Autumn Exercise

Amelia was fighting a stitch in her side as she ran up the sloped lawns of Hogwarts Castle, but she refused to give in to the pain when she was already so close to her destination. The Ravenclaw girl could see the flags of the quidditch pitch dancing just over the next slope, still a few hundred meters off, but compared to the distance she had left behind her, these last few strides would be nothing.

The cold wind of autumn was out full force, but luckily Amelia had it at her back for the moment. It was early morning, Amelia’s favorite time to run because the grounds still maintained their sleepy quality, untouched yet by the many feet that would trod their way to the lake or green houses later in the day. Amelia had passed the Beauxbaton’s carriage and the Durmstrang ship earlier in her castle grounds loop and both had been silent as far as she could tell, their foreign occupants likely still dozing, unaware that the sun had begun to rise.

As the pitch came within 100 yards of her, Amelia sprinted toward the gates, pushing herself to expend the last of her energy. The stitch in her side was all but forgotten by the time she passed through the tall uprights, only then slowing down slightly as she began to jog slowly around the pitch. She made it half way around at a slow pace before the redhead stopped altogether, standing near the hoops at the far end of the pitch.

Amelia pushed the strands of hair away from her face that were sticking unattractively to her sweaty forehead, having escaped the ponytail that held the rest of her curls back. She stretched her arms out behind her to relieve some of the tension in her shoulders before leaning forward and placing her hands on her bare knees. It was warm enough yet that she could still wear shorts, but Amelia had chosen a three-quarter length shirt to keep off the chill in the air. There was a triangle of sweat extending down the back of the shirt, proof of the many she had put behind her this morning, and although she was stopped now, Amelia still felt as though she was moving.

Taking a few deep breaths to slow her breathing, which was still labored from her exercise, Amelia arched her back and leaned forward, letting her fingers brush the grass as she stretched out the muscles in her legs which still burned from the rigmarole they had been put through in the last hour. Content in her solitude and how productive the day had already been, Amelia held the stretch, listening to nothing but the sound of her heavy breathing and the echo of her heart in her chest.

((Cue Peter))

Peter had awoken early to take out his broom stick. He was jealous of Adam, who had managed to escape to the pitch the very first night to take his broom out for a spin. Adam had not shut up about it, so Peter had decided to one-up him by waking up incredibly early this morning, crossing the grounds in a thick mist, his broom, a sleek Firebolt, shouldered and his face beginning to brighten from its groggy state.

The ground was hard from the early morning frost and he almost slipped as he made his way into the pitch. He looked around before mounting and then quickly kicking off. He rose through the mist, the robes he had brought out to wear feeling damp as he did. He rose above the mist into the sunlight and shot across the field, his hair flying behind him.

Why didn't everyone fly? The feeling in the center of his stomach, the smile that had unfurled without his prompting,the wind carefully weaving through his hair, slightly patting his pink cheeks. The way his legs dangled as wind buffeted them. The flapping noise of his robes, the whipping of his shoelaces, loosened by the wind. It was all to... magical.

He did a roll, clinging to his broom, noticing that the sun was rising, and though the cold air remained, the mist could no longer cope, and it began to crawl off of the pitch slowly. He corkscrewed and let himself angle downwards, cutting his distance in at least half. He brushed his sandy reddish hair back as it fell in his face, freeing his vision as his eyes swept the green expanse below. And he saw someone.

His eyes squinted and he saw a girl running. She stopped and he let his broom float closer to where she was as he leaned forward to look at her. She began to stretch. He smiled, always in the mood for company and did a quick arch, before flying overhead her. He stopped above her and rolled so that he was hanging upisde down, his hair dangling straight towards the ground. He smiled widely. "Hello."

The hair in Amelia’s ponytail had fallen over her right shoulder as she leaned down to stretch, cutting off her peripheral vision, which might have allowed her to catch a glimpse of the person who had come oh-so-close to her without her knowledge. Things being as they were, however, Amelia was completely unaware of anyone else’s presence on the quidditch pitch, looking only at the crunchy grass beneath her feet and letting her fingertips touch the slightly-frozen blades.

It was only when the present company spoke up that Amelia became aware of his presence, which immediately brought her reeling back to an upright position, her eyes wide with surprise. With her eyelids pressed back as far as they would go, Amelia got a full glimpse of the head that, for a moment, seemed suspended in mid-air before Amelia’s mind caught up to the situation and realized that this floating head was, in actuality, connected to a body that was hanging upside down from a broomstick. When her mind was able to fully comprehend the situation – a few seconds too late – Amelia took a step back away from this foreign and overly-friendly individual, her hand rising defensively to her neck in a subconscious gesture. With her fingertips at her clavicle, Amelia could feel her heartbeat racing there, pressing against her fingertips in evidence of just how surprised she had been to be interrupted during her early morning reverie.

Coming down slightly from her initial shock, Amelia regained her composure enough to close her mouth and return her eyebrows to a semi-normal height. Breathing more normally now, the Ravenclaw girl took in the person who was hanging upside down in front of her, resembling a monkey more than a person. His long, reddish hair was hanging away from his head and his sharp features were arranged into an expression of pure glee. Clearly, whatever anxiety Amelia was feeling over the current situation was more than counteracted by how much he seemed to be enjoying this.

“What are you doing here?” Amelia asked bluntly, forgetting all about social graces in lieu of his less-than-orthodox introduction. Of course, he had bothered to start with a more proper – and less offensive – greeting, but Amelia wasn’t really feeling the formalities at the moment. She had been disturbed on her usually solitary morning run by a boy she didn’t know from Adam, and he was on a broom. This combination of details did not exactly spell successful encounter for Amelia.

I really ought to avoid the pitch on these outings… Amelia’s subconscious chimed in, referring to the number of times she had run into someone else while on the pitch. It was astounding that she hadn’t thought to skirt this part of campus sooner, but she was going to make a point of it in the future.

Peter grinned amusedly as the girl snapped to attention, her surprise made evident by the expression on her face, eyes wide and lips parted. He shook his head slightly as some of his hair fell into his eyes, blocking the amusing vision of the surprised girl. He continued to smile pleasantly and simply watched as she struggled to register to strange situation.

She asked, well sort of demanded to know, what he was doing and he shrugged, a rather entertaining sight to see on someone who was upside down. He looked around casually and said, "Oh, I dunno. Just... 'ow you say... 'Anging out?" He grinned widely allowing hos broom to float backwards before he righted himself. He let the broom drift dowards, until the toes on his long legs skimmed the grass.

He floated up a little so he was at eye level with the surprised Hogwarts student. Something about her struck him as a Hogwarts student, rather than a Durmstrang. She had seemed at ease on the grounds, until he had interrupted her stretching with his quick and sudden surprise entrance into her day and her life. None of this particularly bothered Peter. Not much bothered Peter.

Letting his smile flicker into a neutral, bored expression that did not match the exhilaration still lingering from his flight he said, "Seriously, zo, I was just out for a morning flight. I..." He grinned in a slightly nervous way and continued, "I like ze morning time. And I 'ave really missed Quidditch, so I decided to live a leetle."

He smiled good-naturedly at her, his eyes twinkling a little with the joy of the flight still fresh, the sensation still trapped in his chest and his stomach. He cocked his head slightly, his long hair falling across his forehead as he did so. "So," he said, smiling as he became aware that he was about to turn the tables on her. "And what are you doing here, eef I may ask?"

Amelia’s discomfort with the current situation seemed only to please this strange individual further. He seemed entirely comfortable with the encounter, which seemed all the much more odd to Amelia because he was upside down during the experience. At her demand for answers, the boy was rather blaze with his response, and for the first time Amelia noticed his accent. She had not been able to catch it in the one-word greeting he had given, or perhaps she had just missed it in her surprise, but it was now quite apparent. He was clearly French, an accent Amelia could identify because of the French ambassador’s son her mother had tried to pair her up with, and that sly grin seemed to be permanently affixed to his features.

Unsure of how to counter the reply the boy had given – for he was, after all, entitled to “hang out” all he wanted on the grounds. It wasn’t as though she owned them – Amelia was at least pleased when the stranger returned to an upright position, allowing normal color to return to his features and giving Amelia less stimuli to confuse herself with. She watched as he hovered above the ground, seemingly not even paying attention to controlling his broomstick. She was holding quite still, a feat for her when her flight response kicked in so strongly as it had before, and it was only when the boy adjusted his height so as to be at the same level as her that she leaned back slightly, intimidated by his forwardness.

The boy seemed to have caught on to the fact that she wasn’t quick on the reply, because he filled the silence between them with an extension of his previous answer, this one containing more legitimate details of his morning outing. Amelia suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at his mention of quidditch – Amelia had never been overly fond of the sport, and could not fathom the level of enthusiasm with which most of her peers seemed to revere the game – and instead focused on trying to figure out her present company. As far as she could tell thus far, he was foreign, probably from Beauxbatons considering he was French, and he had a knack for smiling when there wasn’t actually anything to be smiling about.

When the boy cocked his head to the side, Amelia was reminded of a small child trying to figure out something his parent had just said, but she did not linger long on the thought as she found that the boy had turned her own question back on her. She usually attempted to avoid this point in the conversation – i.e. ask another question before your own could be returned to you – but her surprise had left her momentarily at a loss for words, leaving an opening that this long-haired boy had taken advantage of.

“I was running,” Amelia answered simply, gesturing to her athletic clothes as though these made it obvious what she had been doing.

“And then I was stretching,” Amelia continued, fidgeting with a hair tie on her wrist as she tried to focus on maintaining coherent social thought, and trying not to say anything that she would regret.

“And then I was interrupted,” Amelia’s tongue quipped before she could stop herself. And there it was: the something she would regret saying. Apparently she hadn’t been getting the social practice her mother had been asking of her, if the way this conversation was going was any indication.

“I mean… nevermind,” Amelia stuttered, starting to make an apology but then being unable to think of a reason why she should apologize. What she had said was an accurate account of the events that had just taken place; she did not have to apologize for the truth. But without the will to make an apology, nor another concrete question to ask this stranger, Amelia was quickly running out of conversation topics with which she was familiar.

Introductions. You can do introductions. Introductions are easy.

“I’m Amelia, by the way,” the Ravenclaw girl muttered, her hand nervously rising to the back of her neck in a characteristic gesture. Somehow, Amelia had become the world’s reigning champion of awkward conversations. She really ought to write a book: How to Stop Every Conversation within Five Minutes. All she would have to do is somehow translate her own personality into words.

Peter felt a small smile sprout on his face when she said that she had been running, for he could have guessed that much. She then added on, saying she had been stretching. His smile deepened, for her forwardness and obviousness was unusual. She said she had been interrupted and his smile flickered. Suddenly he beamed at her. Not only was this answer unusual, but it was rather charming.

"A razzer perfect summary. To ze point and quick, you seem like a no-nonsense sort of person, eef you do not mind me saying." Peter was aware that most people did not like people saying what they thought they were, but he was one to say things and then think about whether or not he should have ever said it. He really ought to work on that flaw...

She stuttered something, as though she was going to take back her words, but he held up a hand, shaking his head modestly. "No, eet is fine. I was not offended in ze least. I asked a question, and you gave me a perfect answer. Eef I did not want ze right answer, I would not 'ave asked ze question." He half-smiled. Believe it or not, Peter was a rather simple person when it came down to it.

She looked a little nervous, rubbing the back of her head. For a second, he was infected by her awkwardness, and he tugged on the ends of his hair, before dropping his hand. He was not an informal, comfortable person. Why did he seem so cautious now, then? He smiled again as she introduced herself. "Nice to meet you, Amelia. I'm Peter." He grinned. "I'm sure you 'ave guessed I am from Beauxbatons. I know eet is not polite to assume, but may I assume zat you are from 'Ogwarts?"

Although Amelia had been what her mother would have considered downright rude, her quidditch pitch companion’s facial expression did not seem to waver from utter contentment, that is until she said what she would have considered to be the most offensive of all. Then he was grinning ear to ear, and Amelia had to wonder if the boy was hard of hearing or merely socially inept enough to not have realized what she had just said. Grinning was not exactly the anticipated reaction when she spoke to people; shifty looks and quick departures followed by pointing and whispering were much more common.

Although the latter was more offensive, she found it less perplexing than the smile that this boy was giving her. It was almost as though he hadn’t heard what she said, but that clearly wasn’t the case. His reaction had changed just as she landed the offensive blow, but he hadn’t taken it as though he was offended. Instead, he seemed to be rather enjoying her blunt nature, which was uncommon in and of itself.

Amelia found her eyebrows rising on her forehead when the boy responded verbally, his words matching her analysis of his facial expression and confirming that the boy was indeed not offended, but instead pleased with her description. The redhead was highly taken aback by his response to her barb, and his quick summary of her personality was a little too spot on for her liking. It meant he was perceptive, though in her defense, she did not exactly go out of her way to hide her “no-nonsense” personality traits. The fact that the boy was bold enough to come out and say it to her, though, was surprising, and far more bold than her Hogwarts peers. Clearly no one had informed Peter – after his introduction, Amelia had the privilege of thinking about him without using pronouns – of Amelia’s ice queen status, because she didn’t think he would be approaching her and giving her such a succinct summary of her personality and behavior if they had.

Amelia nodded in response to Peter’s introduction, given more freely and comfortably than her own, which was not surprising. What was surprising was that Amelia found herself continuing to nod as the boy continued his sentence, impressed by the boy’s hesitance to make an assumption. It seemed to Amelia that many of her peers specialized in making assumptions, especially when it came to her. It was easy to make a judgment based on what they had heard through the rumor mill or seen in class, write her off as the ice queen and a teacher’s pet and get on with their lives. Peter’s assumption was one that carried much less weight, and yet he still hesitated to make it, which Amelia found she could respect, though she was still hesitant to harbor positive feelings toward this person that was still a relative stranger.

“You will not have to assume once I tell you,” Amelia responded, not bothering to censor her direct nature since the boy did not seem to cringe at it, “And yes, you are correct. I am a Hogwarts student in my seventh year. And if I were pressed to say, I would estimate you to be similar in age and a student of Beauxbatons. Is this correct?” she asked, speaking as though she were doing an interview. This was, though, the general way Amelia conducted small-talk-esque conversations with people she had no background knowledge of, because her mental file on Peter was uncomfortably empty for a girl that liked to know more about others than they did about her. At the moment, the pair of them were relatively even in their knowledge base – unless Peter knew things he had not yet revealed, a thought which Amelia disliked enough to push it immediately from her mind.

Peter could see the surprise and slightly confusion on Amelia's face, though it was subtle, because he could tell Amelia was one to monitor the expression on her face. So different from himself, who flaunted his joy and his sadness and his fear. Perhaps he only hid his anger, only because he was not a very angry person, thinking that jokes and smiles worked better than fists and yells. And yet, he was finding his stride in the conversation with her, because her bold, blunt manner was rather refreshing from the propriety and formalness he was used to at school. Though she was rather formal... and proper... Yet there was something different.

He seemed to be doing something right though, because she continued the conversation. He smiled when she informed him he would not have to assume; again, a blunt formality that seemed to make him smile rather than be pushed away, why, he did not know. He smiled at her question, and replied in a similar fashion. "You would be correct. I am from zere and I am een my last year."

He smiled, thrusting his hands into his pockets and he instantly began fishing for the thread of the conversation, which he seemed to have lost. So they had discussed why they were here, who they were... All of the formal things were no longer something to discuss. He realized he was still on his broom, so he quickly dismounted, shouldering the broom and then smiled. Finally, he found something to say. "So are you entering ze tournament?"

Although Amelia had not yet figured out why just yet, she could sense that this conversation was going better than any in recent memory. It seemed that she could say no wrong, even when she was breaking just about every social rule her mother had given her in her years and years of etiquette training. Peter continued to smile back at her, even when she was giving the same bare-bones answers that made others roll their eyes. It was a curious thing, to watch him grinning down at her from where he hovered on his broom, his eyeline just a few inches higher than her own, both perplexed and intrigued that there was such a person that could take all of her barbed comments in stride, and with relatively little incentive to do so.

Amelia nodded as the boy confirmed her suspicions about his school and age, though she was not surprised to be found correct. She did not usually make assumptions aloud if she did not already believe that she was correct; the verbal agreement from the second party was mostly a formality at that point, as it had been with Peter.

With these details out of the way, however, it seemed that both Peter and Amelia had run out of conversation topics, and the small bit of confidence she had been feeling in her social abilities flickered and went out as she found herself tugging on the hem of her shorts, trying to distract herself from the silence that had fallen between herself and this Beauxbatons boy. She was fond of silence when she was alone, but Amelia was not naïve enough to think that silence did not have its proper place, and that was certainly not in the middle of a conversation between two relative strangers. There ought to have been more to talk about, considering how little they knew about one another, but Amelia’s mind was stereotypically blank, as it usually was in these situations.

When Peter moved to dismount his broom, Amelia thought for a brief second that he was doing so in preparation to leave, which she was not entirely opposed to, but she also found that she was interested enough now to want to figure Peter out before he left her presence. He was an anomaly, with his smiling and lack of offense at her words, and Amelia was tempted by the challenge of figuring out why he behaved that way. She needn’t have worried about him leaving, however, because although he shouldered his broom, he followed the action with yet another smile and a question that meant he would at least be staying for her answer.

“I… haven’t decided yet,” Amelia answered hesitantly after a few seconds of silence. She ought to have known this topic would come up, seeing as it was the very reason she and Peter even had the opportunity to be standing on the same quidditch pitch, but she had been successfully avoiding this question for days and had sort of hoped to continue that trend. She hadn’t made her decision yet about whether to enter or not; entering again would mean deliberately disobeying her parents, and having to defy them in person when her mother came to get her, like last year. Raoul’s encouragement, though, was difficult to ignore. He was perhaps the only person in the world that might have the power to convince her to live outside her parents’ expectations, but as it was now, his power was only potential. She hadn’t yet acted on his encouragement and wasn’t sure that she ever would.

“It’s a matter of weighing my options,” Amelia added brusquely, not wanting to go into the details of just how complicated the set of scales and balances was that she was using to weigh said options, “Will you be entering?”

Peter watched her hesitation, and was glad to see it when it came to this tournament, since he himself was not about to run headlong into it. He was surprised, and a little intimidated, to see people that thought of nothing more than the tournament. Peter was not a fame and glory and riches kind of guy. He was laid back and more of a socialite, though he had his hobbies and his pursuits. He saw the opportunities of the tournament, but he also saw the risks. He was not a coward, but he was not a fool, either.

He, too, waited a moment before responding, finding that the subject of the tournament was always sketchy. It was not good to sound to overzealous for it, nor as though he did not want it. He was not even zealous for it in the least, but he would not give cause for his school to be ashamed of him. He did not want to see neither a fool nor a slacker, so he was always cautious on the subject; he was glad to see that Amelia was too.

"To be able to come to 'Ogwarts, we must enter ze tournament," he began slowly, for it was true. And he was not going to miss that opportunity. Once he had heard they would be going to Hogwarts, he had decided to enter on that basis alone; well that and... foreign girls. But he was still not satisfied with his answer. He half-smiled a little nervously, and then continued, "Though I would not be displeased if I was not chosen. Eternal glory and riches are not my sort of zing." He laughed at his words, realizing how silly this statement was. Maybe he was a fool.

He grinned. "Ze opportunity to come to 'Ogwarts and meet everyone here iz more appealing than the tournament, iz all I mean." He scratched his head a bit and brushed back his bang, flashing another slightly nervous smile. He was usually rather calm and laid-back, but for some reason he did not want to mess up this conversation.