He descends swiftly to the freshly cut grass of the Quidditch pitch, quaffle tucked tightly under one arm and a grin adorning his features. Another successful training session.

He jumps from his broom and tosses it over his shoulder with a huff, running a gloved hand through his windswept ebony locks as he begins the short trek to the Gryffindor team's personal changing rooms for a well deserved shower.

His mind is full of thoughts of hearty food and the promise of relaxation.