Learning to Love PV P. A. Myth Closed

Clicking his tongue, Parcel peered over the notes he was holding. He was looking over his own squiggly handwriting and checking off boxes. “run five times around the quidditch pitch, done that… pushups, yes, uuum, stretching, ok, then I can finally start on my broomwork”
Why Parcel was practicing quidditch might be a valid question. After all, he was not on the house team and he didn’t have any grandiose plans of becoming a professional Quidditch player.
He did have a love for the sport though, and he also saw it as a great way to be active. After all, his true aspiration was as an adventurer, and he needed to stay in shape for that.

Even though he didn’t aspire to become a pro, he still knew an awfully lot about the game. Having listened to his father talking tactic and having tagged along as the adults went to matches had made Parcel pick up on a lot. And when he came to Hogwarts he was the first person that got his hands on the “Quidditch through the ages” book in the library. This was a book he had read cover to cover, two or three times even.

“The sloth grip, hmm… “ Parcel was talking to himself as he picked up the broom he had been able to borrow. The school brooms were nowhere near the best of brooms, but it was the only ones that students were able to borrow. And even if he had been a second year, there was no way he had money for his own broomstick yet.

The sloth grip was a rather well known quidditch maneuver, and Parcel was practicing on mastering it. The one maneuver in it self was not particularly useful for him, as he liked to play as beater, and the maneuver was for avoiding bludgers. What he hoped to later accomplish was to make it a one-handed Sloth grip, almost like a mix between Sloth grip and a Starfish and Stick. Then he would have established a maneuver that could hit bludgers that passed underneath him! But what he first had to do was to master the sloth grip… and then the Starfish and Stick… it was still a long way before the Parcel grip could be made.

Parcel liked to spend time on the field at times when there was little chance for anyone else being around. He would feel silly if some of the actual house players came down and saw him practicing all by himself. That was what made him skip dinner. The chance to practice by himself.
He placed the broom between his legs and shoot off from the ground. He first flew towards the far end of the field. Feeling the air rustle his hair. His socks were pulled up over his pant legs, one thing he really hated was to feel air blow up his trousers.
After flying for what Parcel thought was a sufficient length too work on, he twisted on the handle of the broom to make it turn around. He would attempt the maneuver while flying towards the entrance to the field.

Parcel didn’t bother paying attention to his surroundings, it was only he here after all, and only focused on the broom he was riding.
The Sloth Grip was in theory a rather easy maneuver, you hang up side down on your broom while tightly gripping it with both hands and legs. This makes you look like a sloth hanging in a tree, which is why it is called “The Sloth Grip”. But it was harder to do in reality.

With a last deep breath, Parcel twisted his broom, so he faced up side down. It was quite hard to hold on, and Parcel could feel sweat dribbling from his forehead and down in his hair. He took his eyes of the broom above him and looked down. To his sudden realization, he could see the ground approaching at a rather great speed. He seemed to be having trouble with keeping the broom straight in the air, so instead of going forward, he was going downwards! Not only that, but he was heading straight for a girl!

The girl seemed to be rooted to the ground as Parcel was rushing towards her, she was giving no indication as if she was running away and Parcel had no more time to pull the broom off in another direction! In a last-ditch effort to try and avoid hitting the girl, Parcel let go of his broom. The broom flew right past her on one side, while Parcel tumbled down on her other side. With a hard THUMP, Parcel hit the ground beside the girl. The impact with the ground made him tumble a bit behind the girl before finally stopping.
Laying on his back, with grass and dirt on both his face and school uniform, Parcel managed a groan. “Aaaah.. My ass-…" He was slightly rubbing his backside as he voiced his pain, then he remembered the girl, and asked in a hoarse voice " Are you okay? I didn’t hit you, did i?”

Ami half wanted to burst into furious applause as Parcel took off, flying incredibly well. Yeah, he really was a good player, did he play on the Gryffindor team? Her admiration soared as Parcel flipped over on the broom and started to fly hanging upside down- like, what? To others, the Sloth Roll was a common maneuver, but to Ami, it was magic. She was familiar with it, yes, definitely, she had given herself a crash course in Quidditch in preparation for the pickup game. But obviously, she hadn't actually attempted it, and seeing Parcel do it real life... wow, that definitely required a lot of skill; a lot of skill she didn't have.

So engrossed in watching him fly, Ami didn't even notice that he was heading straight towards her until it was too late. By some kind of magically-induced miracle (I mean, they were at Hogwarts, after all, everything here was magical), Parcel managed to let go of the broom, the broom zooming past her left side before crashing into the first row of bleachers, Parcel falling to the ground on her right side.

"Aaah... my ass... Are you okay? I didn't hit you, did I?"

"Bloody murder, Parcel, what the hell were you doing?" Ami exclaimed, immediately dropping down beside the poor boy. Concern and worry were etched into the frown lines of her face, and she pulled him up into a sitting position. Before he could even fathom protesting against it, she began brushing the dirt off of his face and robes. Thomas had liked to joke that she was the most motherly figure he knew, and he wasn't far off. Her instinct to protect the wounded was unstoppable, and it was kicked into full gear at Parcel's tumble.

Isn't this, like, the third person you've injured this year? some part in the back of her head whispered. First Dorian, then Reyna, now Parcel? Okay, well, Reyna was an honest-to-god accident, and I just didn't see Parcel. Dorian... Dorian, I have no excuses for. Her lost necklace was forgotten as she continued to brush the dirt off of the Gryffindor', before finally thinking to ask, "Are you okay?"

Parcel didn’t even have time to open his eyes before the girl he nearly hit, pulled him up in a sitting position. He moaned a little as he felt most of his weight shift to his bruised backside. Parcel could feel her brushing dirt off him as he opened his eyes. "Bloody murder, Parcel, what the hell were you doing?" Looking onto the face of the girl sitting over him, Parcel quickly understood that he knew the girl. It was Ami! A Hufflepuff girl he had played quidditch with, and that he later had met at the Blossom Ball. The latter which was the reason for Parcel trying to avoid the girl as much as possible. They had after all ended up sharing a bit more contact then Parcel was comfortable with. Parcel’s ears turned a shade redder as he remembered pulling Ami onto himself at the ball. “we-well you see, I was just practicing some Quidditch moves, I hadn’t noticed anyone entering” Parcel stammered out a response as he tried to avoid eye contact with Ami.

This was the moment Parcel noticed Ami’s hand, gently resting on his face. She was probably only trying to brush off some dirt. But the image of him laying on the ground, while Ami, a girl, was kneeled over him, brushing her hands all over him… was not a scene he wanted to show to anyone else that might wander on into the stadium. With an expression of shocked alarm, Parcel pulled back from Ami and jerked up. "Are you okay?" Ami asked.
With a flushed face, Parcel tried to play it as nothing. “Yes, yes I’m quite all rig- aagh- all right. I have fallen off loads of times” Parcel groaned halfway through what he was trying to say, rubbing his lower back, right above his buttocks.

Letting the initial shock of being touched all over wear down, Parcel talked again. “No, really, I should be fine, I can move at least, so nothing broken, probably just a bruise or two” Parcel chuckled a little while scratching the scar on his cheek gingerly. This was definitively not the first time he had fallen of a broom.

Taking a deep breath, Parcel tried looking at the girl, he still had trouble looking her in the eyes, as he flushed whenever he did, remembering how they had been close enough for their noses to touch at the Ball. Parcel turned his head towards where the broomstick had gone instead. “Co-come to think of it, what are you doing here Ami? Shouldn’t it be around dinnertime now?”

Ami flinched as Parcel jerked back, stammering off some crappy excuse about how he fell from his broom quite often, and that he was okay, or something like that- clearly, he was lying through his teeth, and Ami didn't like to listen to lies. His face was still scrunched into one of immense pain, and she was sure his backside was bruised all over. 

She couldn't help but worry at the flinch, had she done something wrong? She was forever screwing up, especially when it came to social relationships, why was that surprising? Her heart plummeted as Parcel recoiled from her touch, and she backed up.

The Gryffindor continued rambling, insisting he was fine, although Ami raised an eyebrow at it. Was he really fine? With a sigh, she stood up, walking over to retrieve the poor broom, which was lying against the bleachers, looking bruised and battered. Returning to Parcel and handing the broom back to him, she tried not to look at the boy, staring at her feet instead. 

She assumed he would just stand up a continue flying, then, but then he asked about what she was doing down here. "I- " Ami stared at the boy with wide eyes, wondering why he cared, and blurted, "I was just thinking!" That was lame, and awkward, and dumb, and why did she say that, oh... Words never came as easily to the Hufflepuff's mouth as it did to her pen. Writing was a much better outlet than talking, that's why more people had diaries, rather than therapists. 

"I thought it would be empty," she mumbled, looking down at her feet, referring to the Quidditch Pitch. It would've been empty if Parcel hadn't been flying around- not that she blamed him, no, of course not. She guessed that he had come down for the same reason as her, then. "The Great Hall's chatter was getting on my nerves, I needed someplace empty, someplace quiet..." Wait, if he was down here during dinnertime because it would be empty, that meant that... that he wanted to practice in private... Ami closed her eyes in exasperation. Why did she always have to mess things up?

Glancing up at Parcel, she mumbled, "I guess I'll just leave, then. Sorry for bothering you." Scuffing her shoe against the dirt, Ami turned to go, to leave the Quidditch pitch, her head hung low and her brain reeling. Where else could she go, where no one else would be?

With a half convincing grin, Parcel continued holding a hand on his lower back. It wasn’t a “end of the world” kind of pain, but Parcel would probably feel it throbbing on his back for a couple of days.
Hearing movement from Ami, Parcel turned his head back in her direction before his eyes flowed her as she went and picked up the broom he had borrowed.
With a somewhat surprised expression on his face, Parcel received the broom after Ami had picked it up.

Ami proceeded to explain what she was doing down at the pitch instead of up at the castle, partaking in what probably was yet another delicious dinner. Parcel almost had to stifle a chuckle as Ami reacted to his question. “What are you doing down her” was a question Parcel found rather normal, but Ami reacted with round eyes, like a deer caught in the headlamps of a car. But as she continued talking, Parcel found himself relieved he hadn’t laughed, because Ami was turning more and more crestfallen.
While Ami seemed to come here for the quiet the great hall could not provide, Parcel rather liked the noise and chatter of the hall but came down to the pitch to train without prying eyes. But Seeing the gloomy expression on Ami’s face made Parcel stop himself from saying how nice he himself found the noises of the great hall.

"I guess I'll just leave, then. Sorry for bothering you." Ami said as she turned towards the entrance, about to leave. “No-“ clearing his throat a bit, Parcel continued “No, stay, everyone would just look at you if you came in this late for dinner anyways, it’s almost over”.
Putting the broom gingerly under his arm, Parcel crouched down and started pulling his black pants legs out from his white socks. Parcel wouldn’t be able to practice flying for a couple of days anyways, not until the bruise stopped throbbing.

Straitening himself again, Parcel continued. “Yeah, well… you know, we had planed it, right? The two of us… umm, us two together… that we to where to spend time together too… ahem…” It was harder to find the words then Parcel had thought. Remembering the night they had planed for Parcel to teach her what he knew about quidditch, also made Parcel remember her breath on his neck as she lay on top of him. “ for me to teach you what I knew about Quidditch, right?” Turning his face away from Ami again, his cheeks a bit redder, Parcel stared at the sky above her for any excuse to not look straight at her. “Well, that is if you even want to anymore” Parcel added in a lower voice, turning his gaze to the grass right in front of Ami

Ami was, for one, astounded that Parcel had even remembered that night. She could barely remember what she ate for breakfast, and he could still remember- oh wait, hang on a hot minute, neither of them were able to wipe that night from their memory, thanks to that dumb Charles York kid. The memory of skin pressed against skin was all too vivid in her mind, and she didn’t exactly want relive it all. But yes, before it had all turned incredibly awkward, Parcel had confessed his true love for Quidditch, vowing to teach her and convert her to the ways of the sport.

And really, it sounded like fun. Unless, of course, Parcel decided her wanted to nail her with a bludger again.

”That...” Ami said slowly, dragging it out for a dramatic effect, pretending to ponder it. ”That- yeah, we did talk about that, didn’t we?” With a small smile, she took the broom from Parcel’s hands (gently), examining the instrument. Was a broom called an instrument? Well, regardless of the proper term (equipment sound far too casual for such a serious sport), Ami would treat it in the highest respect, like she would treat her piano. That is, she’d use it until there was nothing left, extracting all the potential she could out of it.

”Where do we start, Professor?” she asked, tacking on the entirely unnecessary title at the end as a joke. ”I’ll suppose you want to see me fly for a bit before you teach me the rules? Or vice versa?” Setting the broom on the ground, she tied her hair back with care, and kicked her impractically heavy boots off. Going barefoot would be much easier for her, and she had many experiences running around barefoot through backyards, pavements, and streets. Running around on a neatly groomed Quidditch field? No problem.

Parcel gave Ami a smile as she took the broom from his hands. He gave a forced laugh as she called him professor, that… that was really not something he wanted to be called, he could never be stuck behind a desk like those old fart professors, no no no.

Scratching his scar, Parcel looked at Ami handling the broom. She seemed eager enough to sta-… Perhaps too eager? Parcel gulped as she started taking off her shoes, that- that was really not necessary, Parcel couldn’t think of a reason for her to undress herself before they began.
He put a hand up to his face, coughing a bit, as he looked away from the barefoot Ami. “No, ahem, well, ugh- Yes, ach- Maybe, ahem, we can if that’s what you want to do”
Scratching his scar again, more gingerly, Parcel took a moment to think. They could of curse just fly, but it wasn’t really all that exciting to fly all by yourself.

“Well, I was thinking we could start with, you know, what most quidditch fans love, the teams! And all that stuff, do you have a favorite team?” Parcel became more and more eager as he talked, “you know what, I actually think I have the book with me, hold on a minute…”
Parcel ran over to the bench where he had left his schoolbag earlier when he came in. The running became more of a hurried wobble as he began to come closer, maybe he had twisted an ankle when he fell.

Standing by the bench, Parcel started fumbling around in his bag, after a minute of rustling through it with his back turned to Ami he finally turned towards her again. “Her! I did bring it with me!” He was waving a green book over his head as he sat down on the bench. “Come over here! We can start with this” he said as he was patting the seat beside him, motioning for her to come over. “So yeah, do you have a favorite team? Don’t worry if you don’t, most of the British teams are listed here, we can look over it together if you want, maybe you recognize some of the team banners from around where you live or something” He grinned at her as he talked, patting a well worn copy of “Quidditch through the ages” that was laying on his lap.

The teams? The words echoed around in Ami's mind, bouncing from one wall to the other, leaving her in total and utter confusion. Was this, like, football in America? Where a bunch of people obsessed over watching the people play on their TVs rather than going out to actually try the sport? Of course, there were those flag football leagues and high school teams that existed throughout the American school system, and yet... there still weren't many people physically going out to play the sport.

What a pity it would be if Quidditch turned out to be the same way.

What a nerd, some mean, well-hidden part of her brain hissed, cackling as Parcel raced to find his book. Wow, so there were books about this? And about the teams? Absolutely disgusting, this was just like football. Reluctantly, Ami dropped the broom carelessly on the ground in disgust, walking over to the Gryffindor boy with his oh-so-precious book. 

He inquired about a favorite team, which Ami balked at. "A favorite team?" Ami echoed in confusion, curling her lip rather unattractively, her face bearing her honest opinion. "I barely know a damn thing about the sport, let alone the teams." That's why I wanted to learn the basics and moves, first, you numbskull. 

Ouch, that was straight-up rude, and completely uncalled for. Rearranging her face into a mask of eagerness, her tone shifted into one of pleading as she said, "Please, just let's have a go-around, first. I know... like, the different balls and stuff, but I guess that's it." Tapping her chin, she added, "If I'm completely honest, I don't remember much at all from that Quidditch game Aurelia set up. I just know that I was a Beater, I guess, and that I hit around the balls called Bludgers."

Yup, that pretty much summed it all up. She knew most of the basics of flying, of course, otherwise, she wouldn't have passed the class... but as for the game itself, she knew pretty much nothing. That was certainly a starting point, though, wasn't it? "How about you teach the rules and stuff, first. Like, thoroughly, since yeah, I know a little... but definitely not a lot, not all the way through. Like, rules, fouls, and strategies, y'know?" Ami suggested gently, trying to poke Parcel in the right direction of what would interest her the most.