"Outside, I am broken. Inside, I am strong."
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Post by Emmalia Malfoy on Jun 30, 2015 16:37:15 GMT -5
Emma shivered at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. It was freezing on the inside, but nice and warm outside. She wondered if any one was at the Quidditch Pitch today. That question in her mind, Emma gobbled up the rest of her bacon, her eggs, and her toast, and stood up from the table. She grabbed her book bag and ran outside of the Great Hall, and to the entrance of the castle. She stepped outside and embraced the warmth of the Sun. She smiled, and walked towards the Quidditch Pitch, enjoying the scenery that surrounded her.
There were many people outside, but not a lot, and Emma was glad that they were too wrapped up in their own business to pay any mind to her. She was wearing a yellow top, close to gold, cropped at the shoulders. There were no straps going around her shoulders, but two of the securing her shoulders from the side. She was also wearing a pair of white tennis shoes, and a pair of red skinny jeans for a change. With a lion pendant necklace around her neck, a pair of lion shaped earrings donning her ears, Emma was ready.
She slipped her wand into her pocket and walked into the Quidditch Pitch after fifteen semi-tedious minutes of walking, and climbed the stairs to the stands. There was only one flyer in the Pitch today. Emma was sitting in the Gryffindor Stands, and she sighed, watching the flyer. It was Harry Potter, of course, the Seeker for Gryffindor, and the Chosen One, the one who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Emma only wished that she could be flying out there on a broomstick, but she was a bit rusty. She was only taught to fly in her First Year; She hadn't flown since.
She'd loved it, when she was flying in her First Year, and Emma wasn't half bad. She was actually pretty good at the sport of Quidditch, that of which she obsessed over so. She watched Harry land, so she began to occupy herself until he flew back up. She was making red, and gold, and green, and blue, and silver sparks with her wand. And it did, occupy her. For a bit. And then she saw Harry fly back into the air, and Emmalia began to watch him more.
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Post by Harry Potter on Jul 2, 2015 0:33:34 GMT -5
 Harry James Potter The Boy Who Lived
Broom vibrating lightly beneath his fingertips, Harry Potter grinned to himself in excitement as he pushed his firebolt to go faster and faster. Lowering himself down nearly flat onto the broom's handle, the Gryfindor seeker shot straight up into the air, letting a brief "whoop" of excitement escape him as he did. Rising higher and higher, Harry suddenly swiveled around with the smallest amount of nudging from him to the firebolt, before beginning a spectacular dive towards the ground. The wind harshly whipped his face - cool and dry against his skin, especially at such speeds - however Harry didn't mind it. He had missed flying far to much to complain now about a little wind. Pulling out of the dive at the last second, before leveling the broom off and allowing himself to slow down somewhat considerably, Harry found himself thinking that this was the happiest he had been in days - truly.
Perhaps even months, when he thought about it. He hadn't quite felt this free since likely well before the battle last year, or at least not counting Voldemort's fall. Even then - and perhaps now, somewhere deep inside - Harry couldn't help worrying that somehow he would magically come back, despite having personally seen his limp body removed from the Great Hall - unmoving, or that his followers would cause some sort of uprising. Thankfully, it seemed as though the lot of them were frightened of him now, or at least frightened of being thrown into Azkaban for their hand in the murders and the crimes committed by Lord Voldemort.
Abruptly breaking his thoughts from this at the sight of movement in his peripheral vision, with a small start of surprise, Harry found that he was not alone on the Pitch that day, as he had originally thought. Pushing his broom forward and directing it towards the stands, Harry realized who it was as he drew nearer and the figure became more recognizable. Emmalia Malfoy, a fellow Gryffindor - though granted somewhat younger than Harry himself - was someone that Harry had never really interacted with all that much, as far as he could remember. That didn't, however, mean that he had to ignore her while he was simply flying around. For all he knew, she was just waiting for him to get done using the pitch - though it didn't seem likely, considering her lack of broom - and Harry certainly didn't want to be rude by pretending she wasn't there, if that was the case.
That was why, after only a few brief moments later, Harry offered a kind smile and began to speak to the girl, stopping his broom to hover near her within earshot. "Er- Good afternoon," greeted Harry finally, curiosity evident behind his spectacles. "You weren't waiting to use the pitch or anything, were you? I can clear off pretty fast if you were... I really wasn't doing much other than randomly flying about..." Pausing, Harry let his words trail off as he waited for the Gryffindor's response, his green eyes studying her curiously.
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