2014 PV ⇉ S. Alexander Flashback Closed

A Cleansweep 14. Nothing special at all, the old thing, though with a new layer of enamel, a more recently exchanged metal ring and a personalized engraving on the shaft spelling S. J. Gretchen had at least made it look a bit like a thing a captain would ride. She, being of the more economically fortunate background, had of course bewilderedly insisted on getting him a brand new one, but all to her step-son’s polite decline. He liked this one, and carrying it over his shoulder as he did now felt just as right as he imagined his friends felt with their new Nimbuses or this season’s Comets.

He was on his way down to the training pitch, warming the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger every ten seconds in lack of a scarf. It was a cold day out, and normally he wouldn’t forget, but just this once the chill air got to bite his reddening cheeks like icy teeth, as the headwind backed it up by blowing the black hair away from his cold ears. No cap, either. Gretchen would’ve been horrified.

“You’ve got gloves,” He reminded himself and stretched out his leather clad fingers to keep them warm and nimble enough to fly. “That’s the most important.”

Reaching the pitch, just stepping past the planks and the smaller stands so he was still protected by them from the heaviest winds, Silas laid his broom down in the wet grass and took a regretful breath before starting to remove his coat- an action he (thankfully, in regards to his blood circulation) was stopped in the middle of.
A nearly inaudible swish from above his head caught his attention, and stepping forward to look up with a squint he could see that apparently a fellow student had already occupied this space. And of course he could tell immediately who it was.

Huang, Celestine Huang, was making a lap around the court.

He recognized her flying even before he did her braided black hair, lean arms and legs, or her focused, yet at peace looking face. That was mostly because he’d had to study that technique of hers so many times, as during every Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game, she’d be his responsibility. Nobody else seemed able to keep up, not even only with their eyes, a good bludger-distance away. In fact Silas took quite a bit of pride in having successfully knocked her off her game more than a few times, but didn’t dare get cocky even in his thoughts. He didn’t mind her.

Didn’t mind her at all, and when she finally landed on the dewy grass again he was already making his way over by foot and with a big smile on, purpousoy making noise enough to have the Ravenclaw turn around.



He’d scared her. Or, maybe not scared, but her face looked flustered and he’d swear her braids bristled the way cats do in the animated muggle movies he’d watch with his mother. This made him smile more, but a kinder smile than the one you’d expect from.. well, any sixteen-year-old.

“The same as you, I’m presuming, getting ready for the Friday to come. That is..” He took a look at her clothes. A thin, long-sleeved sweater and a pair of tights? He wasn’t going to lie to himself about her looking very cute where she stood, but the sight was too much for his shivering self to bear. ”That is in case you make it to Friday. I tell you, it would be a real shame if you froze to death. Take it from me, it wouldn’t be a real game. Wouldn’t count. What would I do? Try and hit one of your team mates? Waste of time, you’re the enemy.” He pointed to her face jokingly, and laughed it off. Of course the entire Ravenclaw team was close to outstanding, but there was, as stated earlier, truth to what he was saying.

“But I’m sorry I snuck up on you.”

Reducio

Celestine in her 6th year at Hogwarts:

Celestine honestly couldn't decide if she wanted to sock Silas in the jaw or just grab his stupid little face and snog him until the world ended and humanity collapsed around them. Maybe both? His comment about the upcoming match made her stomach turn somersaults, however, and she cast her gaze down to her feet. She would have to play against Silas, completely distracted by him while he tried to knock her off her broom. It wasn't a very safe combination, but a small part of her felt honored that she was good enough to attract the undivided attention of the marvelous Silas Jones. The logical majority of her mind, however, also feared for her reputation as a formidable chaser.

"What do you mean if I make it to Friday?" she retorted hotly, crossing her arms over her chest indignantly. "We're going to kick your scarlet-and-gold butts so hard you'll be seeing stars for days, Jones." Her fierce expression morphed into an impish grin, however, as she let his compliment truly seep in. He said she was good! Good enough to warrant special attention from him, good enough where her presence on the pitch would be sorely missed. 

"It's not that cold out, anyway," she lied, feigning ignorance to the chill outside, even though Silas could easily right through her act. She ignored the goose pimples rising on the surface of her arms and the shivers running through her body, offering another light-hearted smile towards the Gryffindor beater.

"Don't apologise, you just... startled me a bit, is all," Celestine added, tugging on the ends of one of her braids, glancing down at her sneakered feet for a brief moment before staring into Silas' eyes once more. He was a good deal taller than her, which was rather uncomfortable, but she still held his gaze defiantly as if she were daring him to look away. 

Her physique would've been more suited for a seeker than a chaser, for she was light and lithe. That also made her notoriously hard to hit and follow, as she could turn and swerve much sharper corners than other players, who were big and burly. In fact, she almost reminded one of a gymnast in the sense of relative strength. Her aim with the quaffle was also nearly magical, managing to sneak incredible shots past bewildered keepers.

"Well, don't let me keep you," she said suddenly, turning away from the Gryffindor and grabbing the Quaffle. "I'm sure you've got better things to do than to be standing about, fraternizing with the enemy." Tossing the Quaffle way high up in the air, she mounted her broom and shot up after it, retrieving it and then racing down toward the other end of the pitch, the ball tucked under her arm possessively. 

She was off and in the air before Silas could come up with something clever to reply with, so he was left in the middle of some kind of shudder-chuckle and a grin toward his feet. His broom was still on the other side of the pitch, but as he'd planned to do a ground-based warm-up anyway he started to move around it all instead of crossing the field again. He began to reluctantly remove his coat and place it over one of the benches there stood, and looked up to watch Celestine before he began to pick up speed in the mud.

She had a Quaffle with her, this time, which only had her reminding him even more of their games- the way she kept the ball closer to her side than he did his brothers, it all intrigued him. He wanted to join her up there, wanted to get on his broom as soon as possible now more than he'd done back at the castle. For a moment, he even considered skipping the warm-up just this once (even though it today, of all days, would be a particularly bad idea) so that he could spend that time if only to throw her off her game.

Or, admittedly, simply to get her attention again.

Without the coat, Silas was in a pair of dark sweatpants and a grey and red Gryffindor jumper. He was certainly more suitably dressed than Celestine, that much was clear, but something about her everything made it seem like she wasn't so bothered by the cold.

"Is that Quaffle yours?" Silas wasn't sure how much she could hear from up where she was, but hollered out to her anyway. "Take this opportunity to practice in peace! We're not allowed to use the Bludgers by ourselves anymore, some Hufflepuff beater got hurt last year. Though I think it's because it was dark out.. you're safe this once, is what I'm saying."

When he reached his broom the second lap around, he took to a stop and grinned as he held out his hand above it, not taking his eyes of the Ravenclaw.

"Up," He directed, fully aware that the oral command no longer filled any purpose but to ring familiar, and felt the wooden shaft place itself in his closing palm as naturally as another's hand. Mounting the broomstick, he kicked his foot down once in the muddy grass to swiftly lift off against the cool breeze.

"If it is yours, then is there any chance a beater without a Bludger, for he is like a sailor without his boat, could have a try on it? Consider it charity. I've played Quidditch for four years but I've barely ever touched one."

Reducio

Celestine in her 6th year at Hogwarts:

There was something freeing about flying. Everything fell away, and all that mattered was her and her broom. Some may have argued that Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were the most iconic British duo to ever exist, but Celestine would beg to differ- she and her broom, which she had dubbed 'Diva' some time ago, could easily rival the mystery-solving team. Honestly, she trusted her broom more than she trusted most people, and relished the way the sensation of flying let her leave all of her troubles and worries far behind her, in the dust. Streaking down toward the end of the pitch, she began to rise slowly in the air, until with a quick flick of her wrists, the Quaffle was in the air.

Closing one's eyes during the manipulation of a ball as heavy and important as the Quaffle wasn't the wisest of moves, but Celestine knew what she was doing- hopefully. She could smell the heavy chill in the air, the smell of the Forbidden Forest drifting across all of the grounds of Hogwarts. It was a smell that she had learned to associate with home, with comfort, with safety, and here? On the Quidditch pitch? It mixed with the scents of sweat and hard work, of hopes and dreams, of the grass and the metal seats. It all culminated here, where she wanted to spend all of her time...

Her eyes flew open, and she remembered the Quaffle waiting for her, up in the air.

Accuracy and speed were important when you were a Chaser, but control was paramount. Without control, how could the Quaffle go where you wanted it to go? The Quaffle soared high above her, and Celestine flew upwards to meet it. With a gentle push-throw of her hands, the Quaffle gracefully began to fall back towards the earth at a nearly vertical angle, as if it would miss the hoop entirel- but wait!

The angle was perfect, just perfect, and the Quaffle neatly, barely fell through the hoop, just grazing the metal circle. Celestine, on the other hand, had dropped toward the earth in a breath-taking nosedive that rivaled the one of a Seeker's, and she pulled off at the last possible moment, streaking along the ground as she turned sharply, catching the still-falling Quaffle moments before it would've hit the ground. It was a move that she longed to employ in a normal match, but it was also a move that her team captain insisted was far too risky. 

The Ravenclaw could hear Silas' voice just vaguely, and she slowed so the wind wouldn't be quite as loud in her ears. Turning, she started back across the field in Silas' direction, where he was now on his broom and up in the air. She could just barely make out his words, and rose higher and higher in the air to meet him in the middle of the pitch, the Quaffle tucked securely under her arm once more.

"A sailor?" Celestine echoed, a laugh following her words. "It would be charity indeed, to let a Beater, of all people, near a Quaffle..." But how could she possibly say no? How could she say no to Silas Jones? It was already obvious that she was wavering, her Quaffle already slipping slightly from her normal grip of iron and steel. As if it were a last defense, a last stand before surrender, she added, "You don't even have the right gloves for this!" But, with a small breath, a barely registered sigh, she relented.

"Fine. I'm feeling benevolent today, Jones- don't take advantage of it."

And then she chucked the Quaffle at his face. Not to be mean, of course, but if he couldn't catch the Quaffle from ten metres away, coming straight at him, he really didn't deserve the Quaffle at all. She was, of course, the self-proclaimed queen of fast throws, bullet passes, whatever else you wanted to call it. It was efficient in making its way past defending Chasers, although it was rather mean to her teammates, who were only trying to catch it...

Silas let Celestine's not-so-discrete dig on his quidditch position slide with a chuckle, and then caught the Quaffle she'd thrown at him with only so much difficulty. He'd been ready, felt it coming the teasing way she'd spoken to him.

"Thank you."

He held it with both hands at first and studied it, noticing how unfamiliar he was with having no grip of his broom- so quickly he mirrored the way the girl in front of him would keep it, from memory. "Like this, yeah?" He hunched over and put it under his arm with a parodied yet genuinely focused expression, then began to speed around her in big circles- practicing his turns with this brand new weight to his right side. It was heavier than he'd imagined, and he wondered how one could bring themselves to pass it all across the court with an ease like Celestine's. Let alone aim and score the way she does.

"You know," He yelled, and swung back to where she'd passed to him. He threw the Quaffle in the air and caught it a couple of times, emphasising to her its weight. "I have to say I respect it. The Bludger's obviously heavier but I rarely have to carry it.. just get it as far away from my face as possible, and then hopefully hit someone on the opposing team at the same time. Plus no one really ever aims at the beaters, so I've got that going for me. You, on the other hand, gotta watch your back." He pointed to her with a grin, but of course she knew this already.

"Am I talking to much?" He smiled, she was a very focused girl- odds were he was annoying her more than anything else. Though this was only partly his intention. "If you think so, you should meet my little brother. Now, do you want this back or do you think I can score from here?"

Reducio

Celestine in her 6th year at Hogwarts:

Celestine's breathing slowed as she watched him catch her throw (Good job, she congratulated, if only for a brief moment and only in her mind), completely in awe of his multi-talented-ness. She didn't realize that people were allowed to be this talented, especially Beaters, of all people. She had always thought that they were all brute muscle and no intellect, although that was, of course, before she had met Silas. The cold breeze ruffling her hair, she offered him a small smile of felicitations, genuinely pleased that he was able to keep up with her. 

She felt odd without the Quaffle in her hands, like... what was it that Silas had said before? A sailor without her boat? Well, she could certainly understand where he was coming from, now. She tried to recall the stance the Ravenclaw keeper took whenever they played, and sat up straight on her broom, letting her knees become the guiding and stabilizing force. 

She watched as Silas tried to mimic a Chaser's stance, in awe of how accurate it was. She couldn't have him being better than her, though, so she bit her tongue while she would normally be correcting and critiquing his grip, his seat, and his overall posture... but he understood the general gist of things, and that was good enough for her.

If she were to be completely honest, although she would never admit this to anyone, Celestine could listen to Silas talk all day long. She just wanted a podcast of his voice with her at all times, to sing her lullabies as she studied or as she lay awake in her bed at night, tossing and turning sleeplessly. Cripes, he could be reading the telephone book and she would still stop and listen... no, of course, you're not talking too much... don't ever stop talking. 

She could only imagine how dopey the smile on her face was, and she tried to reel her emotions in before they got away from her. Her mouth twitched, and her smile was teasingly kind. "I don't think anyone can talk more than you, Silas," Celestine joked, savoring the way his name rolled across her tongue. Moving on... "Suppose I play Keeper, then, while we're all switching our roles, and such." Leaning forward on her broom, she dived under Silas suddenly, swooping back up behind him and racing towards the far end of the pitch just as quickly, hunched over her broom to increase her speed.

"You'll never make it, no Beater ever could!" Celestine called back to him, although she had no idea if the wind was in her favor and carried her voice over to him. Her light and tinkling laughter followed, teasing and just on the verge of flirtatious. If brooms had brakes like a car, she would've screeched to a halt, doing a one-eighty to face Silas once more. "Come on, try me!" she taunted, her grin lighting up her face and the wind playfully tugging at her braids. It was up in the air that she felt most at home, and it was clearly evident in her smiles and her laughter.

Oh you're wrong about that, thought Silas, but he didn't say anything aloud since what Celestine just then moved on to do proved she was going to play along- which gladdened him very much. In fact, for a moment there he'd feared he was only annoying her, which was the last thing he wanted. He wanted her to like him.

She flew, effortlessly as always, and turned abruptly in the air by the tall hoops, grinning and teasing him as she did so. She was smiling, and the fresh air was playing with her black hair... Silas thought all that should count as a technical foul, at the very least.

"I think you'll be surprised by what a Beater can do." He replied against the wind. "I used to play both basketball and handball with my mother. She was no good, I won't lie, but I learned still. Plus-" He clenched his knees around the shaft of the broom to let go with his hand and stretch his arms out ridiculously. "Beaters aren't exactly weak!" But then he had to return to the position quite immediately so not to fall off. "Unbalanced, maybe..." He muttered sheepishly to himself.

Throwing the Quaffle up in the air and catching it once more to remind himself of its weight again, Silas started to float his broom slowly from side to side. Imitating the way he'd seen chasers feint right before they tried to score. Though of course, the whole thing with those feints is that they do them quickly, to distract the keeper. Silas movements on the other hand were slow and clumsy, almost as if he thought the idea was to hypnotise the keeper and put them to sleep. It was obvious he wasn't used to much attention on his broom... You don't care about the Beater's finesse, only his aim.

Suddenly, he jerked his broom to the right and flew up a couple of feet above where he'd been hovering before. He leaned as far as he could to his right, so to be able and throw using his whole arm with everything he had, and heaved it away in the air. He liked Celestine, and might have felt a bit cocky, but not for a second did he think it was possible for him to "throw it too hard".

He hadn't forgotten who that girl was just because she was playing a different position.

Reducio

Celestine in her 6th year at Hogwarts:

Silas' voice sounded tinny across the field, probably because of the wind. Frowning slightly, the edges of her mouth curved just slightly downward, she squinted down at his figure, quite a ways off on the pitch. Still, Celestine tried her best to catch every word he said, although some of it came across as a little strange, interfered with by the blasted wind. Had he said something about hand warmers and basket-weaving? And she caught the words 'aren't' and 'week', had he not been practicing recently? That made no sense at all, now, did it? She watched as he took his hands off his broom, as well, making her catch her breath as she hoped that he wouldn't promptly fall off. Opening her mouth to yell back to him, Celestine stopped herself as she saw him beginning to move down the field.

What on earth was he doing? Was he... zigzagging? Celestine almost wanted to laugh at him, but it was most certainly a commendable effort. Perhaps she should just keep her judgements to herself for now, and then rag him about it later. He certainly wasn't moving fast enough, and his angles were big and sloppy. However, she knew that he was trying his best under the given circumstances, and that she should most definitely take it easy on him. Much to her pleasure, she managed to hide her critiques beneath the surface of her face, instead smiling encouragingly at Silas as he made his way, however shakily, down the pitch.

She loved that he didn't underestimate her. He knew that she was strong, that she was independent and that she didn't need to be treated like a fragile doll. Tracking the ball with her eyes, she quickly maneuvered over to where the Quaffle was headed, calculating the arc of the ball in her mind and finding the most effective point of interception. Reaching out with one hand, she let her fingers wrap around the ball and caught it with a quiet, "Oomph." She decided to treat it like a pass from one of her teammates, a long-distance, hard bullet pass.

"Nice try!" Celestine called over to Silas, a confident smirk on her face. "But a Chaser-turned-Keeper is much more formidable than a... a Beater-turned-Chaser." Hefting the Quaffle back and forth in her hands, she relished the way the weight of the ball felt so familiar. Spinning the ball in her hands, she tossed it back to Silas one-handed, grinning at him. "Try again!" she called to him encouragingly. "Faster. Harder. You're a Beater, Silas! Don't you eat babies for breakfast and do pushups in your sleep?" Perhaps it was a little stereotypical, but she thought it was a little bit funny. A wide smile and a cheeky laugh set everything right, though, because they knew that it was all in good fun.

"Seriously, though. Have another go, won't you?"

The wind was blowing his way, and so he could hear every word she was saying as clear as day now. With her braids lifting in the air, she was teasing him- and Silas didn't like the turning of those tables. Or rather, he did, and so when he caught the Quaffle again he shook his head in mock defeat.

But even though he realised she was joking, she did have a fair point. He could hit the much heavier Bludger from one side of the pitch to the other no trouble, and with more precision than anybody else he knew- so physically he should be more than able. Maybe it was like she said, that a Beater-turned-Chaser wasn't a good enough thing... perhaps he should stop trying to be a chaser, then, and do what he knew better.

Besides, he had noticed her sniggering about his flawless zig-zag before and that just wouldn't do.

"Alright, alright!" Silas was fairly certain she wasn't able to hear him from where she was, but that didn't stop him. "Just you wait! Babies for breakfast... And push-ups in my sleeep, you better bet on it!" He threw the ball in the air a couple of times to best figure out how to do this without a bat. They both knew very well that had he brought one, Celestine would be absolutely doomed. Then again, that was the reason why you didn't score with the Bludger in the first place.

"I'll stop moving around now, don't know how you aim so well without being still. If I try and hit someone, at least I can wait for the bludger to come to me."

He threw it up once more as he spoke, and then, without so much as a cocky warning, he chucked it with everything he had- which was a lot. His broom launched forward in the movement, only sending the Quaffle off with even more force.