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ten years old
Man was never meant to fly. At least not without the support of something reliable like magic or something that lacked feelings and personal impulses like machines. Beasts with wings were abhorrent and should only be observed, respectfully, from a distance.
And so how did Cedric find himself at a flying derby race, of all things? Well, how was it that he ever found himself doing things he resisted? A blue-eyed girl who radiated sunshine from every inch of her being begged him so sweetly to see his championship race. Nothing could mean more to her than his presence there and so he sat, tucked away in the Royal box behind the King and Queen and Princess Amber while trying desperately not to bite his nails in anxiety.
She was so high. That purple horse was taking her higher and higher and higher and, Merlin's forsaken mushrooms, even higher. He was leaning over the railing of the box - when had he stood up? - to keep her in his sights. How was this allowed for children? It wasn't safe. Cedric knew, he knew something was going to go wrong.
He had never so hated being right.
She was falling. Sofia had fallen out of her saddle and was plummeting from the sky. Chaos surrounded him. Cedric couldn't panic. He didn't have the time for that. Sofia didn't have the time for that. He drew his wand and felt his mouth move and magic run through him, through his conduit of a wand, and shoot to the ground below Sofia, softening it just in time for her impact. And then he was running. Running to her side and shouting orders. This authoritative creature took him over and informed people of where to go and what to do.
She was fine. She was fine. She had to be fine. Of course she was fine. He was at her side and she was awake and groaning and not moving her left arm but she was fine. He was there and she smiled weakly at him as he scooped her up in his arms and took her from the field and hell if he would ever let her near a flying horse again.