Twenty uneventful days later, Erin breathed deeply, standing shoulder-to-
shoulder facing the surprisingly daunting figure of Oliver Wood, lecturing
them on what it meant to be on a Quidditch team, and commitment, and
practicing, and probably a great many other things as well; Erin was not
listening. Despite everyone's assurances that she had to get on (the tale
of her Hortak Spiral during her first flying lesson has spread throughout
the school; she wished she knew what one was so she could remember doing it
specifically). She wasn't so sure this was in the bag, but her memories of
McGonagall's reaction bolstered her confidence.
When it was her turn, she mounted her broomstick as if she'd been doing it all her life, and rose a bit into the air, hovering above Wood and face-to-face with Angelina.
"First, let's see your flying," he called up to her. She did a bit of fancy maneuvering for him, and everyone applauded. She grinned; she's been worrying for nothing.
"Alright, good job!" he shouted. "Now, Angelina's going to throw the quaffle at you, and we're going to have one bludger going, okay? All you have to do is catch the quaffle and throw it back!" She nodded. Many things happened quickly.
Angelina threw the quaffle, first of all. Erin lunged for it, and missed it utterly.
Then the bludger came up hard on her shoulder, and Erin was too slow to avoid it. It struck, and Erin almost fell off her broomstick. She barely managed to land on her feet before her legs buckled, and she flopped onto the ground.
Wood looked appalled. Erin, struggling to rise, could feel nothing but the burning shame that started her eyes watering no matter how hard she tried to stop. Assuming this was from the pain, Wood suggested she be brought to see Madame Pomfrey. Erin rose to her feet, and one of the other candidates who'd already gone held her up as they walked off the field. Erin felt the worst she could remember feeling. Pain she could deal with, belittlement or abuse... shame was something new. She felt sick. It was a sickness Madame Pomfrey could not cure.
When they arrived, Pomfrey had efficiently cared for Erin's shoulder – no bones were broken, it would only be a nasty bruise (and less of one once Pomfrey had done smearing something foul-smelling on it and teaspooning a bit of greenish liquid into Erin's mouth). Erin rested for a few hours, and quietly left at nightfall (the soonest she was allowed to leave). Draco had come in with a scrape, but she was spared a confrontation, as Madame Pomfrey disinfected the wound and let Malfoy go; unaware of her presence, Malfoy took a moment to mutter to himself about "muggles" and "fix them soon enough; my father and I will be so pleased" before he left. Unwilling to face her fellow Gryffindors, she headed instead up, taking any staircases she came across until she emerged alone on a high tower, a solitary spire raised majestically into the night sky. She looked around her; this wasn't the infamous astronomy tower (no busy couples to be found).
She'd finally been good at something. Hah! She should have known it was too good to be true. After all, hadn't she always been, well, worthless? Her mouth tightened as she acknowledged it. She'd been so full of herself. Well, nothing to be proud of now. She was just as clumsy and uncoordinated in the air as she was anywhere else. That had been made abundantly clear. She drew a shuddering breath. Resting her elbows on the crenulated wall, she stared down. This end of Hogwarts rested on a cliff, a spit of land jutting out over the lake, and the tower she had chosen was farthest out. She stared at water black in the darkness. It suited her mood exactly. The lake is black, she thought, and all my gifts have come to naught. She did the only thing she could think of: in a voice broken with tears, she sang.
She didn't have words this time. She sang only for the song itself. She choked occasionally, trying not to cry, but they grew less and less frequent as the song grew more and more hauntingly familiar. She didn't have a very loud voice, but as more of her anxieties were lost in her song she stopped trying to sing quietly, and sang better for it. Forgetting completely about curfew, she suddenly leapt on her broomstick and flew almost straight down, until she was only a few feet from the water. She sped along its surface, strangely amazed as it rushed past her line of sight. Reaching the edge of the lake, she turned and flew sharply up, then tilted her broom almost vertical and spun, clutching the handle to her, high above the lake. Only as she closed her mouth did she realize she had still been singing the whole time. Feeling extremely embarrassed, she assured herself that at least this last bit of foolishness was private. Good lord, she muttered to herself, I ought to get a handle on myself. Still, she was barely concerned. As always happened whenever she allowed herself such freedom, everything seemed much better, and it was hard to get worked up, even in the direst of circumstances. Happy as a lark, she flew round to land at her dormitory window. As silently as she could because of the late hour, she dismounted and crept into bed.
She had been wrong, though. A group of young Gryffindors on its way to find a newly patched-up friend, and a few Slytherins who'd had the fortune to be on the highest part of their dorm – the part reserved for the latest additions to illustrious wizard families – had heard; the group of Gryffindor students had even seen. They stared at each other as Erin sped away, still feeling the effects of that bewitching song.
When it was her turn, she mounted her broomstick as if she'd been doing it all her life, and rose a bit into the air, hovering above Wood and face-to-face with Angelina.
"First, let's see your flying," he called up to her. She did a bit of fancy maneuvering for him, and everyone applauded. She grinned; she's been worrying for nothing.
"Alright, good job!" he shouted. "Now, Angelina's going to throw the quaffle at you, and we're going to have one bludger going, okay? All you have to do is catch the quaffle and throw it back!" She nodded. Many things happened quickly.
Angelina threw the quaffle, first of all. Erin lunged for it, and missed it utterly.
Then the bludger came up hard on her shoulder, and Erin was too slow to avoid it. It struck, and Erin almost fell off her broomstick. She barely managed to land on her feet before her legs buckled, and she flopped onto the ground.
Wood looked appalled. Erin, struggling to rise, could feel nothing but the burning shame that started her eyes watering no matter how hard she tried to stop. Assuming this was from the pain, Wood suggested she be brought to see Madame Pomfrey. Erin rose to her feet, and one of the other candidates who'd already gone held her up as they walked off the field. Erin felt the worst she could remember feeling. Pain she could deal with, belittlement or abuse... shame was something new. She felt sick. It was a sickness Madame Pomfrey could not cure.
When they arrived, Pomfrey had efficiently cared for Erin's shoulder – no bones were broken, it would only be a nasty bruise (and less of one once Pomfrey had done smearing something foul-smelling on it and teaspooning a bit of greenish liquid into Erin's mouth). Erin rested for a few hours, and quietly left at nightfall (the soonest she was allowed to leave). Draco had come in with a scrape, but she was spared a confrontation, as Madame Pomfrey disinfected the wound and let Malfoy go; unaware of her presence, Malfoy took a moment to mutter to himself about "muggles" and "fix them soon enough; my father and I will be so pleased" before he left. Unwilling to face her fellow Gryffindors, she headed instead up, taking any staircases she came across until she emerged alone on a high tower, a solitary spire raised majestically into the night sky. She looked around her; this wasn't the infamous astronomy tower (no busy couples to be found).
She'd finally been good at something. Hah! She should have known it was too good to be true. After all, hadn't she always been, well, worthless? Her mouth tightened as she acknowledged it. She'd been so full of herself. Well, nothing to be proud of now. She was just as clumsy and uncoordinated in the air as she was anywhere else. That had been made abundantly clear. She drew a shuddering breath. Resting her elbows on the crenulated wall, she stared down. This end of Hogwarts rested on a cliff, a spit of land jutting out over the lake, and the tower she had chosen was farthest out. She stared at water black in the darkness. It suited her mood exactly. The lake is black, she thought, and all my gifts have come to naught. She did the only thing she could think of: in a voice broken with tears, she sang.
She didn't have words this time. She sang only for the song itself. She choked occasionally, trying not to cry, but they grew less and less frequent as the song grew more and more hauntingly familiar. She didn't have a very loud voice, but as more of her anxieties were lost in her song she stopped trying to sing quietly, and sang better for it. Forgetting completely about curfew, she suddenly leapt on her broomstick and flew almost straight down, until she was only a few feet from the water. She sped along its surface, strangely amazed as it rushed past her line of sight. Reaching the edge of the lake, she turned and flew sharply up, then tilted her broom almost vertical and spun, clutching the handle to her, high above the lake. Only as she closed her mouth did she realize she had still been singing the whole time. Feeling extremely embarrassed, she assured herself that at least this last bit of foolishness was private. Good lord, she muttered to herself, I ought to get a handle on myself. Still, she was barely concerned. As always happened whenever she allowed herself such freedom, everything seemed much better, and it was hard to get worked up, even in the direst of circumstances. Happy as a lark, she flew round to land at her dormitory window. As silently as she could because of the late hour, she dismounted and crept into bed.
She had been wrong, though. A group of young Gryffindors on its way to find a newly patched-up friend, and a few Slytherins who'd had the fortune to be on the highest part of their dorm – the part reserved for the latest additions to illustrious wizard families – had heard; the group of Gryffindor students had even seen. They stared at each other as Erin sped away, still feeling the effects of that bewitching song.