ᴏᴍɴɪꜱᴄɪᴇɴᴛ ✵ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴜꜱ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ✵

𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈

☼ ꜰʀᴇʏᴀ ☼

»»-------≪ °❈° ≫-------««

To say Freya is hungover is an understatement. A deathly hangover would suffice as a better term. To make matters monstrously worse, she is shaken violently awake. The moment her bloodshot eyes flutter open, her impaired vision can barely make out Emmeline standing over her with a stern expression, hands upon her hips. It takes a valiant effort for Freya to withhold from leaning over and retching on the floor beside her bed. 

"Freya, you have to get up!" 

"I'm not sleeping. I'm dead," Freya grumbles hoarsely, flipping onto her side. "Leave flowers and get out." 

"Allow me to reincarnate you." The sweet comfort of her comforter is ripped away, and Emmeline tosses it aside. "Quidditch practice, come on!" 

With a grimace, Freya sits up and squints through the window. A thin mist hangs over the pink and gold that intertwine dimly upon the horizon. "Van," she croaks out, "it's the crack ass of dawn." 

"Sleep is for the weak, Montgomery," says Emmeline. She's already in her quidditch robes and her eyes gleam crazed enthusiasm. "And our team is not weak. This will be our year." 

Shivering with the shakes, Freya yawns as she climbs out of bed. Once on her feet, the room sways almost causing her to lose balance, and she uses the bedstead to steady herself. As she searches for her quidditch robes, the dorm continues to swirl before becoming stationary again. 

"I see the sunday scaries are withholding you from sunday funday," Emmeline chortles, her mouth curling into a slanted smile. 

"I got one nerve left and you're getting on it," Freya mutters. 

Emmeline only winks. "Better see you on the field in fifteen minutes." 

Before anything, Freya conjures a glass of water, but the thirst stays after each slow sip and her head feels fit to crack open. She thinks of yesterday's activities and winces, she doesn't think she's ever drank that much in her life. Eventually, she does find her navy blue team robes, then she brushes her teeth and throws her hair up into a high ponytail. 

As she pulls on her cloak for warmth, she enviously peers at Pandora and Dorcas, who sleep soundlessly in their comfortable beds. And Preston, who hums softly with content in his cage. Then Freya dreadfully forces herself to the quidditch pitch, her Nimbus One Thousand on her shoulder. 

The rest of the Ravenclaws are already in the changing room, though they all appear to be just as exhausted as Freya. The only one wide awake is Emmeline. Kingsley and Benjy sit back to back with puffy eyes. Bertram Aubrey, the keeper, seems to be nodding off against the locker behind him. The other two Chasers sit on the opposite side yawning; Davey Gudgeons and Amelia Bones - both seventh years. 

And then, of course, the substitute players all crowd in the back, probably exasperated they have to be here early at all if they just sit on the bench every match. 

"Look alive, team!" Emmeline announces ecstatically and claps her hands together. 

Freya groans internally, a few groan externally. Emmeline holds up a large diagram of a Quidditch field that is covered with drawings of lines, arrows, and crosses in different color inks. She taps her wand against the board so that the arrows begin to wiggle in different directions. Then she launches into an extensive speech about new tactics. Benjy's head droops right onto Freya's shoulder and he begins to snore. 

After what felt like hours, Emmeline finishes her speech and tosses the board at Benjy, who jerks awake with a startled gasp. "So," she says, eyes flickering from each teammate, "any questions?"