Eloise had taken an interest in Quidditch the moment she had been permitted to watch the sport with her family when she was quite young. She had been fascinated with the ferocity of even the smallest of players and the intensity with which everyone seemed to play. Her brother had insisted that she take on varying clubs and social engagements when she had left for Beauxbatons, however, he apparently had not been anticipating her joining the Quidditch team. In fact, he hardly approved of her anticipation in the sport at all. “This sport, is for boys, Eloise,” the man would scold, each time she begged for a new broom or protective pads. It had long since lost its meaning and his words often fell on deaf ears, save for those moments where his eyes darkened and the thinnest vein in his forehead began to swell. Quidditch had given Eloise purpose, a goal, something to push herself for and it was the only thing keeping her grades high enough to remain in school. She refused to give up her dreams of a Quidditch career for anyone.

The summer months meant the off season and the disappointment of being off the pitch. Her brother’s protests could not reach her from the safety and protection of Beauxbatons, which mercifully did not require a permission slip to play, but Eloise would be spending the summer at home. He would never permit her to practice within his eyesight and would sooner lock her broomstick in the basement than allow her to ride it where someone could possibly see. She learned quickly to keep her broomstick out of sight if she would like to have it nearby and Eloise hardly trusted the man to keep her stick in the best working condition. She would need to find other ways to remain in shape and find alternative sources for her Quidditch needs, which clearly meant that she would be playing vicariously through the professional teams. Of course, this meant that she would need to find a way to attend the Quidditch World Cup.

‘Not a fan of Ireland either?’

Eloise looked up at the girl’s voice, her accent making her cock her head slightly; it wasn’t often that she heard German accents in Merlin Court. Surveying the girl for a moment, she allowed a half smile to tug at the corner of her lips. “I am sure some appreciate cheap shots and messy plays,” Eloise told the girl, her own accent coloring the words, “However, I find them to be nothing more than drunken infants.” Despite her preference to play the sport, Eloise was an avid fan of the French National teams and her ultimate goal was to play alongside each of them. From their beautiful uniforms to their impeccable skill in the air, there was not a team in the league that could possibly compare.

“And exactly who is your team of choice?” she asked curiously, her brow cocked and prepared for judgement. The proper answer and Eloise would possibly be willing to continue the conversation, the wrong one, well, she would more than willing to educated the misguided soul.

adelaide freya giehl
notes - not at all!