July 24th, 1888 — Quality Quidditch Supplies

"I never thought I'd be so ready to go back to school."

The words left his mouth in heavy sigh as he perused through Quality Quidditch Supplies, his uncle at his side. As one of the youngest children of his generation, Beckett Longbottom was less than twice his age and was easier to interact with than, say, Aunt Rufina. Their shared interests—quidditch, specifically—only made Eldin more comfortable speaking to him as if he were his older brother rather than his mother's younger one.

"I guess that's because I have more to look forward to this year," he said, flashing a grin in his uncle's direction. "Less classes and more quidditch—maybe we'll win the cup this year and you'll have reason to draft me to your team." He was joking, of course; he hadn't yet decided where his future career might lie, and while quidditch was definitely an option, it wasn't the likeliest of them. Despite the differences between him and his mother, their dedication towards their ambitions was the same—except Eldin couldn't decide on just one ambition.

---

  

---

Beckett was very comfortable in his position as beloved Fun Uncle™. It was a slot carefully crafted with great gifts and adventurous outings. Or course it was entirely all too easy with his eldest nephew and their shared love of quidditch.

With Annabelle being a nutter and sending herself off to the expedition in Irvingly (she always admirably brave!), Becks also had no issues distracting Eldin with a trip to Quality Quidditch supplies for new gear for his upcoming school year. The kid had promise, he'd give him that. "Maybe I'll have to make it over for a game or two this season, just to see how you're doing." He should do that anyway. Seeing his nephew play and seeing some hopefuls out of the school all wrapped up into one outing made things all that much easier.

"Less classes is a bonus." Beck said with a bit of a smirk. "What is it you need for gear this year?" Becks knew how fast gloves could go, even when they were of good quality. Not to mention boys grew at alarming rates around this age.

---

  

His uncle's words made him perk up immediately. The thought of Beckett Longbottom—sponsor of the Wimbourne Wasps—making an appearance at a Slytherin quidditch match was unlikely to escape notice by the Hogwarts population, and it would also give him a one-up with his friends who were hoping to pursue quidditch careers.

"I'd like that, but only if it doesn't inconvenience you." Of course he was going to say that, but the thought of having his quidditch-industry uncle observing his match was already making his heart jump.

"I need - uhh - gloves, obviously. My broom and bat are still decent enough, I suppose—but if I'm being honest, all my other padding could use an upgrade."

---

  

---

Becks only passed his nephew a knowing smile. It wasn't unusual for a sponsor or two to go to matches at the school, especially toward the school year to scout for promising players. Hell, Becks was pretty sure Thom Pettigrew hosted a whole even for such purposes around the holidays. He wasn't that desperate, nor was he an organizer (or had a wife to do it for him) so he simply did things the more traditional way.

"Gloves and pads, got it." Becks started to move toward that section, stopping here and there to look at something or another as they went. "Make sure you give me your broom before school starts, I'll have it tuned by the gentleman who cares for the team brooms." There was nothing wrong with a seasoned broom as long as it was well-cared for. In fact Becks preferred an older model that he was used to instead of the newest models that required getting accustomed to.

---

  

Eldin smiled brightly, for once become all too aware of—and all too fortunate for—his advantages in life. He wasn't just a wealthy enough to afford (or rather, have an Uncle willing to buy) his quidditch supplies, but also have an Uncle involved in professional quidditch. Now all he needed was the fog to disappear so he could practice...

"I'd love that," he said warmly, eyeing one of the sparky new quidditch boxes. It always seemed Quality Quidditch Supplies, which wasn't even the highest-quality quidditch supply shop out there, always had supplies which were of higher quality than Hogwarts'. When was the last time they even got new bludgers?

"So," he prompted, glancing over his shoulder at his uncle, "do you have any insider knowledge on the quidditch league's plans for the season post-fog? Are they going to push back the season a few months?" It would only make sense; making the players play a rushed season would only anger everyone.

---

  

---

"Haven't the foggiest," Becks chuckled, pun intended. "Unfortunately. That's up to Grimm and the Department of Magical Games and Sports. I doubt they shorten it too much, but I'm never sure." Not that Becks thought Ed Grimm was doing a poor job in his new position. The change from Cavanaugh to Grimm had been pretty seamless, but the office itself always seemed to be in some kind of controlled chaos on the chance Becks had to visit.

"I hated playing in the dead of winter however, so let's hope we can avoid that." Frozen limbs, fingers, eyelashes it was ridiculous. Noticing Eldin eyeing the new box of balls, Becks nodded toward it casually. "School need new ones?" A donation here and there never went awry, even if he thought Black to be a pompous asshole.

---

  

The resumption of the quidditch season had no bearing on Eldin personally, but that didn't make him any less anxious to get his hands on the next edition of the professional quidditch standings. He always looked forward to seeing the rankings every month, and the lack of them had only made the fog all the more difficult to cope with.

"There might be a few unhappy fans if their teams suffer because of winter games," he commented before nodding at his uncle's question. "I don't think the headmaster cares about quidditch, really. He sounds like a fine man on paper, but in reality he's just - well, awful," he laughed.

---

  

---

Barking out an appreciative laugh, Becket just shook his head. "Was deputy head until my seventh year, such an asshole." Becks rather thought, for somebody who wasn't even forty at the time, had some kind of serious, sharp stick up his ass for no discernible reason. "I'll order a set and have it sent up to school for games." Somebody had to care about the school equipment, that was where he got all of his recruits after all.

Moving further into the shop, Becks stopped near the gloves. "Find a pair you like," As a man of considerable means, Becket tended to spend his own personal money making sure his numerous nieces and nephews were suitably spoiled; it was what solidified his position as Favorite Fun Uncle. He knew he had to pick up a broom for Rex too, but that could wait a bit until the chap was ready.

---

  

There was a lot he could say about Headmaster Black, but much less he was willing to say; after all, he assumed the Headmaster had played a role—however small—in seeing him appointed as Slytherin prefect. (Not to mention that Uncle Beckett was more laid-back than Eldin himself, however similar their interests might be.)

But right now, their shared interests was serving as a bonding point—and a way of him procuring new supplies. Though the rightful heir to his father's estate, it didn't help that his mother—who was currently partaking in the expedition—held the key to the Gringotts vault. It left him fairly helpless do to anything on his own at the moment.

He snatched a pair of nondescript gloves from the shelf. "Thanks, Uncle Beckett," he said with a beaming smile, "We should go flying once the fog lifts," he suggested. "We can take Rex, too."

---

  

---

"No problem at all, mate." Beckett really didn't have any issues in making sure his nephews (or nieces!) had the latest equipment. He knew it wasn't something afforded to many, which was why he'd ordered the new things for the school as well. Not to mention, since his sister never remarried, Becks felt like he owed it to both her and the kids to be around. He wasn't always an asshole after all.

Turning toward the till, Beck laughed, "Come on, let's go find out the damage." Not that he couldnt' afford it, but sometimes it was funny to see how much he invested into the sport when all was said and done.

---