"Chaser, mostly." Jack looked up at the hoops, his eyes narrowing as he recalled the rush of a Quidditch match. The golden rings stood tall and silent against the deepening blue of the afternoon sky. "I played Seeker for a while, too. I was fast enough to keep up with the Snitch, most days."
"Did you catch it?" Morwenna asked, her voice filled with wonder.
"A few times." Jack's smile grew, a hint of youthful pride returning to his face. He rested one hand on his hip. "I caught it during the final match of my third year. We won by a hundred and sixty points."
Morwenna looked at him differently now. Her father spent his days in the study writing letters and reading papers. Sometimes, after a long day, he rubbed his eyes and let out a tired sigh. Yet he had once raced through the sky and caught that tiny golden ball. He had been fast. He had been a Seeker.
She turned toward Jane, her white hair catching the sunlight.
"Maman play too?"
Jane laughed, the bright sound carrying on the light breeze.
"I didn't join the team when I was at Beauxbatons. I had other things to keep me busy." She paused, glancing at the golden hoops. "But I can play."
"Can play?"
"I can play." A mischievous gleam appeared in Jane's eyes. She shifted her weight, moving easily in her practical trousers. "If I played on a team, I would be a Keeper or a Beater."
Morwenna tilted her head, trying to picture her mother in either position.
"Why?"
Jane considered the question before taking Morwenna's hand and brushing her thumb over the child's small knuckles.
"Keeper first," she explained, her French accent lending a gentle lilt to her words. "Because I like guarding things. I like knowing that something is mine to protect, and that I'm the last person standing between the other team and the goal. There's something satisfying about that."
Morwenna nodded slowly. She understood the feeling. She felt the same way about Cinder, her parents, and the little carved serpent on her nightstand. They were hers, and she wanted to keep them safe.
"And Beater?" Jack prompted, amusement creeping into his voice.
Jane's smile sharpened.
"Beater is different."
"How?"
"Beater is about hitting." Jane demonstrated with a quick chopping motion, her fingers tense as she swung her hand through the air. "It's about knocking people off their brooms and making them regret getting anywhere near your teammates."
Her voice grew faster as her excitement took over. Her eyes brightened, and her whole expression came alive.
"It's the most fun I have ever had on a broom. The Bludgers come at you, and you swing. There's that moment when the bat connects, that satisfying thwack, and the Bludger goes flying toward some poor idiot who thought they had a clear shot at the goal. They don't even see it coming. They are too busy watching the Quaffle, the hoops, and their chance to score. Then..."
She smacked her fist into her palm with a dull thud.
"Down they go."
"It's the territorial instinct," Jane continued, almost talking to herself now. "The dragon in the blood. Someone enters your space, so you knock them out of it. Simple."
Morwenna thought about how she felt when someone touched her things without asking. Sometimes, a cold surge rose inside her before she could stop it. Perhaps she understood what Maman meant.
"And the Veela," Jane added with a dismissive wave. "Hot-tempered, aggressive, all that. It's a good combination for a Beater. You get angry, you hit things, and you feel better."
Jack cleared his throat.
It was a small sound, but Jane immediately turned toward him. His expression remained carefully neutral, though his eyes had widened slightly, and a faint flush was spreading up his neck.
Jane blinked. The fierce light in her eyes softened as she noticed Morwenna watching her with wide, fascinated eyes.
"Oh."
Her cheeks turned pink.
"I... well..." She let out an embarrassed laugh and pressed a hand to her face. "I got carried away, ma petite."
Morwenna patted her mother's knee.
"Maman likes hitting."
"I do." Jane laughed again, this time with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. "I really do."
Jack's blush deepened, but he was smiling now, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
"You might want to save that enthusiasm for the pitch, love."
Jane shot him a mock glare, her lips twitching.
"You asked."
"I did." Jack rose, brushing the grass from his trousers, and offered her a hand. "Shall we show her?"
Jane took his hand and let him pull her to her feet.
"We shall."
Jack opened the crate and took out the Quaffle, then tossed it to Jane. She caught it one-handed and casually spun the red leather ball in her palm.
"Let's warm up," he said. "We will throw it to her, and she can catch it."
Jane tossed the Quaffle to Morwenna.
The ball was heavier than the toddler expected. Its weight surprised her small arms, but she managed to wrap them around it and hold on. The smooth, sun-warmed leather pressed against her chest.
"Good," Jack encouraged her. "Now throw it back."
Morwenna threw with all her strength. The Quaffle wobbled through the air, its path wide of the target, but Jane moved smoothly and caught it with practiced ease.
They continued throwing the ball back and forth for several minutes. Sometimes Morwenna missed, and the Quaffle bounced across the grass before rolling away. She chased after it, her trainers slipping slightly on the short turf, then picked it up and tried again.
Gradually, her throws grew straighter, and her catches became more reliable. When she caught three passes in a row without dropping the ball, Jack grinned.
"Ready for the show?"
Morwenna nodded eagerly, her heart thumping with excitement.
Jack mounted his broom and rose smoothly into the air until he was level with the lowest hoop, about ten meters above the ground. From where Morwenna stood, he looked like a dark, sharp silhouette against the golden rings and brilliant blue sky.
Jane reached into the crate and took out a Beater's bat. It was shorter than Morwenna had expected, made of dark, heavy wood worn smooth by years of use. Jane swung it experimentally, and it cut through the air with a soft whistle.
"In a real match, you only hit Bludgers with this," Jack called down. "Never the Quaffle. But this isn't a real match."
Jane tossed the Quaffle lightly in her hand, testing its weight one last time. Then she threw it high, stepped into the swing, and brought the bat around.
The crack rang across the pitch, sharp and satisfying, echoing off the empty stands.
The Quaffle shot through the air like a red comet.
Jack was already moving. His broom cut sharply across the sky, intercepting the ball's path with perfect timing. He reached out and snatched it from the air, the leather smacking against his palm.
Morwenna cheered, jumping up and down on the grass.
Jane struck again. This time, the Quaffle flew lower and faster. Jack caught it one-handed behind his back, making the ball seem to appear in his grasp out of nowhere.
Morwenna clapped, laughing at the display.
Jane sent the third throw even lower and faster, aiming for the grass just ahead of Jack's broom.
Jack dived.
His body stretched almost horizontally as he pushed his broom to its limit. He extended one arm and caught the Quaffle mere centimeters above the ground, his fingertips skimming the grass before he pulled out of the dive.
Morwenna bounced excitedly on her feet.
"Again! Again!"
But Jack was already descending. He landed lightly beside her, his boots making a soft thump against the turf. Jane joined them a moment later, slightly out of breath, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining.
"Your turn," Jack said.
He lifted Morwenna onto his broom, then mounted behind her. She was becoming familiar with the feel of the polished wood beneath her and the steady hum of magic running through it. It almost felt alive.
Jane mounted her own broom, a sleek silver one, and hovered beside them.
"Ready?" she asked.
"Yes!"
They rose together, and the ground dropped away beneath them. Morwenna's stomach gave a delighted flip, the same wonderful sensation she remembered from her first flight. The pitch grew smaller below, and soon there was nothing around her but the endless sky.
"Race you to the far hoops and back," Jack said.
Jane's grin widened.
"You are on."
They took off.
Morwenna leaned forward, feeling the wind whistle through her white hair and rush against her face. Jack's arms remained steady around her, but she could feel the tension in his muscles as he urged the broom faster and leaned into the turn.
Beside them, Jane kept pace, her red hair streaming behind her like a bright banner against the blue. Her silver broom moved through the air with remarkable smoothness.
The golden hoops rushed toward them, growing larger with every second. Jack banked sharply, and Morwenna instinctively leaned with him, her body adjusting to the movement as though it already understood the rhythm of flight.
They swept around the hoops and raced back the way they had come.
At the last moment, Jane pulled ahead. Her silver broom surged forward, leaving a faint gleam in its wake, and she crossed their imaginary finish line half a broom's length before Jack.
"Cheater," Jack called, though he was grinning and breathing hard.
"Winner," Jane corrected, her smile wide and triumphant as she hovered beside them.
Morwenna burst into laughter, her delight carrying freely across the open sky.
"Again!"
Jack looked at Jane. She raised an eyebrow, silently challenging him to try again.
"One more?" he asked.
"One more," Morwenna declared firmly.
Jane laughed and nodded, dipping her silver broom in agreement.
Then they rose into the sky again.
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