Shattered Wings PV|Annie M.

Date: 23rd of June, 2025
Location: Quidditch Stadium
Mentions: @Prat Pass
Word Count: 773

When you are about to move on to the next stage in your life, nostalgia hits you where it hurts. In only a weeks' time, Annie would be graduating from Hogwarts and would have to face the real-world head on. As much preparation as the school had done for her, she couldn't help but reminisce. The classes, the food, the friends, the memories. The latter brought her back to where it all began.

She stood on the Quidditch Stadium, well, on the turf to be more exact. She had only ever felt it when she was sent colliding to the ground with it, which was rare in the positions she had played on the team, being sort of all but one. She stood frozen, hands tucked deep into her pockets as the wind brushed by her face, recalling her Quidditch journey.

Chaser came first, she never stood out next to Aaron Jones, but her first few years on the team was glorious as they had an unbeatable team alongside Serena Towers, Quinn Healy, and Howard White, to name a few legends. The day of the match against the foreign schools, Durmstrang to be exact was unforgettable. All but three members of their team, first and second strings were knocked from the sky, and they had to celebrate their clenched victory in the Hospital Wing. A small chuckle escaped her lips, tucking the stray strands of hair behind her ears as she crouched down, fiddling with the grass beneath her fingertips.

Then came Beater, it was merely a filler position as a few of the younger members fell ill. Granted, she had luckily been taken off duty before an official match occurred, but that training she did with Saskia was terrifying. She had a lot of respect for the students who had to wield a bat and throw their full swinging force at the bludger while not flipping off their brooms. A soft smile slipped on her lips as she rolled the grass blades along the inside of her fingers.

Lastly was Keeper. The position she occupied for the most of her time on the team. Granted, Chaser was the only position she really was on the field as she was a second-string to Atlas Reid, her voice was still heard and valued as she had been around for a lot of strategies and rule-changing over the years. She hadn't even realized her effect on the team until she announced her resignation at the beginning of the year. It hit Landon Matthews, her best friend and the new Second-String Keeper the most. Yet, she entrusted him to take her role and go above and beyond just like the rest of the team had done.

Her body felt warm and tingly from the memories that weighed heavy upon her heart. She would miss this place. Just as she had begun to stand up, turf sprayed in the air, her once previously warm body hit a hard object, a lot larger than a bludger, causing the wind to be knocked out of her. The object had grunted, and she connected the dots someone had ran full-speed into her. Damnit, she was stupid for standing in the middle of the stadium, people definitely could've been here at this time. As she lay on her back, her heart pounding and head aching from the collision, questions spun in her head. Why weren't they on the Training Pitch? That was intended for anyone who wanted to practice without potential for injury.

Then her own voice met her ears, the blood still pulsing in them as she tried to figure out her surroundings, wiggling her toes and fingers slowly to get feeling back in them.

"Hah... I'm alive.. I don't know about the turf though.. who-- are you?"

A rasp escaped the girl as she forced herself upright to a seated position instead of being sprawled out, elbows shaking as she support her upper body, she felt dirt crumbs roll off of her at the movement. In an attempt to pin-point the voice, she furrowed her brows but the rapid-fire questions did not help her headache.

"No need to get anyone, ah.. can you get my wand I'll just bandage my head."

I had felt my robe pockets and concluded it did get knocked out upon the impact. Go figure. In the meantime, I began to collect my breath, running my hands over my shoulders, forearms, legs and other areas, seeing if anything stung. A trip to the Hospital Wing with a singular week left before graduation would be the cherry on top of her entire time here. Thanks, Stranger.

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23rd June 2025; Quidditch Stadium

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There were a dozen better places Prat could’ve visited that afternoon. The edge of the Great Lake, the eateries at Hogsmeade, or even dived straight into the Forbidden Forest if he wanted a more temporary escape from the spiraling week he had been enduring. But Alas, his grief-addled, broom-gripping, brain-on-autopilot self had chosen the Quidditch stadium, much to the dismay of one unaware Seventh year.

And now, he’d just committed vehicular manslaughter with a silverarrow.

The impact from his crash had thrown him off-axis so violently he was briefly convinced his soul left his body and hovered five feet in the air as it debated whether to return or say it's goodbyes. Turf sprayed into his eyes, his shoulder ached, and something or someone was definitely bleeding. His pride surely was.

Groaning, he blinked through the blur as he tried to compartmentalize the pain, trying to determine whether he’d crashed into a goalpost, a disgruntled Bludger, or Merlin himself come to take him away.

But no, it was worse. It was a person.

A very real, very human looking one who was now sprawled across the field like a broken marionette.

His stomach sank upon recognition of who it was.

"Oh no," Prat muttered, staggering upright, limbs wobbling like a newborn deer. "No no no—"

He skidded toward the figure, practically tripping over his own broom before dropping to his knees beside her, Dirt clung to his robes as they now sadly turned grass-stained. A crime against his impeccable sense of fashion. But the boy certainly had bigger concerns for now.

"Hah... I'm alive..." the girl rasped. "I don't know about the turf though... who— are you?"

Oh Merlin. Had he actually concussed a Seventh Year into amnesia??

Prat froze. "I— are you serious? Do you not know you you are or are you not sure who I am? Because there's a big difference between both and I'm not emotionally equipped for either. We've met before however, not that it's important right now."

He peered at her closer, trying to go over her once, to make sure she wasn't hurt beyond what looked like his apparent rough landing.

"It’s me, Prat," he said quickly, before she passed out again or tried to wand him into the next week. "We’ve met, more than once. I’m in Slytherin, second-year." and unfortunately now also guilty of being a human battering ram.

She looked alive, for now. That was a start. Dazed, sure, but she was alive.

As she asked for her wand, Prat scrambled to his feet and started combing through the grass like a ravenous Niffler. "Wand, yes of course, any recognizing info? color, length?"

Before she could give him more information, the four eyes had done their work. "Aha! found it."

He plucked it from the turf like it was Excalibur itself, holding it up triumphantly, then instantly regretted the dramatics of his actions. "Annie, quick, here you go," he said sheepishly, carefully offering it like she might bite him.

"I’m really sorry. I didn’t see you there, I wasn’t really, um, aiming? I mean, obviously I wasn’t aiming for you. That’d be awful and. Like, premeditated. But I was just flying around without thinking. I should've been careful watching out."

He winced back, trying to dial down his mumbling and apologies. His mouth was doing that thing again. Running without brakes.

She propped herself up and brushed dirt off like a soldier returning from war, while Prat just stood there, hovering awkwardly like a bystander at a crime scene. Which, to be fair, he technically was, the crime was his own too however.

"Do you want me to get someone for help?" he asked quickly. "An adult, I mean. Not that you’re not an adult, I mean, you should be graduating soon, right? But like, a "staff" adult. Professor or the nurse. Or the caretaker. Actually, maybe not caretaker. I don't want to be framed for murder just yet."

He rocked on his heels, chewing the inside of his cheek.

This was it. This is how he was going to get expelled. She’s probably going to report him, and he’ll be banned from brooms for life. Or worse, she’ll hex him bald in his sleep. Or set the mean girls squad on him. Could Seventh Years do that? Gang up and beat kids? They probably could. They had advantages. Access to secret passageways and vengeance plots and-

He shuddered at the thought as he shook them away.

"Okay," he said, more to himself than her, exhaling. "Let’s do a quick check on you. You’re breathing. You’re sitting up. You didn’t scream or vomit yet. Those are all signs of you not dying. That’s good. That’s great, actually, I'll get an adult and we'll be able to live through this."

He gave a her tiny, apologetic nod as he looked down with the shame of someone who nearly committed attempted murder, just enough to peek past the panic. Not the confident gaze he usually held, Because he wasn’t confident. He was 13. And terrified.

"If you need to hex me, give me a time and place, and then just give me a three-second head start for running away," he added solemnly. "Or at least aim low. I still require my face for photos and paintings."

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Date: 23rd of June, 2025
Location: Quidditch Stadium
Mentions: @Prat Pass
Word Count: 680

Besides being the victim of a nearly fatal broom crash, it seemed the one at fault was the more delirious of the two. And he asked too many questions, poor lad was hysteric. The brunette sat on the peeled-up turf, the frantic babbling of the younger student going in one year and out the other. Once the boy, still throwing somewhat of a hissy fit at her obliviousness to who he was, retrieved her wand, she'd stand up slowly and dust off the dirt that collected on her robes.

"Herbivicus", she'd direct her wand tip to the ground waiting for the crackling sound to emerge from the tip of her wand in combination with the bright jet of light, which she couldn't see anyways. It took a moment, but the swishing of the grass as it sprouted up from the ground and re-rooted itself to the dirt made the patches that got ripped up look somewhat neater, returning the lush green field back to a proper peaceful looking stadium. Although moving the discarded pieces would be another problem for later. Annie pursed her lips, her wand hadn't reacted right away. Perhaps it had knocked something loose upon impact, just what she needed. Either way, she wasn't going to take chances on bandaging her head at this rate. Nor did she know if she even needed it. Her other hand not grasping the wand came up to touch her head, no blood, just a slight twinge of pain and a headache that could definitely be cured by not having a student chirping in her ear.

Turning back to face the direction of the voice, she'd open her mouth to respond. Prat. That name did ring a bell. "My apologies if I can't place a name to a voice I've only heard once or twice in my 7 years here, especially after nearly being concussed. Y'know if you can't handle a Silver Arrow you should really be in the Practice Pitch where there's less obstacles." A small joke was inserted in there, although her lip twitched in unease. A Silver Arrow was merely a step up from a Nimbus 1200 or even the splinter-filled school brooms. She cherished hers, but she also knew it was well behaved and didn't usually act up. The boy probably had a lot on his mind, after all it was the end of the school year.

A bubble of laughter escaped her as words continued to spill from his lips. His anxiety was perhaps justified if she did have anything more than a few bruises and some dirt on her. Rather, it reminded her of herself at that age. Nostalgia hit her hard in that moment, causing her smile to falter. "I can assure you murder was not the crime committed here today, but if you ever find yourself in a similar situation you might be screwed, hanging around a crime scene is not a good look for you." A small cluck of her tongue was made, an amused twinkle filling her usually cloudy gaze.

After collecting herself, she'd slide her wand back into her pocket, her gaze turned back towards the sky. She was trying to place where she had met Prat previously. He wasn't apart of Quidditch, nor Broom racing if she could recall correctly. It was ironic he had a broom them but would make sense why he couldn't fly it. Or... then again, he could've been having a rough day. So, she decided to ask.

"What's on your mind, little snake? Please breathe. I won't hex you. Not like I can aim well anyways, and we can go the Hospital Wing afterwards if you really care about my well-being, or, well doing the right thing." Not giving him the chance to back out, she'd resume her seat on the grass with a quick plop backwards although not sprawled out this time, merely in that of a listening crisscross position, one of her palms providing her chin a resting spot, and the other fidgeting with the fresh blades of grass beneath her finger tips.

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Quidditch Stadium

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Prat stood there, broom still in hand, getting his breath back from the severe panic attack he was going through as the older girl—thankfully still alive—sat herself up from the turf he had nearly planted her into. His heart was hammering in his chest, the handle of his silver arrow slightly loosening and shaking from his grip. He'd come so close to potentially killing a fellow student, brilliant series of events he thought bitterly. End the school year on a high note, commit manslaughter.

When Annie finally spoke, her tone seemed more amused than furious. "My apologies if I can't place a name to a voice I've only heard once or twice in my seven years here, especially after nearly being concussed. Y'know, if you can't handle a Silver Arrow, you should really be in the Practice Pitch where there's less obstacles."

He blinked, Was she joking? After nearly being flattened by him?

There was a flicker of relief, at least the only thing broken was her humour and not her neck, followed by an immediate scowl as she brought his broom skills to question. "Excuse me, I can handle a Silver Arrow just fine," he retorted, tone clipped and defensive. "I'm really good with a broom, thank you. This was a——one time incident." That sounded pathetic. Sighing, he continued," I don't usually crash into people."

He ran a hand through his hair, removing bits covered in grass, before adding with genuine remorse, "Still, I apologize once again. I should've paid more attention. I'll take care of your medical bills, should you require any regarding this event."

With Annie's laughter, Prat froze for a second, unsure of what to make of her strange behaviour. Fleeting moments made him wonder if the fall had made her lose it. Maybe she hit her head harder than she perceived. Perhaps Hysteria or mild psychosis were taking effect. (He didn't know what these words meant, he'd just her heard them somewhere and thought they sounded fancy.) That would in tune with his luck, First broom crash with the additional bonus of traumatic brain injuries for his victim.

"I can assure you murder was not the crime committed here today, but if you ever find yourself in a similar situation you might be screwed, hanging around a crime scene is not a good look for you."

"I'm aware," he replied immediately, almost too quickly. "It's not a good look for me at all, but it'd be dishonorable to leave you there." His tone shifted, quieter and firm, more grounded. "If it had been something serious, I'd rather stay and make sure you got help in time. Time often decides between life and death."

Running from responsibility wasn’t something he could stomach.

Annie sat down once again, tucking her wand away as she looked entirely too calm for someone who'd just been attacked with an air to ground projectile. When she addressed him again, questioning what's on his mind. "What's on your mind, little snake? Please breathe. I won't hex you. Not like I can aim well anyways, and we can go the Hospital Wing afterwards if you really care about my well-being, or, well doing the right thing." He exhaled in relief. Well she was neither dead nor angry, both lovely outcomes for his sake.

Her offer to go to the Hospital Wing was practical, but the question that came before stuck in his head like a splinter.

"What's on your mind?"

He blinked with confusion, it was rare, very rare, nobody had ever asked him that since his arrival to the school. The natural instinct came first: denial. "There's nothing on my mind," he spat out automatically, almost scoffing. "Why would there be anything?"

He crossed his arms, looking away with a hollow but sharp tone. Holding it there for a few seconds, then, as the silence lingered, the bravado drained out of him. Sighing, his shoulders fell first, sharply and he ended up lowering himself into the grass somewhere around her.

He spoke, fingers pulling a few loose blade meanwhile, "Well.....it's not really a big deal. I'lve liked dueling ever since I was little," he began with a steady voice, thoughtful in it's cadence. "My dad was brilliant at it, one of the best ones I've ever seen. But I—" He hesitated, finding it hard to vocalize the reality he always knew to be the truth. "I'm awful at it. Not one duel won, not even an unofficial one."

With a small, bitter laugh he continued, "There's a part of me that gets jealous, I guess. Of certain people in my year. Some of whom I even consider friends. They're all so brilliant. Talented, quick, accomplished, skillful. And I'm sort of just...there. Doing something but surely not the right thing. Never quite catching up."

He tugged free another blade of crass, curling between his fingers. "It feels pathetic, being jealous of people you actually care about. But I try and it's just not enough."

For a few seconds, he just sat there in silence, the words hung there awkwardly. He rarely spoke, at least not that honestly or as vulnerable. But it was also a little cathartic and freeing. Almost immediately, he shook his head and forced his tone back to its usual nonchalance.

"Anyway," he said, brushing his hands clean, "It doesn't matter. I'm fine, you're alive. Let's go see the nurse, ensure neither of us suffered a concerning injury and then proceed on our separate ways."

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XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXI promise and deliver

Date: 23rd of June, 2025
Location: Quidditch Stadium
Mentions: @Prat Pass
Word Count: 797

A comfortable silence filled the air for a moment as the boy unable to find a quip to respond to her jokes sat there likely contemplating the fact that he, somehow, had not broken her. Alas it didn't last for long as her joke translated into an insult apparently given how he decided to snark back at her attempted light-heartedness. "Excuse me, I can handle a Silver Arrow just fine," Annie snorted in between the pause as he selected the next choice of words carefully, deciding on it being a one-time incident.

"Hey well look where a one-time incident landed me." Annie pointed to her eyes, a bemused smile sliding onto her face as she casually joked about her biggest flaw. Her hand slid back down to her sides as she wrapped them around her torso, holding back a heavy laugh that broke free from her at the comment about paying for her medical bills.

"Hah! You're a funny one Prat. No I don't want your coin, I think I'd be better off taking a potion that I know is free of charge from the Hospital Wing. I don't like owing people money or favors." Her shoulders shrugged as her hands released from her sides. Yeah, there would be some bruising for sure. The small ache under her fingertips was an apparent sign of that.

Her eyebrows shot up at his next reply. How many crime scenes had he been around? No matter the fact, she'd recover her face, keeping a neutral expression as more words flowed from the haphazard boy. A firm line planted on her lips, his logic was true, and almost scary for a kid his age. It definitely made the gears in her head turn, yet she held her tongue for now. Annie was known to be quite pushy when even a tad bit of information was presented to her that she was previously made unaware of or deemed important. The downside of being an only child perhaps.

The next string of words came out like a hiss, not unusual for a Slytherin though. Annie put her hands up in defense. "My bad if my intuition was off. You don't have to talk to me. But, seeing as you are continuing the conversation you definitely have something on your mind. Come on now, I'm here for what a week left? I won't be spilling any secrets since you won't ever see me again." When she put that perspective on things, a small pang hit her stomach, but her offer to listen could be priceless so she provided it as an outlet.

And then he opened up. Slowly, tentatively at first as if this was the first time anyone asked him if he wanted to talk and actually cared. It saddened her a bit. So young with so many emotions and no way to express them without fear of judgement. She too had been in that position more than once. "Dueling..?" Annie hummed. She had signed up for Quidditch and never looked back, perhaps she missed out on other opportunities because of it. Although dueling wouldn't be plausible at all with her vision. How should she approach her response? It took the girl several minutes to mull over what had been given to her.

"I like art and can't draw if my life depended on it. Some things we like or love we just have to view from afar, and we have to be okay with that. But tell me, what are you good at? What is something that you could brag about endlessly?" Annie clasped her own hands in her lap, opening up the conversation to something more positive. Surely, he had to be good at something else, maybe running more people over with a broom could become a unique skill.

Her hands found the grass, the blades tickling her fingers as a soft sigh escaped her. Jealousy. A feeling she was all too familiar with, in various scenarios."Jealousy is not something to feel ashamed about. Rather, it should be used as a motivator. And if you really care about those people so much, ask them for help. It's not a weakness to ask, and that way you can build your relationship with them more."

It seemed the boy had said all that he wanted to say. She hesitated, not wanting to push it. Annie slowly pushed herself up from the ground, giving herself another once over with her hands. She tilted her head to the side, in question. "Do you feel any better? Funny I'm asking you this after a failed assassination attempt." A small smile tugged on her lips. She knew he would be okay, and honestly, getting plowed by a broom was a good wake up call. Thanks, Prat.