The past three weeks had been brutal. Katie had been at the pitch from six till ten, six days a week. But she [i]needed[/i] to make the cut. If she didn’t get onto the team, she wasn’t going to get onto any team. Who else would take a chance on her? Katie Bell, damaged goods, the girl who took every opportunity to foul and fight. It was the Falcons or bust.

Finally, Fenrir and Gutaale had sent word that they had selected a new team. Katie Bell couldn’t sleep at all the night before, throwing and catching her stress ball over and over until her kneazle, Freddie, tackled the leather sac out of the air. She reluctantly rolled out of her bed, staggering to her shower, waving her wand at the tea kettle on the way.

Katie breathed deep, studying her reflection. She’d pulled her wet blonde hair into a lazy milkmaid braid, to keep it out of the way during practice. Her freckles had only gotten darker; it had been a hot summer. She had never seen this much sunshine in all her years in England. The split lip she’d earned from a wayward bludger was finally healing up. After the fucking necklace, most simple healing charms couldn’t quite patch her the whole way up anymore. Her bones could still be set, and life threatening injuries could be managed, but little things—black eyes, cuts, sore ribs—they remained stubborn in the face of magic.

Katie shrugged on her uniform, dark grey and white, praying this would not be the last time she would wear it. She’d worked so hard, had never played better Quidditch in all her years. She needed this. She needed to prove she wasn’t broken, that she could still be the scariest witch in the league.

She apparated after feeding Freddie, the stadium appearing before her in a rush. It was as crowded as it had been the day their team had been discovered to contain Death Eaters. Katie, blessedly, escaped most of the cameras, hitching her bag on her shoulder and making her way indoors.

They had assembled on the pitch. Katie fell in with Kamala, punching her shoulder encouragingly. The dark witch offered a tight smile, clearly worried. 

“Hey,” Katie greeted, looking around. Everyone looked grim. Fenrir and Gutaale stood in the center of their makeshift circle, a rolled up parchment in their Captain’s hand. “Good luck.”

“You too,” Kamala squeezed her hand. Katie looked around. That should be everyone, shouldn’t it?

“We're still waiting on one more person,” Gutaale intoned, as if he’d read her thoughts. “We’ll get this over as quickly as we can.”