Rule of Quaffle PV Woodward Closed

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Tagging: @Charlie Woodward
Mentioning: Serena Towers • Evelynn Decipio

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[font=segoe print]Date: March 16th[/font]

[font=Segoe Print]It was a real brilliant day, as it seemed, the radiant sun shining upon the lovely grounds of Hogwarts in the most comforting way, birds whistling through the crisp March air, as if celebrating the departure of the cold, merciless winter, and the warm breath of spring, starkly-evident in the northeast trade winds that tousled the clothes of anyone traversing on the grounds. The air was utterly perfect, a gentle warm, matched with the most acutely refreshing breeze, the grass below the young Captain’s feet firm and dry, a vibrant color of green that seemed to blind his eyes should he gaze upon it for too long. Massive whales loomed overhead in the blue skies, painting massive chunks of the countryside in a deep shade, small blossom buds beginning to appear on the massive trees decorating the lovely grounds, a subtle reminder that, yes, April was on its merry way. It seemed as if the universe had decided to take a break from its typical doom and gloom, granting the lovely students of Hogwarts some fair weather, the conditions optimal for a study session or walk on the grounds. Perfect for a Quidditch Practice.

It had come as a surprise to many, upon hearing of Gryffindor’s win in the latest Quidditch Game. After all, it was certainly no secret that the team had been struggling the entire season, what with losing almost the entire team – twice – along with having major leadership changes, and a rough season in the seeking and quaffle-blocking fields. However, Rafael had never doubted his team’s capability on the pitch. In the least, he knew Gryffindor, and there hadn’t been a time in history in which the House had failed to meet a challenge head-on. Marla’s final score at the end of one of the strangest games in his entire [albeit short] Quidditch experience only proved to solidify his point. The whole school was now aware of the danger that was the Lion House, and all that their strategies entailed. A danger that Rafael was proud to call his own, being a part of the lovely family he called his Quidditch Team.

However, a win as such, in Rafael’s opinion, did not entitle a player to any less practice. No, on the contrary, the young Captain knew better than most, that lack of practice almost always led to failure. And, after all the hard work Gryffindor had put into winning, the last thing they needed was another loss under their belt. Especially given the stakes that were at hand. After all, it wasn’t really a secret that Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were to face off in the coming month, a test of the second strings and their resolve. The boy could remember quite vividly the feeling of defeat the last time Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had faced off – though the boy’s gotten a rather ambitious score in, the Badgers had utterly smoked the Lion House with their star seeker, Serena Towers. It wasn’t yet clear to the child, whether or not the third year was going to make an appearance at the game, but nonetheless, he wasn’t about to chance another loss to goals. If it were up to him, the Chasers of Gryffindor would cream the competition, as they had in against the snakes.

Well, there had been less creaming, but.

There would be no other reason for the boy to trek down to the pitch, eyes bright with determination and a radiant grin on his face as he dragged the Ball Crate behind him, readying himself for another Quidditch Practice. It had only been two days since the cursed showdown, and yet, it was funny, how the child couldn’t restrain himself from jumping right back to the playing field. Perhaps it was the weather that had called to him, or perhaps it had been the game itself, egging the young Captain on, reminding him of the impending fate he had doomed his team to. And, as easy as it would be to bask in the perfect circumstances of the say, enjoy what little mercy the universe had offered him this month, he knew with only growing determination that he could not succumb to distraction, only soldier on with steely focus as he attempted to sharpen his Quidditch knowledge. The day was young, particularly 8 in the morning, dew still on the grass as he tread with steady steps, eyes surveying the empty field. He would have to take advantage of the seclusion he’d been granted, lest some Slytherin barge in on his training and request a showdown.

Setting the crate in the middle of the field, he snapped the clip open, revealing an assortment of balls, as well as two beaters bats – the boy winced in the slightest, turning from the weapons and deftly grabbing the Quaffle, maroon leather soft to his fingers as he gazed curiously at the ball in his hand. There would be no time to consider the pain of failure, as Evelynn had surely taught him what such entailed last month. Rather, he tossed the ball up once, twice, three times, before spinning it on his pointer finger, much like a basketball player. It would be then, that his grip would tighten on the broom in his grasp, turning as to face away from the crate. Well, mate, it’s best you’d get practicing. Waiting around wasn’t going to do anyone any good, after all. Promptly boarding his broom, he slowly began hovering in the air, making himself comfortable as he clutched the maroon ball in his grasp.

It was time to practice. [/font]