"Broken"
Ginny stared out at the field that had been the Burrow's makeshift Quidditch pitch for as long as she could remember. Her fingernails bit into her palms and she had to force herself to unclench them slowly and breathe through the overwhelming feelings of anger and helplessness at her situation. What was she supposed to do now?
It seemed like her whole life had revolved around Quidditch. If she closed her eyes, she could vividly recall some of her earliest memories. At 4, she toddled around the field begging Charlie for a ride on his new broom. At 6, she'd broken her arm by crashing into a tree because she'd snuck off with Bill's broom to try out something she'd only seen her brother attempt once. At 8, she'd hid in an apple tree and watched Oliver Wood demonstrate a Wronski Feint to an adoring audience, Fred and George. Her summers revolved around improvised games and her school years were dominated by team practices and strategies.
Ginny firmly believed that the only reason she lived through the war is because she was on aerial attack rather than fighting from the ground. The ground made her feel heavy, clumsy, and unwieldy, but the air – oh, being in the air was like nothing else! Some days, she felt like she had wings, soaring as high as she wanted to go, shooting low until she nearly collided with the ground, only to save herself at the last minute.
The Hornets had scouted her after the war was over, and she eagerly accepted, desperate to stay off the ground in those vital months "after" when it was all her family could do just to make it through each day. The air was her escape from a household turned stifling. She trained hard so her mind would be exhausted at the end of each day.
She pulled the window down harshly, shutting out joyful cries and noises from the pitch and wheeled her chair to face the other direction. The potions accident had rendered her legs useless. The Healers said she would never regain use of them, and that they were impervious to magic.
Angrily, Ginny wheeled her chair back to the window just in time to see her daughter score against Bill's oldest daughter. How badly she wanted to be out there refereeing, cheering her daughter on!
But no more. Her wings were broken.
Day 2, Broken.
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