb clearly had missed its mark and Grace got a response from an apologetic third year, she found herself feeling very sheepish. She muttered a "Sorry" of her own and indicated that the student should continue his quest for a muffin unhindered this time. Grace had managed to catch sight of Sebastian standing nearby though, so she hadn't entirely been off the mark.

Not waiting to see him gloat--the cocky look was almost worse than his words--Grace quickly turned in her seat once more and finally turned her attention to eating her breakfast, which had been neglected with the arrival of the paper and the subsquent perusal of Quidditch scores.

Out of her peripheral, she saw Sebastian take a seat next to her and she was certain that as soon as he helped himself to a plateful of food, the gloating would begin. If she didn't genuinely like Sebby, she would probably have regarded him like all the other Puddlemere fans she came across on a regular basis--with disdain.

Grace was fully prepared for the first words out of his mouth to be something about the game, but instead he was greeting her rather cordially and with her first name. Grace? He was calling her Grace? Was that his way of smoothing the way for a zinger later?

Her defenses remained up. And when he casually mentioned the subscription to the Prophet, she couldn't help scoffing. "Of course I do. You should know that by now. George regularly swipes it when I'm done for the--" She stopped abruptly and her brown eyes skirted to the page that was open on the table in front of them.

Returning them to his face, they narrowed in suspicion when he moved the conversation to something she presumed neither of them had much of an interest in. "No, I didn't read that article," she returned cooly. "I can't say I'm one for politics. It tends to make my ears bleed. But his remarks don't surprise me." She reached out and picked up a fork and a knife and started to carve into food in front of her with vigor. "He'll likely say that until the day he ends up in front of someone like me at St. Mungo's to have his head examined," she quipped.

Finally giving up on sawing away at her food, Grace dropped the utensils on the table, looked at him pointedly and demanded, "Will you just gloat already?? You're obviously dying to do it..."

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sebastian smiled blankly at Grace, “Why would I, of all people, gloat?” He shrugged innocently, the laughter in his eyes made a mockery of his performance. “Obviously, aside from my chiselled good looks and devastating charm, but that’s another matter entirely.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that last part. Boasting about self probably wasn’t the best way to get a girl to go to a dance with him. But with all due fairness, it was a joke! Alright, maybe it wasn’t a joke because Sebastian did think of himself as on the above-average side, in terms of looks anyway, but still! Perhaps the charm part was a tad overstated. But, just a tad...

Bloody hell mate, focus! A little voice inside his head screamed. Sebastian sliced off a piece of the omelette on his plate and brought it to his mouth. He chewed slowly and swallowed. This was becoming ridiculous. Grace was killing his nerves.   He had asked out scores of girls to dates and dances before, what was it about this time that made everything so difficult?

Because she’s the exception to the rule, mate, the little voice nagged again. Sebastian almost rolled his eyes. There was no winning in arguing with one’s subconscious. Just do it, he told himself, just charm the pants off her. Figuratively, of course, Sebastian reminded himself quickly.

Compliment her looks, show off your ‘sensitive’ side, but whatever you do, do not, and I cannot stress enough how important this is, I repeat, do not, bring up the subject of Quidditch.

Sebastian set down his cutlery and turned to Grace with a playful smirk, “To be quite frank, I am hurt by your accusation.” He really didn’t want to say the next part but it seemed necessary, “I have feelings too, you know.”

“And also,” He smiled, “You look nice today.”

Why would he gloat? Was he serious?

The real question was why would he not gloat? When in their time of knowing each other had their interactions not included some measure of one upman(or woman)ship? It seemed to be second nature for them both. And to forgo it now would just be odd and set a bad precedent for the future as far as Grace was concerned. Her reasons for bantering back and forth with Sebby were becoming quite clear. But mainly they hinged on one thing: she liked him.

That was why it unnerved her to be around him. And why she resorted to the competitiveness more vehemently with him than how she was with George. Given her history with George and how strong their friendship was, she didn't have as much to prove. George had seen her at her best and at her worst and had accepted her anyway. But Sebby wasn't her friend. He was her housemate, her teammate and unintentionally on her part, her rival.

But if she were honest with herself, Grace didn't want his friendship. What Grace wanted was to be seen and liked by Sebby as more than a fellow Gryffindor, a teammate, or the one who had taken his spot as Seeker. Unfortunately, she didn't know how to express that very well. She wasn't adept at flirting the way other girls did.  In fact, she had found that the best way to deal with the feelings she had was to pretend that they didn't exist and overcompensate in some other way, like being competitive.

This knee jerk reaction caused Grace to reach over and snatch up the paper that had brought her the detestable news and placed it between herself and Sebby, as if it somehow served as a barrier between them. "Because of this," she said tersely, jabbing at the headline. Then she addressed his claim of being hurt. "Hurt? Since when have you been hurt by anything I say? Wouldn't that imply that your manly ego is capable of being bruised?"

As the inquiry left her lips, Grace lifted a brow and returned his smirk. Then, she turned back to her food, reaching out to pick up her glass of water and taking a sip. She nearly spit it up when he complimented her. Her eyes flew to his face and after she swallowed hard, she sputtered, "Really? Are you serious? Do you really want to use that line on me?"  She sent him a skeptical look. "You don't have to waste your time trying to soften the blow, Sebastian. You might as well go in for the kill." She paused. "You earned it. You won and I lost. Happy?" Grace was surprised at how quickly the words flew from her mouth, as usually admitting that she was wrong was difficult for her.

Crossing her arms in front of her and leaning back in her chair, she sighed dejectedly and said, "So just tell me what you want for the win? My stash of sweets? Pumpkin Juice?"