Scratch that. He knew exactly why he kept coming here, it simply wasm't productive to continue doing so. Privacy was the best surface explanation he could offer when Elon questioned him; no, he wasn't spying for Ravenclaw, Merlin's beard man, he barely understood the game in the first place. How would he relay tactics and strategy if he couldn't tell a beater from a seeker? The peace of nature, the (relative) quiet of the quidditch pitch; that's all he was after. Ostensibly, it held water. In theory. In practice, however...
A textbook was open in his lap. a scroll spread out beside him, the feathered end of a quill flicking back and forth across his nose. And he wasn't paying attention to a lick of it.
Selene's quidditch appreciation hadn't blossomed until quite recently-- shortly after he'd taken on extracurricular tutoring, in fact. He was good at teaching, had the patience and ability for it, even with the hopeless cases, especially when they were frustrated with the subject matter. Which Helios seemed to be at first, panicked and desperate to keep his spot on the Gryffindor team, and Selene hadn't understood -- not entirely -- until he came to watch Helios practice.
He hadn't stopped since. The boy was poetry on a broom, and Selene doubted he knew it. Too humble, but if he could only see himself, he'd never question Selene's fixation again.
Sunset always came too soon. Or sometimes took too long, depending on Selene's mood. He gathered his things, stuffed them back into his satchel as Elon motioned for the team to huddle before dismissal. Selene needn't be privy to that; he simply made his way to the pitch instead, awaited Helios' with a sly smile and crossed arms.
"If I knew a thing about the game, I'd say you played well tonight. Though I'm certain you deserve the praise anyway."
no subject
Scratch that. He knew exactly why he kept coming here, it simply wasm't productive to continue doing so. Privacy was the best surface explanation he could offer when Elon questioned him; no, he wasn't spying for Ravenclaw, Merlin's beard man, he barely understood the game in the first place. How would he relay tactics and strategy if he couldn't tell a beater from a seeker? The peace of nature, the (relative) quiet of the quidditch pitch; that's all he was after. Ostensibly, it held water. In theory. In practice, however...
A textbook was open in his lap. a scroll spread out beside him, the feathered end of a quill flicking back and forth across his nose. And he wasn't paying attention to a lick of it.
Selene's quidditch appreciation hadn't blossomed until quite recently-- shortly after he'd taken on extracurricular tutoring, in fact. He was good at teaching, had the patience and ability for it, even with the hopeless cases, especially when they were frustrated with the subject matter. Which Helios seemed to be at first, panicked and desperate to keep his spot on the Gryffindor team, and Selene hadn't understood -- not entirely -- until he came to watch Helios practice.
He hadn't stopped since. The boy was poetry on a broom, and Selene doubted he knew it. Too humble, but if he could only see himself, he'd never question Selene's fixation again.
Sunset always came too soon. Or sometimes took too long, depending on Selene's mood. He gathered his things, stuffed them back into his satchel as Elon motioned for the team to huddle before dismissal. Selene needn't be privy to that; he simply made his way to the pitch instead, awaited Helios' with a sly smile and crossed arms.
"If I knew a thing about the game, I'd say you played well tonight. Though I'm certain you deserve the praise anyway."