And If I Lose My Footprints... SOLO fin.

Date: Saturday, 6 July 2024
Time: 06:30 – evening
Location: Rioux-Martin, France

· · ─────── · 𖢨 · ─────── · ·

France had easily become a second home to Koko throughout the years. While she used to set foot in the country and feel immensely uncomfortable – she would stumble over her words (and her Rs), and she hadn't been very close with her mum's French family – she now happily greeted her grand-père, aunt and mum in French. Her accent was imperfect, some of her words slightly garbled, an insult to everything she stood for, but perfecting her French was not her priority this summer.

She had initially entertained the idea that the only valuable use of her summer holidays would be to train. As she had been in France from the first of July, she had woken up early every morning, sometimes before the sun, and she had taken to the grounds of Leblanc Estates or else the skies, pouring so much speed and effort into everything she did that by the time it was all over, she had no idea if her eyes were red because of wind shear, or if the wind had blown away tears she hadn't realised she had shed.

She had been here over her birthday, too, back in April, when her grand-père had given her his old Oakshaft 79. He had been proud of her then, and sometimes before, and often due to Quidditch. The game that had once been fun was losing its mindless charm, that being overtaken by some crude reminder that life was not fair, was not a game and was, of course, not for the fair of heart.

After her morning practice on 6 July, Koko returned her broom to its rightful place inside the manor and began to stroll around the grounds, for once returning to her roots in that she was made to relax by being alone. The idea of returning inside to see her mum smiling warmly at her, to see her the corners of her grandfather's eyes crinkle in pride, revolted her. Pride for what? She was nothing without the game she played.

The game of Quidditch, the game of life: it was not for the fair of heart.

In her first two years at Hogwarts, Koko had cared very little for the rules except where they had given her some sort of benefit. She had initially feared authority, feared nearly everything, really, and had been very defensive because of it. She had then been willing to cut corners, to do anything for self-preservation. Her joining the Quidditch team at the end of her first year was hardly a surprise: Quidditch was not for the fair of heart.

And there had been nothing fair about her mindset. It was only after self-isolation and by her fourth or fifth year when she entertained the notion that kindness was an ideal she could hold dear; even if she truly valued her own success and safety, that did not mean that the success and safety of others did not matter.

Koko sighed to herself, her feet moving as if of their own accord. Columbine flowers lined the narrow footpath, growing alongside indigo hyacinths and gleaming white hollyhock. Her lips dragged down in a frown as she passed a few amaryllis plants, the red petals of which were beginning to wilt.

The game of life was not fair. Not to these flowers, not to anyone.

Such was life that one needed to cheat at it to succeed. And though Koko had once doubted her authenticity as a Slytherin, she understood now why the Sorting Hat had dropped her into the house of the Snakes so long ago. It was ambition. It was pride. It was cunning.

She was nice, but even Koko would not be blind to the fact that the morals she had once believed so strongly in were suddenly just suggestions instead of rules. Cheating was just another option, no longer a last resort. She could almost laugh at it now, in hindsight; if the Koko of the past had known that seventeen-year-old Koko would think like this, she would have been horrified. Throughout the years, she had trekked through the mud of losing, just to throw away her values, her ethics, her morality.

But Quidditch, life, was not for the fair of heart.

The game was not so fun to play anymore. No longer did the feeling of wind against her cheeks bring joy to her heart; no longer did Koko have to fight to hold back a giddy smile during games of Quidditch. It would be difficult for her to hold in her emotions, of course, but rarely was she simply happy. Instead, in games, she had to fight not to yell, to scream, to swear, or rather, to not have a manic grin on her lips in the face of success. This thing that had followed nearly her entire life at Hogwarts was no longer hers; instead, it was as if it had overtaken her.

Smaller Koko would have dug her heels into the dirt and made a name for herself. Bigger Koko simply used her broom to brush away the footprints of the past in the name of a stronger future. Call it unfair. Call it necessary.

(That wasn't to say she didn't have regrets, didn't wish she had rebuilt her trust in her family through something other than ruthlessness. That wasn't to say she didn't wish she had done things differently. That wasn't to say she didn't wish she hadn't thrown away the ethics she had once internalised so firmly.)

She had lost her way, but she had found a new way out. She rounded another corner, her gaze catching on the leaf of a bay laurel as she made her way back to the manor. Beneath it rested a cluster of columbines and amaryllis. The red and blue colours contrasted and blended together at the same time, and slowly, Koko smiled. It was not a soft smile. Her gaze was cold.

She bent down and broke one of the amaryllis flowers off of its stem. Her family would not mind. She gazed at the red-and-white flower that rested between her pale fingers, and she bit back a laugh that threatened to bubble out of her throat like shaken-up sparkling water. She would not drop the flower as she entered the manor, instead opting to spin the stem between her index finger and thumb like a toy propeller. The blue of the columbines beckoned from behind her, but she refused to accept their beguiling call, opting instead to smile and wave at her aunt as she entered the house.

She was one of Slytherin's Quidditch captains, after all. Whatever her reservations to their tactics, they must be cut now, at the root, before they could stem into further fear. Koko was done with being scared. It had defined her for too long. There was an art to overcoming, at least, and if ruthlessness and cunning and pride and ambition were to be the song she sang, then fine, so be it.

Life was not for the faint of heart.

Life was not for the fair of heart.

· · ─────── · 𖢨 · ─────── · ·

1/3 · 2/3 · 3/3