Temporary Escape Solo

January 14th, 3:30 p.m.

She hadn't been here, on the Quidditch Pitch, broom in hand, in quite a while. Too long, really. When she'd left Quidditch for duelling, Bridget had intended to keep up on her flying because it was fun, something she enjoyed, and for a while she did make it out to the Pitch fairly regularly. And then things had gotten busy and, since it wasn't essential, she stopped. Her flying skills didn't need to be at their peak, and besides, the weather had been nasty.

The lack of time to put her Silver Arrow to good use hadn't changed; far from it, in fact. This was probably the busiest Bridget had ever been at Hogwarts, the third year juggling 11 classes, the quickly approaching second stage of duelling, and her new responsibilities as Duelling Co-Captain, something she was quite proud of. So, really, she didn't have much in the way of spare time.

But there was this other thing. This other huge, stressful thing that wasn't going away, that she could only temporarily escape through all that activity. She was constantly worrying about her brother, always opening the letters from home with shaking hands, scared of what could be inside. The updates from her parents never contained much since little had changed. The research she'd done in the library at least had allowed her to no longer be in the dark about comas. The downside of her reading was that she was starting to doubt knowledge was power, since she had all this knowledge, all this understanding of what was happening to Matthew, and was still completely powerless.

Well, maybe not completely powerless. That was the bad part. Wizards didn't suffer from normal comas like Muggles did because they could fix them. A wave of a wand, a potion, and everything was fine. It wasn't fair. Sure, wizards had their own problems. The curse in her bloodstream was evidence enough of that. But how could the wizarding community stand letting countless of their fellow humans die with the ability to do something about it? And could she have done something about it? Bridget didn't think she had any healing spells that would have done the trick, yet surely one of her spells would have done something, could have helped just a little bit. If she could have done something, and she didn't think of it when she had the chance, and he died...

And sure, she would be risking expulsion. But wasn't saving her brother more important? Maybe it was better she couldn't make that decision at all, better she didn't have to face the consequences of either choice.

She really just needed a break. There was a lot on her plate, a lot on her mind, so maybe she'd earned doing something simply because she enjoyed it. Last year in the aftermath of the spider attack and the balls, flying had been a welcome respite, a way to get her mind off things. She could use a bit of that now. No thinking, just doing.

Mounting the Silver Arrow was muscle memory, as was pushing off from the ground. She could feel it, the loss of some of her maneuverability, but that was nothing a little practice couldn't fix. A lap around the Pitch like they would do at the start of a match first, then weaving between the goalposts. She loved flying and doing it again reminded her of that. Loved the wind on her face, loved the speed. It wasn't enough to tempt her into returning to the Quidditch team, still, though if she could find the time, she should really do this more often.

As she'd hoped, flying took her mind off her brother as she concentrated on different maneuvers and flight patterns. Getting more comfortable, she went a little faster. Nothing too crazy, but there was the adrenaline, a grin forcing its way onto her face. When she finally stopped--she still had other things to do and it was getting dark--the desired effect had been achieved. For the time being, her stress had been alleviated, even if Bridget knew all the worries were waiting around the corner.

With a final loop around the field, she landed. Back on the ground. Back in reality, really. Facing that reality wasn't necessarily going to be any easier, but this had to count for something. A moment to catch her breath. At the very least, it had been another way to avoid her own brain, if even for a short while. A temporary escape.