Morwenna knew the way to the Quidditch pitch by heart.
She had only been there once, months ago, but the memory had stayed with her as firmly as a rune carved into stone. She remembered the long corridor past the conservatory, where afternoon sunlight streamed through the glass in golden beams.
The koi fish drifted through the stone fountain like orange silk, seemingly unaware of the world beyond their watery home.
She remembered the hidden door behind the thick climbing vine, its small white flowers carrying a sweet fragrance. The iron latch always made a satisfying metallic click when she pressed it the right way.
Beyond it, a winding path ran between tall, dense hedges, keeping the pitch hidden until the very last turn, when it suddenly opened before her like a wonderful surprise.
Sometimes, when she was supposed to be napping, Morwenna would lie perfectly still and trace the route in her mind.
She remembered every sharp turn and every quiet step until she could almost feel the springy grass beneath her trainers and the wind rushing against her cheeks.
She remembered rising into the air, watching the world fall away below her, and experiencing that strange, wonderful feeling of being held by nothing and everything at once.
And now, she was going to fly again.
Jane appeared in the nursery doorway just after lunch, and Morwenna's green eyes widened in surprise.
Her mother wasn't wearing her usual floor-length robes. She wasn't even wearing a dress. Instead, she had on dark, practical trousers and a simple knitted jumper, an outfit Morwenna had never seen her wear before. Her red hair was pulled back into a neat braid, making her look ready to move, run, and fly.
Morwenna tilted her head, studying the unfamiliar clothes with curiosity. Mama usually wore long dresses around the manor. Even when she dressed in mundane clothes, they were usually skirts and soft fabrics that swished when she walked. Trousers were for going outside. Trousers were for...
"Come on, ma chérie." Jane held out her hand, her green eyes sparkling with a secret. "Your father is waiting."
Morwenna slid off the bed with a soft thump. Cinder made a small sound of protest, his russet ears flattening as he watched her prepare to leave. She paused to stroke his thick fur.
"Stay. I come back."
Then she took Jane's hand, and they set off.
They walked past the conservatory, through the hidden door, and along the winding path between the tall hedges.
With every step, Morwenna grew more excited. Her little feet moved faster and faster until she was almost pulling her mother along, her trainers pattering against the packed earth in a happy, impatient rhythm.
And then they arrived.
The Quidditch pitch stretched out before her, vast and green. The grass was smooth and neatly trimmed, shorter than anything in the garden, and its fresh, sharp scent filled the warm afternoon air.
White lines marked the boundaries, though Morwenna didn't yet understand what they meant. At either end of the pitch stood three golden hoops, gleaming in the sunlight as they waited for a game to begin.
Jack stood in the center of the pitch with a wooden crate at his feet.
Morwenna let go of Jane's hand and ran straight toward him.
Jack caught her easily and swung her up into the air. Her laughter rang across the empty pitch, echoing off the wooden stands and beneath the tall golden hoops.
"Someone is excited," Jack said, his own voice warm with amusement.
"Fly!" Morwenna said, gazing up at the blue sky. "Fly again."
"Soon." He lowered her gently onto the grass and gestured toward the crate. "First, you need to understand what you will be flying around."
He knelt on the grass and opened the lid.
Morwenna leaned forward, her breath catching at the sight inside. Four balls rested in separate compartments lined with deep emerald velvet.
They came in different sizes and colors, and one had leather straps wrapped around it. The crate itself was old, its worn leather carrying the smell of oil and dust. Its hinges creaked softly as Jack lifted the lid.
He reached inside and took out the largest ball. It was a deep red, almost the color of old bricks, and about the size of his head. Its leather surface was scuffed and marked by years of use.
"This is the Quaffle. Have a feel."
Morwenna wrapped her small arms around it. It was heavier than she had expected, but she could still hold it comfortably. The leather felt smooth and warm from sitting in the sun. She ran her fingers over its thick stitches, exploring the slightly yielding surface.
"In Quidditch, the Chasers throw this through one of those hoops to score. Each goal is worth ten points."
Jack set the Quaffle aside and reached into the crate again. This time, he pointed out two identical balls, both jet black and slightly smaller than the Quaffle. Thick leather straps held them firmly in place inside the box. Even while restrained, they seemed to tremble with barely contained energy.
"These are Bludgers." His voice grew more serious as he looked at her. "They are enchanted to fly around and try to knock players off their brooms. They don't care who you are or which team you are playing for. They will hit anyone who gets in their way."
Morwenna eyed the balls warily, her brow furrowing. They looked angry, even sitting still in their velvet compartments. She took a small step backward, her fingers curling around the hem of her shirt.
"That's why each team has two Beaters." Jack demonstrated by swinging his arm through the air as though he were holding a heavy bat. "Their job is to hit the Bludgers away from their teammates and, if they can, send them toward the opposing team."
He reached for the final ball.
It was tiny, no bigger than a walnut, and gleamed like polished gold in the sunlight. Delicate silver wings rested against its sides, trembling slightly as though the little ball were dreaming of the sky.
Morwenna leaned closer, completely captivated. The golden surface caught the sunlight and scattered it into tiny reflections that danced across her face.
"The Golden Snitch." Jack's voice softened, almost reverently. "This is what the Seeker chases. It's very fast and good at hiding. The game doesn't end until someone catches it, and catching it earns the team one hundred and fifty points."
Morwenna stared at the tiny golden ball in wonder. It was beautiful, but she couldn't understand how something so small could be worth so much. She reached out and touched one of its silver wings with her fingertip. It fluttered against her skin, so light that she could barely feel it.
"The Seeker?" she repeated, testing the unfamiliar word. It sounded important.
"That's right."
Jack returned the Snitch to its compartment and closed the crate. The latch clicked firmly into place.
"Now, let's talk about the positions."
He sat down on the grass, and Morwenna settled opposite him. Jane sat beside her, their shoulders touching, offering a familiar warmth against the wide-open space of the pitch.
"Each team has seven players." Jack raised one hand and counted them off on his fingers. "One Keeper, who guards the hoops and tries to stop the other team from scoring. Two Beaters, who protect their teammates and make life difficult for the other side. Three Chasers, who pass the Quaffle between them and try to score goals. And one Seeker, who searches for the Snitch."
Morwenna listened carefully, her brow furrowed in concentration. Seven players. Four positions. One tiny golden ball.
She looked toward the hoops, imagining players racing through the air, passing balls, swinging bats, and chasing the Snitch.
"When I was at Hogwarts," Jack continued, a fond warmth entering his voice, "I played for Slytherin."
Morwenna's green eyes widened.
"Dada played?"
"I did. For five years." Jack smiled, and for a moment, he seemed to be remembering the younger version of himself who had once flown across this very pitch.
"What position?"
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