Welcome!

[Lydia Wood]

When you are upset, find some thing familiar.

Quidditch. Quidditch. Quidditch.

What could she find that was Quidditch? Unfortunately, Quality Quidditch Supplies was so far away, but this was Hogwarts

Standing in front of the large Stadium, she just stared up at it. She had forgotten how big some stadiums were. All the pitches back in Ireland were small, they didn't need as much seating as these big European ones did. She wasn't sure how long she had been standing there when a man cleared his throat. Jumping back into reality, she turned her head to the man and smiled at him. "I'm sorry... It's just a little over whelming."

Blushing slightly, she observed the man, who appeared to be a janitor of some sort. "It's no trouble Miss. Hey, aren't you that Beater from Gryffindor? Lydia Wood? Ha, I remember when your father played here. Good Boy Oliver Wood..."

Lydia was very well known amongst her peers, she was one of their best players, but every time someone knew her that wasn't a student she was always shocked. She hadn't expected so many people to know her name. After a moment, she nodded. "Yeah, that's me."

The old man gave her a pleasant smile, and then opened the gate to the stadium. "The pitch is open for another couple hours, if you'd like to come in and look around. My name's Jet, call me if you need anything." With a wink, he then passed through the gate and disappeared. What a nice old man, Lydia thought. He reminded her of her grandfather when he had been alive. Silver hair, balding, bushy eyebrows, slightly hunched over, jovial facial features, twinkling blue eyes. But then again, most old men reminded her of him, so she didn't put much weight into it.

Walking up to the gate she reached for the handle and then hesitated. If she started practicing and flying now, she would miss dinner with that guy she was supposed to meet. What was his name again anyway? Shaking her head, she decided it didn't really matter. Lydia couldn't even remember the stupid guys name anyways. Opening the gate she entered the Pitch for the who knows what time in her life. Of course, the first time she had been here, she had entered from the players entrance, and on a broom. It had been the first time that Gryffindor had beaten Slytherin in several years, and it had all been because of her. She had taken a risk that could have proved very bad for her team. Lydia had hit a bludger right at both seekers as they raced towards the snitch, knowing full well that the bludger could hit either player, but she had aimed just right, and had knocked the Slytherin Seeker right off his broom. They beat Slytherin 230 to 110. It was a good game. It was the game that had made her famous.

Smiling to herself as she surveyed the pitch, she unstrapped her broom from her back, and unwrapped it. It was a beautiful broom, custom made for her by the Broom Manufacturers that produced the Nimbus. Her father had given it to her as a gift for her 16th birthday. She examined the handle, running and hand up and down, making sure no damage had been done during her travels that day. When Lydia was statisfied that no harm had been done, she was up in the air faster than the eye could see.

No words could ever describe how she felt was she cut through the air, it was a feeling that only those who played Quidditch would ever know. It was exciting, it was dangerous, it was scary, and Lydia loved every moment of it. She dipped and dived, wove in and out around the goals, skimmed along the seats seeing how close she could get. These were all things beaters had to be able to do. Beaters had to manipulate the game, they had in their hands the means to change the tide of any game. They had to be able to calculate, who is the strongest player? If need be, whom do I have to injure? And then there was always protecting the team. Which Beater will be defensive and wich will be offensive, will we switch? What is the game plan?

To be a good beater you had to understand every aspect of the game, you had to be able to put yourself in every position and know what movements each player will make. Your goal is to knock another player off their course with a Bludger, how much lead to you give them? What kind of broom do they have? You have to know everything.

Everything.

As she made her final go round of the pitch, she landed and jumped to her feet, holding her broom, and grinning triumphantly. There was nothing else in the world that made her feel this way, and there never would be. Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back with a laugh.

This was the life.

[Emaline Acker]

Someone was going to die. And when someone was going to die, the only way to stop Miss Emaline Acker from doing so was by getting her on a broom for a hour or two. Emay's friends and family knew this, as did Emay herself. And so when she had come back to her dorm, spewing hatred in the general direction of Beowulf Malloren. Why in the world did he insist on frustrating her so? Was it his life's goal to see just how far he could push her? Was it not bad enough that the two constantly were forced to tag along on their friends dates? No... He just had to go ahead and be a total arse!

So, in order to let some of her anger out, Emay had hauled her Thunderstorm from beneath her bed, the latest model of the line that had started with the Firebolt, then became the Lighteningbolt, then after several versions finally made it's way to her precious baby, the Thunderstorm 2015. She had been flying a Nimbus prior to the summer and then her parents had surprised her with this, as a way to congratulate her for gaining the final snitch of the Hogwarts season, thus winning the Cup for the Gryffindor's yet again. It was her pride and joy, her ability to catch the snitch almost every game. There had been a few that she had missed, but two out of her four years on the team they had won the Cup and it had been amazing. It was her goal to win it for the last two years of her stay at Hogwarts, but as they had yet to occur, they would see.

With her broom slung over her shoulder, Emay waved to the caretaker of the Pitch, a kind elderly man whose name she did not know the name of. He waved her into the Pitch, having seen her go several times to let off some steam. Emaline smiled in thanks and then pulled her seeker gloves out of her pocket as she walked towards the gate. Before reaching for the handle, she slipped the gloves on, pleased to have something else to stop the cold. Her jeans, sweater, and scarf were just not doing it. And her boots, while rather pretty sweater boots, weren't exactly dragon hide and so her toes were also rather cold. But she knew that once she started to practice, she would warm up.

However, as she stepped into the pitch, she had to duck as someone on a broom swooped close to the entrance. Emay looked up as she stood up to her full height, petite as it was, and frowned. She was not really in the mood to deal with people at that moment. But then she saw the broom and a flash of blond and wasn't sure whether to frown or smile. If she wasn't careful, this would become an unofficial practice for the other flier was her team's captain, Lydia Wood.

Cupping her hands around her mouth in order to amplify her words, Emay shouted, "oy, Wood! You have the balls out?" This seeker was in no mood to do anything other than seek. Flying was invigorating, sure. But the little ball was something she had to fight to get. And she was in the mood to fight.