Word Count: 540
Roxanne is giddy to the point of lightheadedness. Admittedly, that isn't the best thing when she's on the job. As a Beater for Falmouth, she knows she needs to keep her head straight. Still, they are in the finals on her birthday.
"Happy birthday to me," she says, cracking her bat against the incoming Bludger and sending it soaring toward an opposing Chaser.
This is what she's always wanted. All the hard work, all the time spent practicing, all the sacrifices have all led up to this moment. Her brother had scoffed, insisting that twenty-one is an important age (maybe in America, but not here) and she ought to spend her birthday at home. She had refused, of course. She will have plenty more birthdays. But this? There's no promise that she will find herself here again.
Adrenaline floods her veins as she soars through the air, excitement quickening her heartbeat. She's so blinded by her excitement that she doesn't see the Bludger until it's too late and the world fades to black.
…
Roxanne groans as she opens her eyes. "What time is it?" She sits up, looking around and immediately recognizes the infirmary station every Quidditch pitch has. She scowls. "How long was I out, and did we win?"
Her parents are there, as is Freddy. Her brother just fixes her with that look. "This is why you should listen to me," he says with a triumphant told-you-so tone.
"No one likes a smartarse," their mother says, though she smiles at Freddy.
"Do you have any idea where we are?" Roxanne asks dryly. "The bloody finals. Like I was going to miss it."
How many people are lucky enough to have jobs they genuinely enjoy? Roxanne would sooner dress in a meat suit and jump into a dragon enclosure before missing this opportunity.
"And now you're in the infirmary at the finals," her father says. "Hell of a way to end your birthday."
"Speaking of!" Freddy practically bounces on the balls of his feet as he lifts their mother's rose-colored purse. He retrieves a small cake, lined with Cauldron Cakes, with a Chocolate Frog in the center. "Now that we know you aren't dying on your birthday…"
Roxanne should be more excited about this, but her mind is only on the match. "Did we win?"
Her father snorts. "You sure she isn't Oliver's?" he teases, earning a playful swat.
"Match is still going," Freddy says. "90-30, Falcons."
Roxanne starts to get out of bed, but her mother freezes her with a look. "No ma'am. You just took a Bludger to the head. You are resting until you've been cleared to leave."
"But, Mum!"
"Some reach for the stars," her dad says. "Some push others toward them. But today, we need to forget the stars, okay? There will be other matches. For now, let's enjoy the moment."
She sighs. Maybe he's right. Even if she's fit to get back on a broom, Miriam is a worrywort. She doesn't allow injured players to return to the match.
"Can we at least get back in the stands?" she asks. "Even if I can't be out there, I can still cheer them on."
"Only if we can bring the cake," Freddy says.
