I lay dejectedly on my bed four days after the tryout. I gauged my lip to keep the tears welling in my eyes from falling. I was wearing my most comfortable sweatpants that used to belong to Ayden and my rattiest Irish t-shirt that had holes all down the sides from too many washings. My long brown hair was matted and dull against my wooden headboard from my recent lack of interest in caring about anything that did not involve wallowing. I was staring out the window of my room when I heard Nora call my name.

"Oi, Hayles! Post for you!"

Still, nothing could have prepared my body for the constant beating it was taking. As we neared closer to the opening of the season, we began to practice on the weekends, as well. Half of my body was covered in bruises in various shades of blue, purple, yellow, and green, and my knuckles had not healed in weeks. Nevertheless, as the summer heat subsided and the leaves began to change colors, I found I was better able to cope with the sheer physicality of it all; it was as though I had built up a tolerance to the Cruciatus curse.