Between Practices and Conversations PV Sam Jones

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| Date: 07/11/25, late afternoon | Word count: 334 |
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Standing in front of Samantha, Frederick tried once again to search his memory for whether he knew her. If she really was a first-year like him, which she seemed to be, maybe they had passed each other at the doorway of some classroom or something like that. And if his impressions were correct, they had definitely stood in the same line for the house selection ceremony. Still, it was normal that he didn’t know every other first-year student, and it would be nice to meet someone new now.

Fred’s daydreaming lasted only as long as Samantha’s response. While he listened to her words, his gaze remained fixed on her face, which seemed open enough to this spontaneous interaction, and hearing her question at the end, he felt that impression confirmed. Besides the fact that she had said yes to his invitation, Samantha’s tone also sounded genuine, and Fred let out a short laugh, laughing at himself for not having introduced himself properly.

“Cool! And sorry, I think I assumed maybe I already knew you. You’re a first-year too, right?” he hurried to explain. “My name’s Frederick. Frederick Buckley. And you?”

The boy stayed in his pose throughout their introductions, only adjusting the Quaffle quickly under his left arm. On his face, a friendly and excited expression formed as he spoke to Samantha, because anything that involved Quidditch made him very happy, and the fact that they were about to mount their brooms to fly and practice a bit had exactly that effect. His next words came out sounding like he was the self-appointed captain of their tiny two-person team.

“We can walk over there and take off from that spot. We don’t need to fly very high, just a bit above the ground so we can practice the quaffle passing.” He looked toward a more central part of the training pitch where no one was currently flying and gestured as if he were about to start walking that way, expecting Samantha to follow along.

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| Interacting with: @Samantha Jones |

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| Date: 07/11/25, late afternoon | Word count: 519 |
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While greetings were exchanged between Frederick and Samantha, the boy kept his full attention on his conversation partner. He nodded once when he heard her say that she was also in her first year at Hogwarts. Good, he thought, at least he hadn’t made a fool of himself right away by assuming someone older was his age. Making a mental note, Fred set aside the usual questions, where she was from, whether she liked the House she’d been sorted into, that sort of thing, and listened as Samantha finished introducing herself.

Soon, he learned her first name, last name, and nickname, which prompted Frederick to slip in a comment between her answers. “Ah, you’ve got a long name too, like mine. Most people just call me Fred.” He smiled at the corner of his mouth and then noticed Samantha smile a little shyly in response. The detail registered in the back of Frederick’s mind without lingering, the kind of thing that was easy to miss when you were just getting to know someone. Without dragging it out, still looking at her, he concluded, “It’s nice to meet you.”

The next moment, Fred was already guiding Samantha toward a more central part of the training pitch, laying out ideas that, at least in his confidence-filled head, sounded great. He did have some experience with Quidditch, even from before Hogwarts, but he was more used to following the rules of a practice session than creating them. As he walked with Samantha beside him, Fred kept his eyes forward, thinking about how far off the ground they should fly and how much distance to keep between them to practice passing the quaffle, until the Ravenclaw’s question made him turn his head toward her, still walking.

“If you’re counting only official matches, I’ve played in just one,” Frederick answered Samantha’s question about whether he’d taken part in any Quidditch games. “I managed to get onto the Gryffindor team…” He hesitated for a moment, his tone suggesting the sentence wasn’t quite finished. Fred wondered whether he should mention that he was still a reserve player, he’d certainly feel better if he were a first-string one, but in the next split second, he decided to go with the truth. “And even though I’m still on the reserves bench, I got to feel some of the thrill of a real match.” He finished, trying to sound a bit cooler. Why he’d done that, he wasn’t quite sure, he barely knew Samantha yet. Boys, honestly…

Fred stopped walking when they reached more or less the spot he’d pointed out earlier and turned to face Sam again. “What about you?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. He’d been at the matches between the four houses and would’ve known if Samantha were part of any team. Frederick adjusted the Quaffle under his arm again. “I don’t think I remember seeing you on the stadium,” he continued, keeping the conversation going before circling back to the original reason he’d approached her in the first place. “So, ready to start training?” He smiled, happy to have found some company.

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| Interacting with: @Samantha Jones |

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mention: @Frederick Buckley
ooc notes: so sorry this was so late!

𝓢he smiles at Fred as he tells her his nickname before he concludes with a "nice to meet you". "Likewise," she responds softly. She looked around the training pitch a bit as they neared the centre of it. She watched as different students flew around, some simply practising their flying, others in small groups testing out strategies for upcoming matches. As she watched other students practice, she listened intently to Fred laying out ideas for their practice session before asking whether he had already participated in an official game of Quidditch.

She hadn't actually participated in any games herself yet, since she had only just signed up and got added to the waiting list. She had, however, practised flying techniques with another Ravenclaw student, but that was about it. She signed up for the Chaser position on the Ravenclaw team simply because of what her mother had told her. Samantha's mother had told her daughter over and over that she would be an excellent Chaser one day, having the perfect form for it, among other positive qualities that Samantha got sick from hearing. She liked being praised, as did most people, but her mother could overdo it when she tried to get Samantha to do something she wanted. Yet, Samantha obeyed her wishes and signed her name on the list not long after classes started. She also wanted to herself, of course, but her mother's wishes still played a big role in her decision-making.

Now, they were about to start practising passing a quaffle. She had no idea what to expect; how high they would fly, how to throw properly, she didn't even know if she could catch it in a way that wouldn't make her fall off her broom. Fortunately, Frederick's confidence, even if feigned a little, eased Samantha's worries. If he were a first-year and could do this, so could she, she thought to herself.

"If you're counting only official matches, I've played in just one," Frederick answered her question. He told her he managed to get onto the Gryffindor team. She nodded as he explained, realising he's the first Gryffindor student she has met so far. He seemed nice enough. Her grandmother, from her mother's side, had always told Samantha she should stick with Ravenclaw and maybe Slytherin students when she would go to attend Hogwarts, as they were more serious and not as impulsive as some Gryffindor students could be. Samantha didn't really believe in her grandmother's ideas as she listened to Frederick speak. He seemed serious and enthusiastic about Quidditch, but enthusiasm isn't necessarily a bad thing. And he didn't really seem impulsive or the reckless type so far.

"The reserve bench is cool," she quickly chirped after he told her that. "At least you're a step closer to making it on the field. I'm sure you'll get out on the field in no time." She had tried to sound optimistic, even encouraging in some way, although she hadn't really realised why she'd done that.

As they stopped walking, she turned towards him, her broom now held in two hands diagonally in front of her. "Oh no," she started with a soft laugh, head shaking. "You're right, I haven't played any matches yet. Unfortunately, I also haven't had time to go watch any matches yet... too busy with homework and trying to work ahead," she admitted, her mood dampening a bit, but a smile formed on her face yet again as he asked if she was ready to start training. "Definitely," she answered with a toothy grin.

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| Date: 07/11/25, late afternoon | Word count: 416 |
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They were still on the ground and Fred kept his full attention on Sam, keeping the conversation light and easy. Every now and then, very briefly, he glanced around to check the pitch and make sure they were still heading toward the spot he’d pointed out earlier, the place he thought would work best for their training. As they walked, he let out a short, quiet laugh when Sam mentioned that, at the very least, being a reserve player meant he was one step closer to getting onto the pitch. He laughed because he immediately remembered that he had gotten onto the pitch, only to be knocked out by a Bludger a minute later. He’d tell that story someday. Just… maybe not today.

Before walking Samantha through his ideas for the day’s practice, Fred paused to watch her. She mentioned homework and working hard to stay ahead on assignments, which made him stare at her in mild disbelief. “Come on, you’ve got to make time for Quidditch next time,” he said, then added with a laugh, “and I probably need to make time for homework…” He added quickly, making a joke before she felt bad about his startled expression. “Maybe we can balance it out,” Fred went on, his tone relaxed, as if he were thinking out loud, something he had a habit of doing. “I’ll take you to a match, and you take me to the library.”

After her affirmative signal, already positioned to take off, Frederick pushed off the ground firmly but carefully, controlling the force so he only rose a few meters into the air in a nearly vertical diagonal. Holding the broom handle with his left hand, he shifted the Quaffle to his right and waited until Samantha leveled out beside him. “Alright. Let’s get a bit more horizontal distance so we can start tossing the Quaffle back and forth,” he said. With a short nod, he angled his broom to do exactly that. Once he was far enough away, still close enough to talk without shouting, he threw the Quaffle toward her, trusting that Sam would be ready to catch it and keep the passing going.

Around them, the Quidditch training pitch stretched out in muted winter tones, goal hoops standing silent against a sky that was beginning to darken. A thin chill lingered in the air, carrying the promise of rain, but it did little to bother Frederick. Once he was on his broom, the cold faded into the background.

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| Interacting with: @Samantha Jones |

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| Date: 07/11/25, late afternoon | Word count: 342 |
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The Gryffindor boy had made his offer, to take Samantha to watch a match of his favorite sport, and Frederick smiled when she said she would hold him to it. He didn’t add anything else as he pushed off on his broom, but he figured he would probably invite her first anyway. He remembered how fun it had been to watch the last match with Rosaline and Leo, and the idea of having a new companion to go to the pitch with felt brilliant.

Once in the air, Fred quickly tossed the Quaffle toward Sam and, in the next instant, received it back. Focused, he caught it with his right hand, the same one he’d used to throw, noticing that she had passed it with her left. Was she left-handed? Or just that skilled? He wondered, making a quick and almost unconscious comparison to himself. Being right-handed, he was definitely worse with his left.

Before he could voice that thought, Fred subtly guided his broom a little to the left, moving out of perfect alignment with Samantha so he could gradually increase the difficulty of their practice. He stopped himself from asking about her hand dominance and instead answered her earlier question. “Oh, I play Keeper,” he said, adding with a mischievous look, “Would you have guessed?” His final question came as he threw the Quaffle back toward her. His right hand, now free, returned briefly to the broom handle to steady his flight. “And you? What position do you play?”

Thinking over what little he knew about Samantha so far, if he had to guess, deep down he would have said she didn’t even like Quidditch. Of course, that opinion was based purely on first impressions, the impression he had formed just minutes earlier when he first saw her at the edge of the training pitch. He remembered the slight contrast between his own more relaxed manner and her neatly fitted clothes and perfectly intact ponytail. Waiting for her answer, he found himself amused, trying to predict what she would say.

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| Interacting with: @Samantha Jones |