Practice Makes Perfect {Open!}

Looking wistfully through a high window of the Slytherin common room, Matthew wished he could see clouds. Instead he saw the depths of Hogwarts lake; the only view the large dungeon windows allowed underground. He imagined himself outside in the castle fields, perhaps catching insects in the way he often did. Spring was in full bloom and he hated the fact he was stuck inside with Transfiguration homework that he had no hope solving by himself.

He looked everywhere except at what he was supposed to be doing. There were a couple of paintings on the common room walls. Some portraits of famous Slytherins, such as Merlin, smiling at him sheepishly from his frame; others of distant places Matt could only hope to visit someday. In a moment's notice he imagined himself back home, where he kept photographs of such similar places in a drawer in his small room. He'd often lay upon the soft carpet on his bedroom floor, with the photographs scattered around him. He'd pick a photograph at random, close his eyes and imagine himself in that place.

The thought of it sent Matt home further still, on a higher plane of consciousness and he opened his eyes to an empty room. He was in auntie's bed, his uncle's old muggle radio on the nighstand playing some sort of instrumental music. Matt thought he recognized Bach. He knew this; it was a memory of this past Christmas when he had gone home for the holidays and got sick with a high temperature. Auntie had made him sleep in her own bed, to keep a better eye on him; and his uncle was forced to sleep on the couch. The room was bathed in a gentle melancholic light, seeming smoky as it passed through the thin white curtains. The door of the room was open a crack; the scent of butter and cinnamon dancing in whiffs, slowly pulling Matt from underneath the warm covers. Auntie must be baking Christmas cookies.

Matt pushed the blanket away and crawled out of bed, making his way towards the kitchen. No amount of sickness and certainly no high temperature could keep him away from auntie’s cookies. He headed down the hall to the kitchen and found his uncle at the kitchen table, reading morning newspaper, a cup of coffee; and his auntie by the stove. Auntie pushed a stray strand of hair that had fallen from her bun behind her ear and her glasses further up her nose and when she turned around she smiled at Matt.

In present Matt shook his head, sadly looking back to his homework. He had no idea how to solve the problems and his attempts at actually transforming something were horrid at best. He realized hours ago that he would have to ask someone for help, but the idea of approaching someone with the request did not appeal to him at all. He had no doubt that a peer or an upperclassman would help him if only he asked – Slytherins were sometimes strangely protective and helpful to their own – and yet he was reluctant to bother someone. At last he gave up and gathered his books to chance going outside instead. He’d look for Emma in the Quidditch pitch, maybe; after a short consideration, he fetched his broom from the dorm. Matt didn’t think himself that great a flier, at least not when comparing to most other players, but apparently he had been decent enough to make the team. When he first appeared at try-outs he felt as awkward and confused as the looks he was getting from others trying out; it was clear no one expected him to show up. But years of catching insects certainly helped develop his reflexes. He could see the tiny flying creatures and follow them for hours or trap them in seconds, all depending on what the game was at the time. Just like that, he had made seeker. He had thought of Emma then and felt himself swell with pride.

He all but ran outside, skipping up the stairs like a cat and rushing through the great doors of the castle. The rush of spring filled his lungs and roared in his chest and made his head spin. He was definitely late; there were three figures there already by the time he got to the pitch. His face lit up when he spotted Emma among them, but he caught himself before throwing an arm up in a greeting wave. Matt played Quidditch by rules Emma had taught him, but the same could not be said for the rest of his team. It was no secret that Slytherin was not the favourite, if not the least favourite team on the field; and little more could be said for the entire house. Bad reputation was never far from Slytherin. The other two might not be so kind to his presence.

He relaxed more the closer he got to the field; Matt had briefly met Kaden as well and if the boy had been friendly on those occasions, Matt dared not doubt him now. The third player he recognized somewhat from the previous matches, but Matt did not know his name. At last he called out to the trio, a short "Hello!" accompanied by a small wave with the hand that held his broom. "Got room for one more?"