Ready to FLY! [slytherin quidditch team]

[.RAIDEN BRYAN NOTT !]

The day had been long, uninteresting and uneventful. Raiden, made his way from the potions classroom down in the dungeons to the Slytherin common room. He had stayed back in the class to practice brewing the draught of living death. The potions master had said that his attempt had been adequate and that did not please Raiden at all so he had stayed behind to ensure that should they be asked once again to brew said potion, the result would be more than adequate and more along the lines of perfect or sublime. This was the way that Raiden Nott, son of Theodore Nott, had always done things. Being average was unacceptable to him so where in all of Merlin’s beard would he ever accept an average grade.

Although he had stayed behind to ensure that the potion was perfect next time round, Raiden had not intended to stay too long, and he had managed to complete the potion in the time that he had afforded himself. Why hadn’t he given himself more time to perfect what needed perfecting? Well, he had other duties to attend to. No, Raiden Nott was not a prefect of Hogwarts, though in all right he had thought that he deserved it more than the person who wore the prefect badge for Slytherin. Somebody that he had decided to stop thinking about and refused to even speak to beyond the well mannered greeting. Yet even though he had not been elected as prefect he had been elected as quidditch captain for the Slytherin team and that meant that he had the role of whipping the team into an unbeatable and unstoppable force, something similar perhaps to what the Dark Lord was now doing with his subjects.

Yes, Raiden Nott knew of the Dark Lord as so did everyone else within the Hogwarts grounds. However there were not many who knew that Raiden had been branded with the mark of the Death Eater and that it had been one of his many ambitions for quite some time. There was nothing like achieving something that one desired so greatly. That was why now more than anything, Raiden also wanted to attain the quidditch cup for Slytherin house. All he had to do was somehow manage to make the team work, make them work better then their opposition, make them the deadliest weapons in the sky and Raiden had a knack for all things deadly. He did not however think it would be easy. The other teams were all rather well balanced with good flyers, perhaps some even quite talented, he would not deny them that. Though it was not like Raiden to rise to the occasion and now was hardly the time not to, not now when a new quidditch captain had been named for the Gryffindor side. Someone Raiden despised perhaps even more than the person whose name he refused to utter, Albus Potter.

Without looking around as he entered the Slytherin common room, Raiden made his way up to his dormitory, collected his broom and exited both the dormitory and common room within no time at all. Raiden made it out of the castle with no difficulty, of which he was grateful. He hadn’t walked into Peaves, the most annoying poltergeist in the world, Raiden’s own opinion and perhaps even quite a few of the student body and staff of the school as well. He hadn’t run into the caretaker or any of the staff, whom he had no desire to bump into, because he was in no mood to be his well mannered self and it wasn’t long before he was making his way down the lawn toward the quidditch pitch, for Slytherins first training session after the Christmas holidays.

Entering the pitch instead of making his way toward the changing rooms, Raiden eyed the whole length of the pitch, his longing to take flight insurmountable. So without so much as a second thought he placed his broom before him and mounted it kicking off toward the goal posts, the gleaming tower high hoops within the sky. He swerved in and out of the three hoops and then pushed his broom to such speeds heading straight for the ground slowing down only feet before the ground came within reach and jumped off just in time, trudging a long his broom in hand. The exhilaration from the flight placing him in a much better mood than before. A smirk on his face he made his way to the changing room, ready for anything.