After reaching the level she’d so coveted ever since she first laid her eyes on the game, Elora found that little amused her anymore. There was the occasional joke and banter that made her chuckle a bit, but there wasn’t much that made her nerves fire up with adrenaline and excitement. That is, until she saw the boy across the field gawk as though she slapped him in the face - and she might as well have. Described as a fan - though not an insane fan - Chez Barder had been introduced into her life as a seeker to watch out for. A challenge. The bubbly redhead had showered him with praise, yet he stood there nearly cross-eyed with shock as he tried to regain his composure. His initial overconfidence had completely withered away into a pathetic stutter of her name when he realized who she was. As it should, there was a reason Elora was admired by many and it wasn’t as simple as being good on the pitch. It was a ferocious determination to do anything it takes to win. A smirk that could make even the burliest of men second-guess themselves tugged at her lips, the twin storms of her blue eyes surveying him with unfiltered intensity. The controlled and deep voice fell in step with the wind once more as he spoke, and she cocked her head to the side as she did - her bronze locks bouncing on her shoulders, twisting at the mercy of the wind. She took a decisive step closer as he continued to speak, but stopped abruptly at his final words.
‘Hadrian,’ Came a sharp his from the corner of the barn. A small head, all rosy cheeks and blonde curls was peeking in from the doorway. Curious blue eyes explored the dark room before falling onto the sleeping form of the boy she sought out. With a muffled groan her mother would certainly admonish as hardly ladylike she stepped into the barn, which smelled thickly of hay and manure and approached the sleeping boys at the other end of the room. Tugging her robe on tighter as the cold brushed up against her arms, she found herself wondering how they could stand to say in such cold. Licking her lips, she crouched beside Hadrian, who had floppy hair the color of sand and dimples in his cheeks when he smiled in his sleep.
With no remorse, and a playful glint dancing in her eyes, she pressed her lips against his ear - her breathing shallow and quiet - before whistling loudly. The boy shot up in shock, cupping his ear in pain before he gave her an angry look. “You!” He poked her in between the eyebrows, causing the young girl to topple over onto her back, filled with mirth and giggles. “Don’t make me rub dirt in your face you little - ugh…” He trailed off.
She sat up. “How was Hogwash?” A giant smile plastered itself on her face.
“Hogwarts was fabulous, thank you, Lady Elora.” She scowled.
He smiled, dimples pressing into his cheeks once more. Said, “You’ve got that right,” and earned a punch in the arm. Then, unable to control herself, the reason she was there spilled out of her.
“I’m going to beat you silly at finding the snitch again!” She announced.
Not missing a beat, Hadrian shot back. “I couldn’t have chosen a better midnight activity, my Lady. Which is why me beating your little tush silly is going to be sweet.”
Staggering resemblance dizzied her thoughts. Not in physical appearance, for this boy was clearly the superior in that area and the chiseled jaw and thick eyelashes reminded her little of the toothy boy from her childhood. Something else did, and she tightened her grip on her broom with the resolve to find out why. Pushing her thoughts to the back of her mind, she refocused her attention on him. Without a word she approached him until they stood one step away from each other, and she calmly gave him a once over. “Your sister was right to call you handsome, but I’ll have no problem putting a dent the size of a crater in your pretty face with the base of my broom, trust me, mate.” Then, as an afterthought she added, “I’ll take great pleasure in watching you try.”
Cerulean eyes met warm hazel across the short distance between them and the challenge in both pairs seemed to electrify the air between them. “I trust you’ve brought that snitch as promised?” Her voice was unruffled by his promising challenge. Chez confirmed this and she cleared her throat. In magazines, interviews, and even match commentary the fact Elora refused to shake hands with any of her opponents was constantly remarked on. The way she’d sneer at her rival with a knowing look that could make them fall to their knees and surrender almost infamous. There was none of this as she faced the dark-skinned boy, who was a touch taller than her but acted mountain-level in stature. Instead, her hand shot out, her eyes not leaving his as it did. The wind swept between them and the rush of adrenaline was already pumping against her nerve ends.
After they had sorted that out, she mounted her broom - a beautiful piece of sports history which was known for having originally been owned by the Seeker of the Transylvanian national Quidditch team, and her teammates had paid a dear amount of galleons for it. Its base was of dark ebony wood, almost blacker than her uniform. It had a silver ringlet at the base with the emblem of the Magpies engraved into it, and the Seeker’s signature along its spine. The broom had originally been named The Basilisk and she saw no reason to rename it. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and awaited the release of the snitch into the air, ready to hit the sky as soon as the golden prize fluttered loose from the boy’s grip. It was true that unlike normal, she felt the excitement of worthy challenge, but that didn’t change anything. After all, there was one thing the girl never did, and that was lose. Nothing, especially not an uncomfortable nostalgia, would change that.
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