Knockback PV O. Bercegeay

Seventh year, coupled with the upcoming Christmas holidays, brought a laziness to Olphie that could only be matched by a sloth. Her last Quidditch game had been completed with a Slytherin win, and though she still had assignments to do, she knew they did not matter. Books and learning did not fit into her plan, one so focused that she had already formatted the owls she would send to the Quidditch teams worthy of Olphie's beater prowess. All that was needed now was for that first statement to be true: I have graduated.

Legs thrown over the leather armchair in the Slytherin common room, boots dripping from snowy mud, Olphie paged through Witch Weekly while she admired the moving images of ab-tastic wizards. She couldn't wait to be done with the immature students of Hogwarts and move on to the greater Wizarding world, where, finally, men and women would realize they were lucky to be graced with greatness. For now, she was still stuck with Callan and Beckett, useless playthings who still didn't realize that Olphie rotated which days she kissed them. The library was such an easy cover for a tryst on the grounds when you were a seventh year. They were lucky they were cute; their N.E.W.Ts scores would surely not uncover any more intelligence.

"Come on, Olph, why are you wasting your time with those pictures?" Callahan interrupted as she gazed upon the Adonis dressed as Santa Claus. Olphie smirked as she looked up and eyed the boy intently. His reddened scars from magic pimple removal gone wrong still glowed in the dim light. He was jealous, surely wishing that he could have a smooth face like Santa, baby.

"Yeah let's have some fun," Bucket added, "I'll get you the best Christmas gift of all, duel Callan and beat him so bad he'll have to go to the Hospital Wing to recover from vomiting all those slugs."

Olphie looked back at the chiseled Santa while he nibbled on a snowman's nose. She sighed; if she didn't appease the boys they may not want to kiss her, and she didn't have time before break to prime a new beau. It would be quite unpleasant to have to wait multiple weeks sans smooch... "Fine," she boomed, "but one of you hits me with curse of the bogies again, you're dead. I will not stand for my makeup to be ruined."

Tossing the magazine aside, she kicked her heels back over the chair, leaving mud to tarnish its glossy sheen. Olphie smirked. The house elves always needed more to do, they never seemed to be working hard enough, smiling like the dopey little dwarfs they were. If they weren't going to be better, they could at least learn how to dress better than those ratty tea towels. At least now she'd be able to prove her suspicions that the elves were lazy, so maybe when they got fired Hogwarts could a maid more appealing to the eye, like a centaur.

The walk was filled with the boys trying to impress her. It was all so tedious; didn't they know that the way to a woman's heart was through smooches and roses, not ridiculing each other? At least she'd soon be given a show. She'd never say it, but she quite liked the boys bringing out their best curses to win the duel and, more importantly, her love. If they had brains they'd know that they were just placeholders until she could have real witches and wizards, but for now, the entertainment was welcomed.

The verbal jabs grew so tedious that Olphie began to envision her first match as a professional Quidditch player. She had just begun imagining knocking a member of the opposing team unconscious with her bludger when a series of crashes interrupted her line of thought. The boys continued their chatter, but not for long, as they had realized who they had come upon: that sad little first year girl, who wore scarves because she couldn't see. Cyprus, her name was, or something. Olphie had noticed her before, of course, having admired how she could turn blindness into such a fashion statement. She sometimes wondered if she had faked the ailment so that she could stand out while at school; it was an ingenious thought that Olphie would copy if it weren't impossible to fly without sight.

Cullen and Bellhop knew her as well, of course; they had come back to the common room livid when she had embarrassed Veela with a powerful knockback jinx. Olphie had feigned interest but in reality had been quite pleased; she had always viewed Verla as a threat, as she always threatened to tell the boys that Olphie was kissing both of them. The chicken with its head practically cut off had solved that issue, for while they were mad in front of Veeruh, they chortled quite loudly behind her back that a blind first year had demolished her like that.

Olphie watched the conversation with a neutral expression, irritated that the boys were taunting someone who had done her a favor, but not caring enough to intervene. The fury escalated when they grabbed the scarf with a clear disregard for fashion, but she stopped any temptation of involvement because she needed them, at least until after the holidays.

They continued, and the poor thing just stood there, the aguamenti causing her to scramble as though she was a Muggle witch capable of melting. Olphie sighed; she needed them, but this whole charade was getting ridiculous. Did Calvin and Bullshit think they were impressive to her, by beating up a child? Olphie should have just stayed to see how Witch Weekly made other wizards sexy in winter scenes. The images were forced, but the men were hot and far more entertaining than these idiotic bullies.

She was just about to turn on her heels when they took the game too far, using deprimo on Cyan. Olphie noticed the boys look back at her for approval, but their eyes would be met with rage as Olphie glanced at them, then looked behind their heads to see the child weakly fight the invisible weight that pinned her. Yes, Olphie needed their kisses, but if their kisses meant she had to watch these fools torture her savior, then so be it - she could stand to be without. Olphie would rather kiss a Muggle than humiliate a girl who could be one of her nine siblings.

"You two," she hissed maliciously, glaring at them once more, "are idiots. Stop that right now."

The duo looked momentarily shocked, but Calendar's tension immediately dissipated as he cackled, saying, "Olph, girl, c'mon - you can't tell me that you'd rather watch Beckett's legs dance over this. She humiliated Veera! She deserves this!" Beckhit clearly agreed, chortling himself.

Olphie did not. "She's a child, and a blind one at that. Vermin deserved it, attacking her like that. She should have found a partner her own size - and you should, too."

Buckhip jumped in and said passionately, "Come on, Olph, it's all in good fun, I bet she likes it. She's probably never been touched before, people're scared that they'll catch the blind plague. We're just exposing her to what human interaction is, is all." He paused, then looked back at Scifi. "That one was as though someone patted her, this one's just a little push on the swingset, see? Dep-"

Olphie had had enough; this was dumb, these boys were idiots and proving evenmore how desperately she needed to meet real men. Too frantic to protect the girl to grab her wand, she shoved the boy before he could finish his thought, so that he began instead to shriek, "What the hell Olph! Are you fucking kidding me!"

If anger was a smell, she would reek of it. "Get the fuck out," she snarled, "and my name is Olphie, not Olph, you dumbasses. Get back to me when you've learned my name and that duelling means picking on someone your own damn size, even if your brain is about the same size as a first year's."

She didn't regard whether the duo left, instead uncharacteristically murmuring, "Pieces of shit," before turning to pick up the disregarded scar and handing it to the girl. "You're fine, dear," she said as she patted the child. "I promise I won't let them hurt you any more."

Weight crushed down on top of the girl, threatening to break her trembling arms, which weren't positioned the most comfortably for the situation at hand... but was there even a comfortable position under the force? Her muscles screeched for mercy, beads of sweat beginning to slide down her temple like ants, and her eyelids slid shut as if trying to bear some of the weight on themselves. Soon the scene before her was lost to her ears or any of her other senses, and she gasped in oxygen, lungs collapsing as quickly as they inflated, like the weight was pushing her diaphragm out of her body.

When the spell lifted from her arms, Cy crumpled into herself, shaking a little, small form folding in like origami. Her shallow breaths came and went in time with the flutter of her heart. But she allowed herself less than three seconds of dazed fatigue before she remembered herself, eyes widening as the fear of cornered prey flooded back into her like ink on parchment. As far as she knew, they were still there, and they were about to do something else - she needed to defend herself! So she lunged for the wand she'd dropped, the only weapon she knew of - less lunged, more dove for it, seeing as it was about three inches from her spot on the floor - and let her brain go on autopilot, heart beating a little faster than it should have.

"Flipendo!" In a flourish of her wand, she felt the magic rocket out of her like a firecracker as she blurted out the first spell that came to her mind: the one she'd come here to practice in the first place. But she didn't expect it to have such force behind it, fueled by the urgent push toward her wand that she executed without thinking. Vaguely she remembered one of her professors' voices: your technique is good, but you're not using all of your magic. You need to stop holding yourself back. It's why your spells are always weak. And boy, was this one strong.

Not holding herself back... well, that felt strange. She'd been told to make herself smaller her whole life. It was more polite, more proper for a young lady, apparently. People liked nice, calm, studious people. It would earn her respect, and she needed to respect other people. But the pulse of energy that fired from the end of her wand was anything but the proper and civilized style of life that her parents liked to move about with.

But she couldn't count on the blast of force ten times stronger than the ones she'd used to knock vases off their pedestal earlier to keep her safe. Cy scrambled back a bit, now realizing that there wasn't really that much she could do otherwise, and gripped her wand a little more tightly, holding it in front of her like a guard between the seventh years and herself. To her horror, the girl felt tears crawling down her cheekbones like gentle sweeps of metal against her light skin, resolving to let no more fall.

Blindness enhances other senses, but this skill can be faulty when intercepted by the pulsating presence of emotion. Olphie knew this, of course, but her thoughts had been centralized on the girl's well-being, ensuring that she was safe. She had not processed the possibility of the girl's misinterpretation of the situation. All she was focused on was handing the discarded scarf back to the small, innocent child. 

"Flipendo!"

The scene changed in an instant; what had once been a scene of chaos, then calm, returned to a frantic environment of bright lights and sound as Olphie watched the blue light hurtle toward her. It was on a mission, its target determined. She was unprepared, still holding the scarf innocently as her jaw loosened to let out a scream of pain. The spell was stronger than she had imagined, coming from such a small child, and she was knocked back at such an intensity that she gritted her teeth intensely as she braced for impact. 

The strength of the spell was unreal, and Olphie's body collided with the opposing wall. Her head ached with the sensation of body against stone, as she noticed also the taste of rust in her mouth; she had bitten her tongue. The room blurred around her as she contemplated the next steps, but instead of rising, she determined the safest move would be to remain supported by the firm, cool rock. How ironic it was that the very object that hurt her was now a means of protection. From a child.

"It's okay, dear, everything is fine," Olphie boomed in her trademarked loud voice, though the syllables had a bit of a quaver to them. "And...I don't know if you know this, but I'm just trying to help you. I...have your scarf."

She hadn't realized it - the aches in her body and the rusty liquid had distracted her - but the scarf still remained in her hand, clasped so tightly that her knuckled whitened from the force of her grip. As the room began to focus once more, Olphie eyed the girl curiously, still unaware as to why, exactly, she had just cast the spell so ferociously. Did she think that Olphie was the enemy, when it was really those idiotic boys? Maybe this girl was dumber than she thought...

But again, she remembered her siblings, some of whom were around Cymbal's age. The twins, Fae and Arnoux, if they had magical ability, could have very well have been peers with the girl; yet they weren't, and somehow Olphie had taken the place of her siblings in interacting with this child, though she still assumed the protector role that she knew so well. This child teared up like the babies did when they stubbed their toes, though these were not childish tears; these tears were the result of bullies. There was only one thing she could do, and much like she did with her siblings, Olphie approached the situation with a tenderness that was unlike the tone she normally presented to her peers. "Can I come closer?" she breathed, unconsciously putting on the sweet cadence she used when the littlest ones were exceptionally sad.

"They're gone, you know," she added as an afterthought. "Bastards, they are. But I got rid of them."

She might have been shaking, she might have gotten splashed with water, she might have been humiliated, and she was absolutely done with this world and everyone in it, but Cypresse Lian was not going to cry. No more than the few tears that had escaped along with the remaining droplets of water still on her face, anyway. Those tears could suck it up and stuff themselves right back into her eye sockets, or they could go to hell. The girl blinked a few times, wishing for her blindfold so that nobody could see those blank, blank eyes, and climbed to her feet, wand still held in front of her like a shield.

The instinct to make herself smaller, to flee - it was almost impossible to ignore. But ignore it she did - she had a wand in her hand now, after all, and she wasn't going to run away again like usual. It would just make them think she was weak, she told herself, not knowing that they were gone already. And then they'd do it again.

From the sound of a body crashing against the opposite wall, her spell had worked - far better than she'd expected it to. The force of it stunned even herself, shocked that such a strong burst of magic had been cast by the little girl with a blindfold and not enough confidence that she saw herself as. And -

Wait... help her?

Yes, someone had... had stopped Beckett from casting deprimo a second time, had given her enough time to lunge for a weapon. And she hadn't been thinking, really, the sounds of panic and despair filling her eardrums enough to drown out everything else, but the stentorian voice remained in her memories. She could recall someone... crap. Crap, that wasn't who she'd wanted to hit.

Fear, more than embarrassment, at her mistake clouded her senses again. Would she be mad? Furious? Ballistic? The one person who was trying to help her out of this, and she'd hit her with a Knockback Jinx meant for Callan or Beckett. Typical Cypresse, screwing things up. But she forced it down.

Forced it down, aided by the witch's kind words. I have your scarf, she'd said, a few moments before Cy repeated the words to herself in her mind, mouthing them without pushing at her vocal cords. She has my scarf. Slowly, slowly, the girl nodded at the older witch's question, lowering her wand, though the death-tight, white-knuckled grip she had still wrapped around its handle remained unchanged. Still wary, but willing to let her help. After all, anyone looking at the plaintive, pathetic figure, half-kneeling on the floor, drenched in water and desperation, would know that she needed it.

Cy swallowed, then swallowed again, noticing how dry her throat was only when she tried to speak. "Who are you?" She didn't remember her savior's name.

As the wand lowered, Olphie's jaw relaxed; the absence of this central tension welcomed the aches from her collision from before. Her eyes scanned the scene once more, attempting to ensure that she was completely free from danger before she gave in to the feeling of pain. Just the girl. Her knuckles still whitened with tension, but Olphie could handle one girl. Just imagine that she is Fae or Arnoux. After all, she had spent her whole life taking care of those younger than her. What was one more moment?

The girl asked the question while Olphie simultaneously lowered herself to the ground. Children liked when adults met their eye-level, and though Olphie was not physically an adult, she certainly had felt that way for a long time. Those in pain often black out certain facets of life and create humor in others to cope with their realities. It may not create the best kind of person, but it allowed them to continue onward in life.

She didn't know how effective the lowering of her body was, but it allowed her to rest her limbs in a way standing could not. The girl had enough sense of sound to understand where Olphie was to cast the curse that pained her now, so she hoped that she could feel the effort that Olphie was trying to emit with the rest of her available energy. It was her only hope in releasing the tension in those knuckles and thus, the room.

"My name is Olphie Bercegeay," she began wearily, in an attempt to conserve her efforts so that she still had some ability to get herself back to her bed. "I am a Slytherin, Seventh Year. Those two who did that to you, they are - were - my friends. But I promise you, I won't let them hurt you any more."

Without realizing, Olphie's hand extended to lightly touch the girl's arm in a comforting way, much like she had done many times before with her siblings. Her protective nature had not left her, though it was different when you were emotionally ready and able to choose who to protect. The scary thing, though, about choosing who to protect, is that once you extended that vulnerable side, they could decide to not return the favor. She had seen it time and time again, but something about this girl made her hope that she would not be like Olphie's parents. 

After a few seconds, she continued: "And what is your name, dear?" As she waited for a response, she held her breath. In just a few seconds, she would see if she was an idiot like the rest of them. Like she had been before.