[OPEN] Take a breath; in and out

A brisk November morning rushed through the door that Frank Longbottom opened on a particularly Christmas-like Sunday. Frank felt in the spirit and had, especially, donned a thick green jumper with a Christmas pudding on the front. Over that he’d shrugged his brown bomber jacket and around his neck he’d wound his Gryffindor scarf. Having pulled on some jeans and a thick pair of socks. He’d then donned his Quidditch boots and after removing his broomstick from the trunk at the end of his bed he’d made his way down to the kitchens for something to eat which he folded up in a napkin and stashed in the pocket of his coat before heading outside.

A frost had blanketed the grounds and had made the grass simultaneously crunch and slippery underfoot. A few times, Frank had to catch himself and stop to make sure he didn’t fall onto his bum as he made his way down the hill towards the groundskeeper’s hut. Once he got onto the frozen path he felt a little more secure and wound around up towards the pitch. The flag were wafting slowly through the air on the back of an icy breeze whipping off of the black lake and as Frank slid underneath the arch onto the pitch, he fully appreciated just how large it was.

Clearing his throat, Frank dropped his broom down and took his gloves from his pocket along with his hat. He pulled the latter onto his head first and then shoved his hands into his gloves. Once he was bundled up he zipped his coat up a little higher and called for his broom which flew up into his hand. Mounting it, Frank shot high up into the air. The wind rushed into his lungs and he felt for a few minutes that he could truly breathe and appreciate what it meant to be able to do so.

Flattening out once he was high enough, Frank released his hold on the broomstick and looked around, admiring the grounds again. Up there, though, he like he was on top of the world. He was, in part. He could see everything up to a point and the whole landscape was covered in a blanket of ice. It felt whimsical but real. It felt more real than even the most palpable of things in his life. He really could breathe easier there, up amongst the clouds.

Through the thin fog of the wretched cold weather, the slim figure of Jonathan Rutger approached the pitch of the Quidditch Stadium. Layers of snow and frost crunched under his boots as he walked, cursing at the fact that it was so god awfully cold. He wore his favorite blue jacket with layers upon layers of long sleeved shirts underneath, his house scarf, jeans, and a pair of old boots he wore solemnly for flying. The young boy detested the chill of winter, but he refused to allow it to get in his way. Clutching his broomstick tightly in his hands, he soon came to stop and gently laid it down on the ground.

With a bitter sigh, he pulled on his goggles and tightened his scarf around his neck, hoping to stay as warm as possible during his occasional joy ride. This wasn't exactly an everyday thing, but it gave they boy some peace when things get too stressful to bare. "I don't understand why I continue doing this...," he grumbled to himself as he pulled on his gloves. "I gave this up years ago." Jonathan shook aside his opposing thoughts and picked up his broom. He was about to mount his treasured Silver Arrow when he noticed something whiz through the clouds above.

Why on Earth someone else would be out here so early in the morning was beyond him. They were probably some Quidditch player trying to get in some extra practice. Usually when Jonathan flew out, he was the only one out here. "Looks like I won't be flying alone today." The boy finally climbed on his broom and shot up into the sky but kept lower than usual, hoping the other student wouldn't see him. He wanted to concentrate on his flying skills more than his social skills. Circling the stadium at a hurtling speed, he couldn't help but grin as he felt the familiar wind blowing against his face and messing up his hair, feeling his worries and troubles slip away. "This is why I keep doing this," he said. "Because it makes me free."

His broom soon gained height as Jonathan's focus sharpened. He leaned forward towards his broom, allowing it to gain intense speed. He zooming through the air, and he laughed amused by his rusty but perhaps okay little skill he had left. It was only momentarily that he realized that maybe he was a bit too fast for his own good. Jonathan's beaming smile shifted to a subtle from as he soon saw that person he tried to avoid detection from just a couple yards ahead of him. With his best efforts he quickly ducked and flew under him, nearly missing the boy by a inch then came to a quick halt. "Sorry about that," he said, turning his attention towards his almost tragic victim. It appeared to be a Gryffinndor boy about his age, and sure as hell more skilled than he was so it looked. "It's not everyday I go for a joy ride..."

Lily was surprised she had not died. She had come out at about four in the morning and walked the grounds, unable to sleep and incapable of shaking off the bad thoughts from the confines of her own bed. Somehow, she had made it to the Quidditch pitch, another emblem of her psychotic Potter obligation. She had played for the team on several occasions, feeling as though she owed it to someone (she had never been certain who exactly) to put her talents on the pitch to use. She had refused to try out this year, the first year where she had said no when asked. Du Hunt had tried to require it, when they had finally spoken, so Lily could feel "normal." Lily, though, had long realized that normal was impossible.

Regardless of her feelings towards the pitch, at four in the morning, it had seemed to be a place of solace. She had climbed up into the stands and stretched out across a bench, a bottle of bluebell flames on either side, a warming spell on her jacket to keep her warm. Somehow, she had fallen asleep. Now, with the pinkish-orange light of day turning more and more into the sharp grey of late, she stirred. The spells had been the only thing to fight off frostbite, but she did not seem to notice as she sat up, rubbing her head. She blinked a few times, yawning heavily as she stretched out her arms, shaking sleep from her limbs. It had not been a long night's sleep but the few hours topped what she had been getting.

She realized with a jolt that she was not alone in the pitch. Two figures were darting about the pitch, but that was all her bleary-sleep filled vision would allow her. She immediately dropped her stretching arms to her sides, staring at the figures - what was she supposed to do now? She looked left and right and found that there was no easy way of leaving the stands unnoticed. She swallowed and stood, edging her way down the row, before hurrying down the aisle, her head down.

Frank was jolted indiscriminately from his thoughts and he nearly fell off of his broom in the process. Swallowing up a call of complaint, the Longbottom man looked around to see a Ravenclaw – if the scarf was indicative of anything – sat on his own broom with an apologetic look on his face. Frank was almost annoyed, though it wasn’t as much as because he’d been shocked than that he’d been disturbed. He’d imagined he’d be alone out there, floating amidst the clouds and whiling away the hours before classes. It wasn’t the case, though. It was far from the case now.

“It’s alright,” Frank called out good-naturedly, pulling his beanie hat a bit lower down over his hair. There was nothing he could do about the wispy bits flapping about his temples but he decided it was better to ignore them. Instead, Frank looked to the other boy with a vague smile, lowering his broom a little before holding out his hand to him. “I know you,” he decided. “Are you in my year?” He asked, extending his hand a little further out to shake. His smile grew a little bit and he cleared his throat, looking around.

Frank was sure he spotted someone, then. He couldn’t be sure though. He lifted his eyes out across the Lake, a memory of the dramatic entrance to Hogwarts the train had made that year rushing through him, and then over to the Forbidden Forest which felt almost welcoming by comparison. The large body of water held too many sharply painful memories for far too many people. There wasn’t much to do about it now, either. They all just had to get on.

“So why are you out here at this time?” He asked, amending, “I’m Frank, by the way. Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting someone else out here. I could have sworn that’s someone on the stands, too. I’m not sure, though. Are you part of a team? I sometimes just like coming out for the sake of it, too, mind you.”

"Well if I had to take a gander, I'd say yes." Jonathan hesitated for a moment, clearly debating whether he should continue along with this friendly introduction. The boy seemed pretty cheery enough and nonetheless friendly despite the fact that he almost crash into him. His eyes examined the boy a bit further and it was then that he did recognized the familiar face. One of the Gryffindor players alright, and definitely in his year-- he couldn't match a name with that face though. Well... It wouldn't hurt to make a new acquaintance would it?

"Jonathan," he said, reaching over to shake the lad's hand. He soon followed Frank's gaze and couldn't help but allow his eyes to linger towards the stands. He had a weird feeling there were more students about, and that feeling made his stomach churn in displeasure. "It's alright really," he continued, bringing his attention back to the Gryffindor boy. "If anything, I should be the one apologizing-- I nearly killed you." The boy mustered a weak smile and his cheeks flushed a light pink. "And no, I don't play.... At least not anymore. I just come out and fly every once in the while for relief." The boy looked away, staring off towards the horizon as his mind began to feel a bit hazy. "Though I must say, I'm quite better than I'd reckoned I'd be, despite being out of practice for so long."

He fell silent for a bit, as if he greeted by something out of a bad dream. Suddenly he shook his head and made eye contact with Frank again, intending to keep it this time. "So what position do you play, Frank?" Jonathan asked, hoping to lighten up the mood, more so his mood.

The acoustics at the pitch were excellent, and she could hear the voices of the figures. It wasn't until she was almost at the bottom of the aisle when she recognized one of the voices. She paused and lifted her head slowly, squinting her eyes. Frank. She had grown up with the Longbottoms, and had considered them practically family. Of course, she was less cordial in school, as she was awkward and had never been of the warmest human beings. Nevertheless, she had always liked Frank, as he had been one of the more relaxed of their social circle - he had also been one of the ones who seemed to prefer the shadows to the limelight, which she understood and empathized with.

Still... did she really want to explain why she had fallen asleep in the stands?

She dropped her head again and hurried down the steps, moving her feet double time as she went. She finally reached the bottom of the stands and hurried out, passing by the broom shed. Suddenly, more voices reached her and she paused. Her heart began to beat faster as she realized that, approaching, was a group of Slytherin's, and they had all been friends with Alexander Nott, the snotty brat who had humiliated her in front of everyone at graduation.

She swallowed and turned quickly, taking two large paces towards the broom closet. She pulled it open, grabbed the first broom that her hand brushed, and swept it underneath her, mounting quickly. She lept into the air and ambled halfway around the pitch, trying to look casual before she came into Frank's line of vision. She waved a hand by way of greeting.

Frank and a harmless looking Ravenclaw - definitely the lesser of two evils.

He didn’t want to concede that the Ravenclaw could have done him any serious harm. If there was one place Frank could be confident then it was on the Quidditch pitch – it was on a broomstick. The Gryffindor puffed out his chest obstinately and turned his head away, flushing a little at the implication. He shrugged a half shoulder, reaching across his face to wipe away the grimace and replace it with a smile. The boy was joking somewhat. Jonathan. He was joking. Nevertheless, Frank felt a bit stupid. He was glad he’d been watching.

“Nah,” he assured the Ravenclaw. “Always in control on a broomstick, me,” he chuckled a little and his smile brightened as they moved onto Quidditch. “Oh, I’m a Chaser,” he informed Johnathan, puffing out his chest proudly. “I really want to turn pro. In the summer I’m hoping to get a trial with the Holyhead Harpies’ youth academy. Haven’t told my mum yet, mind you, but I’ve been writing to them for weeks now and they seem really up for it. Not long now, really. What position did you used to play, did you say, sorry?”

Then, another person joined them and Frank turned a little to spy who it was. Lily Potter. It couldn’t have been anyone else, really. His smile grew into a broad grin and he laughed a little at the sight of her. She was the one who had been scrambling around the bleachers like the sneaky witch that she was. Frank raised a gloved hand and beckoned her over, releasing his broomstick from both of his hands, electing to sit back comfortably on it instead.

“You alright, Lils?” He called. “Haven’t seen you in ages. It’s a wonder you’re in my house sometimes. Johnathan, this is Lily. Lily this is Johnathan.”