Thanks ((Dylan))

[Williard Thoth R4]

The sound of snow crunching beneath a pair of thick black leather boots was all that could be heard as long, pearly swirls of white frozen breath whirled passed his face as Williard made his way to the very center of the Quidditch Pitch, recalling over and over in his head Ravenclaw's most recent match with Slytherin. They had lost, not only because Slytherin had played a very aggressive game, but because in Williards opinion, he wasn't much help to his team at all. He felt like he could have scored a million goals yesterday and he should have, but Williard didn't even touch the Quaffle. Not even once! He lazily flew around the pitch the entire time looking for openings and when they did come, he had failed at every attempt he had made. He didn't want to say it, but there was no way he could deny it or lie to himself; he was the weakest link on the Ravenclaw team. Your only as strong as your weakest link, and Williard had performed horribly.

All night he had considered walking up to Celia and resigning from the team. But, he knew all too well that was far from a possibility; there was no way Celia would let Williard quit, and at the end of the day, Williard knew he wouldn't let himself quit either.

If it were one thing Williard liked, it was challenge. Albeit mental challenge, but there was something inside of him almost daring him to quit and give up, and it was the same voice that usually spoke up whenever he encountered something difficult with his school work. And that same resilience seemed to be transfering itself from his mind to his entire body; he wouldn't let himself suck at Quidditch. He would train and practice until he got better, until he could perform at the very same level as his team mates. He had even tried to exploit the fact that they were all upperclassmen, so of course they would be better; they had more experience. But that was no excuse and he knew it. He was just as good as everyone else. He just needed to be.....developed, that's all.

Reaching the middle of the pitch, he slid his bag off of his shoulder and layed his Nimbus 2000 down beside him. He opened his bag and pulled out a black and white hexagon patterned ball; It was Skyler's soccer ball. Apparently, it had been left here at school, and the House Elves had kept it and then gave it to Williard his first day back. He was glad of the unexpected gift, and often played with it whenever he found himself laying around on his bed in the dormitory. He pulled his wand out of a side pocket on his pants and aimed it at the ball. The sky was a very clear shade of white. There was no way he could really see the ball flying around if he didn't change it's color. He muttered his incantation, and the ball immediately took on a bright red color. "Perfect," he said to himself.

He picked up his broom and mounted it, then aimed his wand at the ball once more. It was about the same size as a Quaffle, so it would do. "Wingardium Leviosa." The ball levitated, and concentrating, Williard jerked his wand arm up and the soccer ball went flying high into the air. Pretending that he had heard Madam Hooch's whistle, he took off. As the ball got closer and closer he concentrated as hard as he could. Reaching his hand out, he grazed the ball with his fingers and it went right passed him. "Dang it!"

Williard immediately flew after it, hoping to catch it before it hit the ground, and almost killed himself in the process. Before he knew it, he was closer to the floor of the pitch than he wanted to be, and he had almost had a dead on collision. He supposed he was a fair flier, but that wasn't nearly enough. He landed and walked over to the ball. "Come on," he said he said walked right back to the middle of the pitch. He sat the ball down and aimed his wand at it once more. "Wingardium Levio-"

[Dylan Caoimhe]

Dylan paced himself as he walked briskly but steadily to the Quidditch pitch, balancing and maneuvering five huge, round flat cuts of ice through the air in front of him that he had just cut from the surface of the Black Lake. He had his Firebolt tucked securely under one arm while carrying a case which held a Bludger in his hand, and his other arm wielded his wand which kept the ice discs afloat ahead of him. It was awesomely and bitterly cold this afternoon, but Dylan didn't care. His performance in yesterday's Quidditch match had been excellent. He couldn't remember ever playing that well or aggressively, and he intended to get better and better until he himself was satisfied. He had invited Mary to come out and practice with him, but with her being Head Girl and all, she had other duties and responsibilities, so instead of going back to the Common Room and doing homework, he decided that he would practice and tackle his homework later on.

Reaching the pitch, Dylan sent his ice discs flying in the air, watching the zoom around barely visible thanks to the clean and clear state of the sky, and cringed almost immediately; one of the discs had almost hit someone, a very lucky someone who had dived just in time before the ice had hit him in the head, and was now getting ready to crash into the ground in pursuit of a bright red ball. Dylan walked up to the kid and aimed his wand. "Expelliarmus," he thought, and the boys wand flipped from his hand just as he was getting ready to cast a spell. Dylan loved using wordless magic. He wasn't quite masterful at it yet, but he was coming a long way, and every time he saw an opportunity to practice, he used it. "Apologies," he said passively as he picked the boys' wand up off the ground and handing it to him. "But I'm going to need you to clear the pitch."

Dylan sat the case that was holding the frantic Bludger down on the ground, and pressing a clip on the side, the ball went hurtling in the sky and began zooming around in the air. He stood up and started to mount his broom, but the boy was still standing there. Dylan walked up to him and extended his hand. "Dylan Caoimhe, Beater, Slytherin Vice Captain." He emphasized those last words carefully. "This is a private practice. I-" Dylan squinted his eyes and recognized the boy immediately. "Your that kid from the match yesterday. From Ravenclaw. Chaser, right?"

[Williard Thoth R4]

Williard dismounted his broom and turned completely as the older boy walked towards him rather confidently after disarming him. He didn't even hear him say an incantation, and then reason caught up with wonder; wordless magic. Considering that particular skill usually wasn't taught until one's sixth year, this guy was obviously a sixth year, or maybe even higher. Williard accepted his wand from the guys' hand as he apologized and told him that he needed to leave. Part of Williard wanted to protest; after all, the pitch was for everyone to use. And, he hadn't seen or heard about it being reserved today at all. But Williard was distracted as he watched the upperclassman set a case on the ground and open it; a Bludger went flying out of it. Taking in his surroundings, he also noticed the guy had a broom, and a Firebolt at that. Putting two and two together, Williard realized this guy was a Quidditch player.

Snapping back to where he was, Williard shook the guy's extended hand as he introduced himself. His name was Dylan Caoimhe, he was a Beater, and he was Slytherin Vice Captain. Sytherin. Wait, Williard thought as part of him was about to go into defense mode as he realized he was in the presence of a Slytherin. Caoimhe? Williard frowned. Caoimhe wasn't a very common last name, and he only knew of five people with that last name; his maternal grandmother, his uncle, his aunt, his cousin, and his mother. Of course, his mother's last name was now Thoth, but still. Williard was once again brought out of thought as Dylan recognized him from yesterdays' game. No doubt, he remembered Williards' horrible performance. He knew he would probably be made fun of by the other players because of it.

"Yeah, I am," Williard admitted solemnly. "I'm Williard. Williard Thoth." He was slightly embarassed, but something somewhere within him gave him a spurt of confidence. "Look, I know I played like rubbish yesterday, and that's why I'm here. I need to practice. Clearly you can't argue with that?"

[Dylan Caoimhe]

Dylan laughed. Not insultingly, but not completely innocently either. "Kid, you are definitely right. I can't argue with that at all. You were complete rubbish yesterday." He sighed as he mounted his broom. He was in a good enough mood. Plus, this would add one more element to his practice. "Tell you what, I'll let you practice with me. Chaser is my second position on the Slytherin Quidditch Team after Beater, so I maybe could give you a few pointers I guess." He thought and knew this was extremely odd; why the heck was he helping a player from another team? It wasn't his job, it was the older and more experienced Ravenclaws job to teach and develop their fresh meat. And he didn't even want to know what his team mates would think of this. But, they weren't there, were they? In reality, it wasn't really that big of a deal. Or, it wasn't to Dylan anyway. He did as he cared, like everyone else on his team. Plus, he was Vice Captain. He had to answer to no one else but Mary. "Look. Can you see those big round circles of ice flying around in the air? I am going to use the Bludger to break those. It's kind of like target practice; an accuracy test for hitting actual people. You've made your own Quaffle, so here is what's going to happen.

"Not only am I going to be a Beater, but I am going to play Chaser and Keeper as well. One thing about you is that your not aggressive enough. The whole time yesterday you sat off to the side and looked for opportunities and openings, which is a good method......if your a Beater. As a Chaser your job is to get and maintain control of the Quaffle. Whether you catch it or steal, you always want to make sure your team is in possession. So, your not only going to try and maintain control of the Quaffle, but you have to attempt to score, look out for Bludgers, and the ice discs flying around. All this will help you out in different ways."

Dylan was kind of excited. He could and would be all over the pitch today, and best of all, he had an actual live target. "So, were going to start this like any other Quidditch match would, only minus Madam Hooch's whistle, add in a count down." Dylan walked to the center of the pitch, all the while surveying Williard. He was obviously nervous, but that was a good thing. And, he was wearing padding; even better. Dylan held the Quaffle in his hand, ready to throw it up. "Ready?"

[Williard Thoth R4]

Williard swallowed hard. He really wasn't ready for this. He didn't ask for this. All he wanted to do was play around a little. Granted he wanted to practice but this was a bit too much, yet he also didn't want to refuse either. The last thing he wanted was to appear weak or scared, and he did want to get better afterall. He mounted his broom and stood opposite Dylan, somewhat afraid and nervous but determined all the same. "Yeah, I'm r-ready." He gripped his broom handle tight as Dylan counted down from three in a low, almost scrutinizing voice, keeping his eye on the bright red soccer ball. Once he got to one, Williard kicked off hard from the ground, focusing only on the fake quaffle. But before he had even managed to outstretch his hand, Dylan had already had it and was zooming down to score a goal, and Williard knew he needed to attempt to steal.

No.

Not attempt.

He needed to steal.

This was definitely weird, but he didn't want to think about it right at this moment. He flew up to Dylan, analyzing; he had a pretty good hold on the ball. It was propped snuggly under his upper arm and elbow, and his forearm went across the front; Williard made a mental note of this. But, there was a space right behind where Williard could see bright red. With all of his might, he flew up beside Dylan and with his left hand, he punched the ball. It moved and almost fell out of Dylan's hand but he just barely held on. So Williard seized the oppurtunity and punched it again quickly, and it fell from Dylan's grasp. Williard quickly dove for it and caught it.

He actually caught it.

But celebration was out of the question. Not only because he was well aware that he was currently in the presence of an older student, but because one of Dylan's round cuts of ice had just barely missed him. HE quickly turned and started flying towards the other end of the pitch, and was surprised to look and see Dylan already down there, positioning himself to defend the hoops. Okay, here I go, he thought as he got nearer and nearer. He tried to clear his head, but something kept bugging him. But whatever it was it could wait, or would have to. When he got close enough, he threw the ball at the far hoop to the left, since Dylan was in between the middle hoop and the hoop to the far right. He hoped that it would go in.

[Dylan Caoimhe]

Dylan smiled as he allowed Williard to steal the ball. Holding on to it would have been no problem at all; but clearly this kid needed a confidence boost, so that was the whole goal of this session. Once he felt the ball drop, he quickly turned and flew down to the other end of the pitch to play Keeper, on the way, he used the single Bludger he had released and hit it at one of the flying ice discs breaking it, bits of ice flying in every direction. Turning just in time, he watched Williard dodge an ice disc and fly toward him. He was coming to score. Dylan moved to his left so that he positioned himself in between the middle hoop and the hoop to his left. Of course, Williard went to the one to his far left and threw the ball. Okay. So he knew how to chose hoops. Good. Dylan flew and caught the ball before it went in, and immediately flew toward the other end of the pitch.

An hour and a half had passed before Dylan had called everything to an end. What was exposed of his face was harshly numb and tight due to the cold, but he was satisfied all the same. He had broken all of his discs with his Bludger, he had successfully blocked most of Williard's shots with the exception of two, and he had hit Williard with his Bludger three times. Though, he had to admit, he didn't really try to hit him; he just wanted Williard to think that he was doing a good job of dodging. But the kid had gotten significantly better at Quaffle handling. Once he had gotten used to it, the two had been going back and forth with it for almost the entire time they had been out here.

Dylan landed, his legs slightly numb, and he aimed his wand at the zooming Bludger which froze high in the air. He guided it back to him and lowered it into it's case, closing and locking it. Williard had landed somwhere near him but he didn't turn and look. He had heard him talking, but Dylan proceeded to gather his things and walk back up to the castle. "Yeah, I gotta go," he called over his shoulder. "Later," he said walking briskly. He didn't feel much like socializing. All he had wanted to do was come out and practice. He did what he needed to do in order to do so, and that was it. But he had to admit to himself; Williard seemed like he was a good kid. He just couldn't wait to see how he would perform in Ravenclaw's next match.

[Williard Thoth R4]

Williard touched back down on the snow covered ground panting and sore. He was exhausted and had tried his very best not to let that show in any way. Though rough, he was thankful for Dylan doing what he did for him today. He had managed to score to goals, though he had been hit by Dylan's Bludger three times; twice in the back and once on his upper left thigh. Yet through all those painful shots, he had managed to steal the ball from Dylan numerous times and he in turn. Overall, he felt really good. Like he had put in a good hard day's work, and now, all he had wanted to do was rest. To think, he had been helped by a Slytherin. and not just any Slytherin, but their very own Vice Captain! Williard was sure he would keep this to himself, probably the same way Dylan was most likely to; he was sure they'd both have to endure choice words from their respective teams. But, something was still plagueing Williard's mind uknowingly to him. Once he caught his breath he had walked over to the older boy and started speaking, but Dylan had packed up in a rush.

"Hey I just-"

"Yeah, I gotta go."

Williard felt his face drop with his disappointment but corrected it immediately. "Oh......well uh-"

"Later."

And with that, Dylan had started walking back towards the castle leaving Williard with a blank expression on his face. Williard inhaled sharply, which hurt a little and tucked his broom under his arm and started walking, well, limping his way back up to the castle. It was weird. He had felt completely comfortable with Dylan for the past two hours, which was something given he didn't just take to anyone. It was almost as if Williard had already known Dylan or something. He shrugged and supposed that maybe it was just Qudditch; it was easy for guys to make friends if Quidditch was involved. But then, there was the fact that Dylan's last name was indeed Caoimhe, the same as his grandmother, the same as his aunt and uncle, the same as his cousin. With that last thought, Williard immediately tried to move his mind away to something else, and before he knew it, he was approaching the castle steps and watching Dylan enter its front doors. Williard stopped and gave a small wave at Dylan's back. "Thanks," he said, though he knew his gratitude wasn't heard. Whatever this was he'd figure it out. He didn't know how, but he would.