Clearly someone had been smoking some serious crack when they had agreed that this was a good idea. In fact, if Noah remembered rightly, the words from Sprout had been great idea. Great idea, yeah, that was a good one. Sure he liked talking, sure he liked Quidditch, but clearly no one had picked up on the joking tone which accompanied his offer to replace Michelle for the game. So there he was, his palms positively sweating and his mouth ridiculously dry, looking out the front of the one and only top box. For once in his life he wasn't entirely sure he knew what to say, however McGonagall was staring at him expectantly and with a rather pointed swallow in a vain attempt to remind his body that saliva production was important Noah sat down. There was no escaping the fact the view was spectacular, and he watched as the stands began to fill, itching for a smoke but sure that he would only be made to put it out if he so much as tried to light one. Which would simply be a waste, and well, he only had three left thanks to his sister's ever reliable supply drying up.

Not that he could blame Ruth for having other things to worry about, and for once he appreciated her letters far more than anything she sent with them. It had only been a week since the attack on the gallery, and even though he knew his family had been moved to another house, one which was being watched by a Hit Wizard, Noah could not help but worry that someone would be back to finish the job. At first he had wanted to go home, however a stern talk from Sprout has assured him he would simply be in the way, and, ultimately, unable to do anything to help should another attack happen. Besides, apparently his mother knew far more about protective wards than Noah could have imagined, and that at least caused him to sleep a little easier.

Realising the stands had filled nearly completely, and that the teams were slowly emerging from the changing rooms, Noah cleared his throat and muttered the charm Skvortsov had taught him, causing the pebble he had been given to glow slightly. It had, Noah had to grudgingly admit, been a fantastic idea on the part of the seventh year boy, after all no one loved Quidditch quite like Michelle, however he couldn't help thinking that ultimately it was just a rock and the notion that it would record the match commentary was one he was struggling to believe, magic or not. Still, that was Skvortsov's problem, not his, and with a final glance at McGonagall he turned his attention back to the pitch and began to announce the players.


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Noah 'Waygay' van Hagens