Grace sat cross legged on the ground of the quidditch pitch, taking a moment to flex and unflex the fingers of her right hand. The pain that she felt was the result of the previous Gryffindor quidditch practice when reaching for the snitch. Instead of closing her fingers around the shiny golden thing, she  had jammed her hand into a post that had the inconsiderate nerve to get in her way.

For the most part, injuries obtained from playing sports were a badge of honor for Grace. She was constantly reminded of the phrase, "Pain is weakness leaving the body." But injuries also presented her with an opportunity to hone her amateur healing skills.

Pulling out her wand, she played around with some charms to see if she could alleviate some of the discomfort she was feeling. It didn't take long, though, for the seeker to bore of the activity and she turned her attention to her opened notebook beside her with a bunch of statistics written in her neat scrawl. Underneath her journal, was a folded up copy  of the Daily Prophet, the material for her number crunching.

Ever since Grace had learned about Quidditch, she had truly become an avid fan. That meant she followed the standings, knew who led most of the statistic categories throughout the league, and could quote individual player statistics at the drop of a hat. It was such a hobby for her that she had even taken to creating a fantasy Quidditch Team to see how astute she could be in running things.

Unfolding her legs and extending them in front of her, Grace picked up her notebook and laid it across them. She set about scribbling away with more numbers as she awaited for her other teammates to arrive for practice.

This was, easily, Mairead's best and most important class.  That, the young Gryffindor, was certain of.  It didn't matter that Flying class was only one term.  Nor was it important that house quidditch practice wasn't even a class.  Least crucial, of course, was the minor detail that the first year wasn't even on the team.  But, Grace Eddy had invited her and as qudditch captain, that was law. 

The first year rarely made it to any of her other Hogwarts obligations on time - there was just so little to be gained from hurrying to History of Magic.  Granted, the hands on side of potions and charms and transfigurations was fun - now that Mairead had started figuring out the ways and means of her wand, those had become far more interesting.  The essays and lectures, however, still were a complete drag.  The broom Grace had given her in hand, Mairead marched onto the quidditch pitch right smack dab on time and (dare she admit it) even a little early. 

It was a chilly Friday afternoon and the patched, warn jacket she wore over her shirt was just barely keeping the cold out.  Tito had gotten the coat from the Salvation Army in Dublin several Christmas' back but had outgrown it by the next winter; Mairead had been using it sense.  It was still almost a full size too big but it was better than nothing.  Like the coat, the broom in the girl's hand was a hand-me-down from the very quidditch captain that had invited the young girl to the practice. 

"I wrote me potions essay."  Mairead declared as she stopped a short distance away from Grace.  That had been the condition she had had to meet to participate in the practice.  She didn't elaborate that her essay currently amounted to her name, the date and 'essay title' scribbled on the top of the page with a few stray cauldron doodles.  She'd written the essay (or the top bit of it) - she never said she'd written the whole essay. 

"Will this help me for tryouts next year?"  For one anyone who knew the young Gryffindor, her foresight and actual planning were actually quite admirable.  If only she put such dedication to her other studies.

It was a bit chilly; the wind would feel good after they started on the practice drills. George was looking forward to the upcoming match with slight anxiety. A few more practice plays and he felt they’d be better prepared. His biggest problem, he felt, was the previous year (and then some) that he hadn’t been allowed to play. You could watch from the stands all you wanted, but learning the opposing teams’ quirks took getting in a match and playing them.

In a long sleeved red shirt and sweats, George brushed off his trainers after jogging out to the pitch. Seeing Grace there made him smirk—as much as he knew it hurt to jam your hand, it had been a hilarious way to end the last practice. One of those things you couldn’t help laughing at, like when a fellow mate tripped down the stairs or fell on a rather tricky patch of ice.

Now, however, it was time to get to work. He dragged out the quidditch supplies he thought they’d need, leaving the balls tied down. His own broom was dumped next to the box, the special keeper gloves attached on at the end of the broomstick. Once he felt all was ready, he started over for Grace. Well, until he saw a little pipsqueak bugging her. Raising an eyebrow at the first year, George rubbed his chin in thought. Keegan was friends with her right? Smirking as he stepped up behind her, he caught the last bit of her question.

“-for tryouts next year?”

“They won’t be holding those anytime soon.” Sizing her up, George crossed his arms over his chest, finally looking to Grace with a questioning frown. They didn’t normally have an audience when they practiced… Or at least not one he paid attention to. Putting his hand out above her head, feeling the air there, he chuckled. He wasn’t the tallest guy around, sure, but… Letting his arm cross again across his chest, he glanced around. “How’s the wrist, Eddy? Been putting it to good use like I told you?”

As if to prove his point, he did a little wrist action in the air, eyebrows raised in mock innocence. “Best way to make it stronger is to practice with it right?”

Grace looked up from her book in time to see her little protege approaching, her broom in hand and looking ready for action. Grace could not hide her smile at the first year telling her she had her essay written. She had been expecting a bit more resistance from the younger girl, but so far, so good. Grace didn't say so openly (because she doubted Mairead would appreciate over showy displays of affection), but it felt good to have a little sister type who hung around. And it made the prefect feel useful in a different way to be able to share her knowledge with someone younger.

When Mairead asked if being there would help for tryouts the following year, Grace gave a nod and spok, "Sure. Pretty much, any kind of exposure to the game helps." Grace looked up as George  walked up behind her pint sized shadow. She returned his look and smirked as he offered his own response to her question. After holding his gaze for another moment longer, Grace returned to Mai and explained, "This guy--" she pointed to George, "--is the person who taught me practically everything I needed to know to be a really good quidditch player." After a beat, she tacked on, "And that's why he's the Captain this year. Because he's super awesome...."

There was a subtle hint of sarcastic teasing in her tone, clearly directed at her friend. She wouldn't have been surprised if it would remain undetected by her young counterpart.

"Maybe he'll be really super awesome and let you try some drills with us instead of just watching. But you might have to use your cute pouty face on him, Mai." With a wink, Grace stood and brushed off her slacks.

She walked over to stand next to George and quietly responded to his concern about her wrist. "It's fine. But no. Your advice has not really helped much," came her good natured retort. "I think it only works for those of a certain gender...." She gave a casual shrug and mused, "But I guess I could see the benefits of continual use...." With a sidelong grin, she reached out and smacked him square on the  chest with the back side of her good hand in a joking fashion. "But anyway...." She motioned to Mai. "This is my replacement for next year. I can't bear the thought of our team being perennial losers even if we're no longer here." She looked at her friend very seriously. "Who do you think will replace you as Keeper?"

outfit | wizarding camera

Had Eleanor been wrong in supposing that it was fair game for a team alumnus to seek a little... favor? Was it not a you-scratch-my-back-and-I’ll-scratch-yours-situation?

Well, if not, the newly appointed Team Captain was in for a surprise. Because Eleanor St. James? Desperately needed to bulk up her portfolio.

Under the guise of Official Hogwarts Business, Ellie slinked onto the pitch, eyewear glittering in the late afternoon sun. She held a palm to her brow, smiling as she spotted the unmistakable appearance of Grace Eddy. She waved an arm, beckoning the girl. Or, rather, warning of her impending approach...

Because next to her old friend Grace (and the munchkin thing) was Captain Carter himself.

“Come on, Grace, don’t give him all the credit.” Ellie approached the group, seeming to ignore George (despite being very aware of his presence). She flung her arms around the taller girl, squeezing her into a bear hug, and kissed her cheek. “Look at you! All grown up-- er, more grown up than the last time I saw you.” She pulled back with a wink. “More than can be said for some... and who’s your new friend?” She looked down at Mairead, still grinning.