Theodore had had a long and trying day. Along with attending his normal lessons - the homework given out in which had been forsaken that night - he had spent every free moment out on the Quidditch pitch with Crabbe and Goyle. He had been serious when he had told Daphne and Tracey that he'd deal with them; he didn't feel that their heads were in the game enough if they had time to go around pestering girls to go to the dance with them. He knew they were more than a little dense but - after a good many hours of pitch laps and Bludger play - Theo reckoned that the two might finally have got the message.

Now it was nearing the onset of curfew and they hadn't long retired to the castle. Theodore, however, still stood on the pitch. He was drenched in sweat, hair wind-swept and robes streaked with mud. And he looked troubled. It hadn't been until the summer before his 5th year that he had beefed up from being a human twig and the last year - his 6th - had been spent playing reserve for the Slytherin team. The fact that his talent on the pitch had become so noticed by the end of that year that he was guaranteed a spot on the team for his final year at Hogwarts and voted in for the Captaincy was irrelevant. He knew that his skill wasn't as refined as some of his competitors - no matter how diligently he trained - and he just had to trust that the sheer magnitude of his talent was enough to overcome this. Oh and there was also spending every waking hour on the Quidditch pitch in the run-up to the game. That helped.