Jack was finally stumbling home. She had just contacted Sawyer Weasley- she was done. She was calling in the big guns. Sawyer would take over and regulate everything and Jack would be left to... what? Reclaim her life? She wasn't sure what that entailed, with Nemo gone, with her back turned from the Order and her feet pointed unwillingly towards the Death Eaters... Jack pretty much considered her life over. Why take the department down too?
Her team was going to make this very hard for her.
She settled, alone, in her eerily quiet house. Most nights, her day with Nemo didn't end until three. They'd drink, watch a movie, get hungry and go through a drive thru, come back, get in some sort of war involving a different type of food each night, and then she would declare it bed time. But it was ten o'clock and there was nothing to do. Jack tramped upstairs, towards her room.
When she arrived, there was an owl tapping on her window. She hurried over to it, eager for any news, and when she let it in, she found it was from James Potter. She sighed, but brought the owl in, scrounging up some owl treats and a cup of water. She read the letter, unable to keep the smirk off her face as she did. She quickly wrote her response and tied it to the owl's leg, letting him loose once again. Her response was short, and read:
James
Tell you coach to prepare a pep talk for afterwards- your Beaters will need it.
Also. Watch out. My bat has been a bit testy lately. It has a tendency to swing towards Seekers.
~Jack
With this small consolation, she eased herself into sleep.
* * *
Five in the morning and Jack awoke, quickly getting into her work out routine. A quick run around the block, her core work out, curling some weights, etcetera. She showered and dressed in her old Quidditch practice clothes- black jeans, a Gryffindor Quidditch t-shirt, and leather fingerless gloves. She put her helmet, bat, and other supplies into her Quidditch duffel bag.
She walked into her broomcloset. There was her new Firebolt... and her old Comet 360. With a smirk, she grabbed the Comet.
* * *
When six forty five rolled around, Jack had already worked up a sweat on the pitch. She had been flying for about thirty minutes, and had been whacking enchanted rocks to and fro across the pitch with her bat. She was ready.