Who: Sam and open When/Where: Friday afternoon / Quidditch Stadium Rating: PG-13 Summary: Sam is practicing. Status: Incomplete
He kicked at the ground with his hand shoved into the pockets of his dress pants. While the uniforms were tight and caused his body its own personal sensitivity to it, Sam was far too indolent to change out. That was the languid bum in him. His head jerked, his hair swooping over his forehead. He had just finish off his lessons with Potions. The mere thought had him unconsciously grimacing. There was an inadvertent abhorrence for the subject. It was the odor of specific ingredients and the sharp accurateness one must have. Potions and arithimancy made his very short hate-list.
After leaving the room, he sauntered with no destination in mind. Sam had a tendency to daydream, and anybody who admirably knew him understood just that. The tragedy of it was that it usually resulted in colliding bodies, considering that he rarely watched where he walked. Gladly, this did not happen when the idea of squeezing some practice in his beater skills pulled him out of the reverie.
So with such haste, he changed into his Quidditch uniform and headed towards the stadium which was to his luck, vacant. Grabbing the bludger, he bewitched it so its main target was him and not any of the unfortunate students who happen to walk by. So releasing it, he struck it with his club, allowing the bludger to haul into the sky, only for it to come back while Sam continued to thump it with the club keeping on the ground the entire time.
This continued for probably fifteen minutes or so. While things were going smoothly, he saw someone enter the stadium. The bludger was in the sky, and the body was across from him and would get hit in the process of the bludger swooping down. His eyes widened, the bludger coming from behind the person. “DUCK!” he yelled.