Lorraine, it read. She scowled at the thing, an inanimate object more offensive than the sale's clerk's face. Crumbling the paper, sparing her eyes that insufferable, frilly handwriting, she leaned over the counter and looked around for a bin.

"Hey!" The dopey clerk had caught on. Laney paid him no attention.

She found her target and tossed the unread letter into the trash, pointing her wand at it to incinerate it in one quick murmur. Straightening back up, she flicked her head and a choppy strand of hair shook from her shadowy eyes. "Sorry," she said, not sounding it. "I had take care of some business. You don't want your floors covered in rubbish do you?" She smiled, close-mouthed, taking a step toward an aisle. "That can't be good for business..."

Her step mother was at it again-- trying to gain her attention. Whether she was trying to make amends now that Laney had made the papers, or whether she wanted to tell her off for making her favorite dirty sport a professional hobby, the young graduate did not know. Nor did she care. (Or, rather, she cared too much, and thus ignored every letter from the woman that passed through her hands, determined to bury the anger... and the lady's existence.)

"I'm looking for a new set of Practice Snitches," she explained, disappearing into the aisle before the young man could get a syllable in. She dragged her long fingers across the thin wood of a shelf holding various regulation-size quaffles for amateur or intramural play.

"Irving."

Xiomara Hooch was trying on goggles at the display at the end of the aisle.  Her spiky gray hair framed her be-goggled face as Xiomara gazed over the racks of quaffles at one of her former students.  Hooch wasn't quite smiling, not at all excited, but mostly pleased just the same.  Lorraina-called-Laney Irving had been one of those students who was most at home on the pitch rather than in the castle.  And she was one of the roughest Seekers she'd ever seen.

"Well played against the Tornadoes.  Quite a hit from their Chaser - I might have called that one had I been reffing," she said and removed the goggles to try another pair.  "But Samir Banda's the sort I approve of," she said, still evaluating the latest Quidditch match between the Magpies and the Tornadoes.

This latest pair of goggles had glowing red lenses, apparently meant to automatically seek out quaffles.  They worked, sort of. Everything was a blur in the store, except for the rack of quaffles which throbbed with red light.  Hooch removed those as well.

Though quite sure of herself, Laney had apparently picked the wrong time to play mind games with the poor boy in charge. That familiar voice struck a chord, and something in Laney changed, though not visibly. She stiffened a bit and turned in the direction of Madam Hooch, almost knowing she would be sporting a pair of goggles even before she laid eyes on the woman. Come to think of it, she wasn’t sure when she’d last seen the stern, proud woman without goggles, but it had certainly been more recent an occasion than her imagination allowed her to recall.

“Thank you, Madam.” Laney nodded her appreciation, once, and rather humbly. There was something about the spiky-haired woman that made her feel more... modest. And it wasn’t just an act. Not entirely. Because, though she loathed to claim herself dependent or indebted, Laney did owe Madam Hooch quite a lot. All those years at Hogwarts, the flying instructor had certainly helped hone the young Seeker’s skill. “Let’s hope the next ref has eyes like yours.” Her smile turned into a teeth-bearing, dimpled grin. But it was a knowing grin. Laney was a rough player, and Madam Hooch could be a hawk of a woman. No one could twice make the mistake of underestimating the lady on a broom. Laney had certainly learned that fast.

“Are you preparing for a new season at the school, or...?” This was the part where things got awkward. Laney was no longer a student. She had all the freedom she’d craved, and all the responsibility of an adult. She’d hit the pros as fast as she’d promised, and now she had to live up to her own name. “I like that pair. It makes you look--” Delightfully intimidating, as she ought to look. “Formidable.”

Madam Hooch had donned a pair of black dragon leather, black-lensed goggles adorned with little silver studs.  She grinned when Laney complimented them.

"Optical safety's the most important thing for a Seeker.  Although I think these are more suited to your aesthetic," she said and shucked the goggles.  She tossed them over to Laney.

"I do hope you're always wearing yours." It was a very teachery thing to say, but Madam Hooch had always harped on her student players to wear their protective gear - especially their goggles.

As they chatted, Madam Hooch rounded around the other side of the aisle and started poking through the gloves.  Some came with gripping charms - illegal in most official leagues but fun for kids.  But Laney was no kid anymore, Madam Hooch couldn't help but notice.  But the quick fame - Xiomara had seen that cripple a young player.

But for now Xiomara allowed the conversation to turn to Hogwarts.

"The teams are getting themselves sorted out.  Expect to begin matches in a couple of weeks.  Ravenclaw seems to have the most fire in their broom bristles so far this year. Hufflepuff's doing everything it can to keep Figaro Sellaphix off the team. But I've also heard of some very eary foul play by the Slytherin." 

She winked over the display shelves at Laney.  Callum Knight had apparently given Sasha Schlagenwiet a brutal roughing up over who got to practice on the pitch.

"But you wouldn't anything about that, would you?"

Laney caught the goggles, her eyes moving keenly downward as her fingers navigated the craftsmanship. They were certainly her style, and the make was solid. She looked back up at her old instructor and smiled in silent thanks. “Looks like I’ll be making a few purchases on the company galleon...”

One of the perks of being in a real team was that she didn’t have to drop her own money on new gear.

“Always,” she assured the woman. Mostly was the more appropriate answer. When she was having a casual one-a-side, or practicing off hours in the sunshine, she didn’t always don goggles (or any protective gear, for that matter). Sometimes she just got caught up in the moment. Or the broom. But Laney was the sort of self-assured girl who would repeat the same sin over and over, never thinking she could take a dive she couldn’t handle.

She might have winced at the word Ravenclaw, but Slytherin’s last win had made her feel almost sorry for the birds. Almost. Her grin became crooked, almost cocky, and she looked strolled back toward the equipment she’d been eying, while still keeping an engaging gaze on Madam Hooch. “Of course not... We always won fairly. We earned that cup. Seeker’s honor.” It was more than she could say for some of the teams, but then Laney was sure much of the school had it out for Slytherin. They were jealous. “But I can’t say I’m sorry if they’re already crushing bones. It’s a survival game, isn’t it?”

“Who’s captaining Ravenclaw, by the way? I hear both Maddoxes are in the wind. Such a shame.”

Xiomara Hooch only grinned that small, tight-cornered grin she had when Laney assured her she always wore her goggles.  But she didn't say anything.  Young riders would learn one way or another they weren't invincible.  And it usually happened for most during a match with the Falmouth Falcons.  The brutes.

Fairness to a Slytherin was always different from say Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw fair.  It was all in how you looked at it and Slytherin had a broader definition.  Only on rare occasions did Madam Hooch ever find Slytherin to be outright cheating, and much more often they were employing tactics that to them were part of the sport.  Part of life.  But that was Slytherin for you.  All's fair in Quidditch, one player had told her as she'd shuffled him off the pitch for bloodying the nose of Gryffindor's reserve Keeper (who was on the bench at the time.)

"Ravenclaw?" she echoed, looking up from a pair of dragonskin gloves - far too heavy to be practical.  Perhaps only useful to a Keeper.

"That would be Leon Monroe.  A few years behind you, if I'm right.  He's a busy lad, I must say.  Keeps his marks high and has grand goals for the season.  Nice, though.  Very young team he's got this year, though.  Very young - third and fifth years."

“Monroe,” Laney tried the name on for size. Visions of dark hair and inherent Ravenclawness crept into her mind’s eyes, and she nodded, neither smiling nor frowning. She knew the face, she knew the player, but she hadn’t spent much time around him. She’d been more hellbent on going for the obvious victims, the weak links who could give her an advantage. Not that she didn’t love a good challenge on the field; after all, it was the latter scenario which had won her favor with Alexander Snark.

“Well, I hope you don’t have any causalities on the field this year...” Her voice was drawn, slow, casual.  In this instance, ‘any’ meant ‘many’. One or two third years shipped from the infirmary to St. Mungo’s was hardly something to write the Prophet about. There were world class chasers taking Bludgers to the heart every other match. The children would have to learn sooner or later.

Though with Ravenclaws, Laney somehow doubted it would happen. In the end, one had to choose devout studiousness or the field. It wasn’t about intelligence. It wasn’t about a love of books. It was about priorities. She pegged herself as clever enough, but she had never sacrificed quidditch for her marks. She’d always chosen the snitch over the string of O’s. She’d graduated with decent enough grades, but nothing stellar. She hadn’t any plans to join the uppity lads at the Ministry, or please her step-mum. She and Mal were living the grand life.

“Between you and me, and I think that blond German bloke Ava kissed out of a win last semester is in for a shock this year. With third years backing him, it can’t end well. You may want to keep an eye on him, Madam. He seems... fragile.”

Blond German bloke...  Madam Hooch had no idea who Laney was talking about.  She figured it was an older student.  Hooch had retired from Hogwarts at the end of Laney's second year, only to return just this fall.  So there was a block of the older years that she didn't really know.  Of course, she'd followed the school games and gone to watch most matches, but still - she wasn't up on the names.

"Who do you mean?" she asked, still browsing.  She came across the snitch cages, where flitting golden balls whirred around a large wire bird-cage.  When you put your hand up to the cage, the golden snitches fluttered around even more furiously to avoid your grasp. 

"You're not talking about Sasha Schlagenweit, are you?"  Madam Hooch had just not remembered there'd been some fuss about him in the paper a month or so ago.  The subdued Ravenclaw was so difficult to overlook, like other students who didn't assert themselves on the pitch.  But Madam Hooch faintly rememberd the incident in question now.

"I'll keep everyone playing fairly - I always do," she reminded Laney.  "However, you must know that the pitch is the best place for the fragile ones to grow some bones.  Gives even the quietest students a voice.  And if I recall, he rides very well.  Strange posture, but rides very well."

Laney blinked, feeling suddenly like she was back in school. “Schlagenweit, yeah,” she confirmed, nodding. That name was about as German as they came. Not to mention Muggle. “Unless I’m mixing up my German blokes.” She grinned.

As for her attempt to make the impending season that much harder on the boy, Laney seemed out of luck. Apparently Madam Hooch figured there were few better ways to make a man out of a boy than to stick him on a broom and let him hold his own. While Laney agreed, she’d rather hoped to hear more gossip the next time she ran into her old coach. Babysitting Schlagenweit for the fun of it.

Biting her tongue so as not to say he rides like a Muggle, Laney instead mulled over Slytherin’s prospects. “We’ve still got Knight, yes?”