I'VE BECOME SO NUMB} Molly's Quidditch Practice

The air was crisp, which was just how Molly liked it when it came to practicing Quidditch. Heat made it unbearable to breath and work, plus sweating became uncontrollable. It was nearly too cold during the winter and bundling up made it hard for her to maneuver. No, the cool, crisp air was everything she could ask for. Plus, no rain made it pretty nice. She didn't mind flying in the rain, but it was really a hazard for her health and she had already spent too much time in the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey was nice enough, but she didn't really want to spend more time than she could with her... plus, she was sure Madame Pomfrey didn't want to see her anymore this year.

Molly sighed, pulling her long red hair back into a high pony tail. She'd need it out of her face if she wanted to get anything worth while done today. She picked her Nimbus 1700 up off of the Pitch. It wasn't a perfect broom, but it was her favorite. Her grandmother had offered to buy her a new one a few years ago, but Molly had turned her down. Her broomstick was like her lucky charm; she couldn't have a match without it. She didn't know what she'd do if it ever broke.

She was early to practice, which she had tried to do on purpose. She wanted some time to herself before the field was filled with hormone filled Gryffindor's who didn't often like to listen to each other. She gripped onto her broom tightly, her knuckles turning white as she did so. She swung her leg over so that she was now straddling it. Since it was so chilly, she was wearing her colder practice clothes; a pair of sporty sweat pants and a tight fitting Gryffindor sweatshirt.

Molly took in a deep breath, staring hard into the sky as she shot off. The feel of the wind against her face was refreshing and she could already feel them pinken from the chill. Her heartrate seemed to skyrocket, adrenaline pumping through her. She held tightly onto her broom, eyes on the blue sky above. She'd go up as far as he possibly could before diving down towards the green ground below her. Molly hovered a bit, staring out at everything before her.

Quidditch, to her, was more than a sport. It was where she was able to lose herself. She didn't have to worry about anything other than winning. All she had to do was get the Quaffle and get it past the Keeper. She didn't have to worry about the fact that her grandmother was steadily forgetting her day by day and that, by the end of the year, she'd probably be sent to a home - that was what Ted said was best for her. She didn't have to worry about having the large mansion all to herself with no one to share it with. She didn't have to worry about the fact that most of her family was dead. She didn't have to spend wakeless nights wondering who killed her parents or waking up screaming from nightmares of their death. She didn't have to worry about grades or her future. She just had to worry about the now... getting that damned ball through the score post and trying not to get hit by a Bludger.

"MOLLY!" Molly's thoughts were broken as she heard someone yell her name. She looked down to see the team coming out onto the Pitch. It was time for practice. She took another deep breath, plummeting down to the ground and hovering a few feet above it. She put a smile on her face, as she always did.

"Yo, you guys ready to practice? Who's gonna kick some major ass this year?" She asked, loudly. The rest of the team yelled Gryffindor and Molly's grin widened. This was where she belonged. Away from all worries that weren't Quidditch related. Molly glanced back up at the sky. Plus, this way, she was closer to her father... a Gryffindor quidditch player himself.

"Redbird, stop staring at the clouds and grab the Quaffle."

"Oi, shut it Blondie or I'm gonna throw it at your head!"

"Guys, really? Do you have to fight?"

"They fight like a married couple."

"WE DO NOT!"

"DO I NEED TO PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE?"

"FIONN STOP BULLYING PEOPLE DAMMIT!"

"Guys, stop yelling at each other! Can't we just have a peaceful practice?"

"Dude, not with them on the team."

"Shudup and grab your brooms. I'll show you all who's the star of the team!"

"You're head's not full of hot air or anything, is it Moll?"

"Not at all, why would you say that?"

"No reason... no reason whatsoever."

"COME ON! LET'S PLAY TO WIN!"

That's how every practice seemed to go down. There'd be some fighting, lighthearted and never serious. Gryffindor's were just like that, often butting heads, but never really meaning it. At the end of the day, sweaty and laughing, they'd all go up to the common room and have a round of butterbeer that one of them (most likely Molly) snuck up for them. They'd relax and drink, maybe have a firewhiskey if there was nothing important the next day, and undoubtedly someone would pass out on the couch.

Molly would always sneak back up to her room, crawl into bed, and read her father's copy of Quidditch Through the Ages. No one understood why she kept reading that beat up ratty old book, but then, no one knew why she kept it for so long anyway. She'd run her hands over her father's notes until she fell into a quick, deep, and dream free slumber.

The next practice would be similar and the one after that. They'd perfect their maneouvers and their plays. They'd discuss how they'd decimate the Slytherin's until they wept for their mummies. And Molly would once again lose herself to the game.