My heart skipped a beat as the photo came to life. There we were, Jacob and I, jumping up and down and grinning at Mom. She must have thought it was because we were excited. Mischievous, giggling, and making silly faces at each other. Little did she...
Do you remember the hopelessness of watching a parent cry?
— Heather Christle, "The Crying Book"
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"Wrap it up! Go down, everyone!"
I hopped off my broom, breathing heavily and feeling somewhat disconnected from my limbs. The rest of the team followed, equally drained, stumbling, and struggling to keep their balance on wobbly legs. Today's training — formation drills, racing with a Snitch, maneuver practice — had been one of the most grueling we'd endured since Orion stopped showing up on the Pitch.
Skye and I had been doing our best to fill in for him, but the weeks were slipping by, and he showed little sign of improvement. Tensions with Slytherin were mounting too, especially given the team's lingering anger at Rath for that accidental Bludger hit on Orion.
I hunched over, gasping for air, when Skye slapped my back. The force of the hit sent a jolt through my entire body.
"So, how's Dad's training? Smashing, huh?"
She appeared to be in a good mood. I raised a finger as I continued to collect myself when Ethan Parkin, Skye's father, called us over with a hearty beckon. I hoped it wasn't another round of sprints.
"Good work, all of you. The Slytherin team doesn't stand a chance," he said, eyeing us with the kind of pride a bird has for its fledglings. "Reminds me of my first match—"
"Dad."
Ethan stopped himself mid-sentence, letting out a playful chuckle as he covered his mouth with his hand. "Right, right. Not about me. But excellent job, everyone! You're dismissed."
We sighed in relief. Professional training, something Mr. Parkin was accustomed to, had taken its toll on us. I wearily slumped onto the grass, a few more bodies joining after. We were all too tired for a proper conversation.
"I don't think I could even lift a bat right now," Bean muttered, examining her callused palms against the darkening sky. The sun had almost set, but we didn't feel the cold; our cheeks were flushed from all the intense exercises.
"I'm so wiped, I can't even remember my own name," Seeker chimed in. She squinted, first one eye, then the other, trying to capture the moon between her fingertips, much like she did catching a Snitch. "What was that again? Sarah? Juniper? Claire?"
"Penny."
Penny? I blinked, trying to discern the voice that had uttered the name. It was delicate, gentle, like a fragile spider's web adorned with dewdrops. It wasn't Seeker's low alto, or Bean's high-pitched tone, or Skye's assertive voice. Slightly propping myself up on my elbows, I scanned our surroundings to pinpoint the speaker when the stranger repeated:
"Penny!"
I looked around. The girl stood above us, fingers nervously fidgeting with her sweater, visibly distraught. A massive necklace around her neck shimmered with a soft, silver glow. A moment passed before Chiara's words registered in my fatigued mind, but Skye was quickly up on her feet. All her weariness seemed to have vanished.
