WILD FLOWERS ✿ d.malfoy

30.

I wipe the sweat off my forehead, my hands and legs aching. The dummy stared at me with hollow eyes. I take a step back and try to catch my damn breath.

I stand with my leg parted, my hands in fists and swing my leg up. My leg collides with the dummy's head as it shakes violently before rattling to a stop. That blow would be enough to land someone in a concussion. An hour earlier, I was sitting in a wooden chair in Severus' office. He replaced that because there were sure no returning the prior one to its previous state. I didn't burn that chair, don't worry.

Since I no longer attend DADA with Umbridge I kept switching between Dumbledore and Snape. Once, Dumbledore hung me from the ceiling and I froze him in place without a wand or saying any incantation. Non-verbal wandless magic. Pretty cool, huh? Guess all those headaches do pay off.

Snape however, he likes to taunt me. He wants to teach me to control my emotions. I am definitely progressing even though I have some bursts. With the exception of the first lesson, I didn't cause any damage to life or property. No matter how many times my hands itched for a dagger or how hot my palms became or how the air seemed to have turned as dense as gravel.

But after those lessons, I felt frustrated and angry; I needed an outlet. So here I found myself, in the Room of Requirement shooting daggers or arrows or kick boxing.

I throw two more hard punches to the dummy's chest, the second breaking through the jagged wood. I curse colourfully as I pull back my right hand to find the knuckles bruised and bleeding. And my pinkie swelling ever so slightly. But the bulge was definitely there. Shit. That hurts.

I trace my wand over my pinkie. The bone joins with a snap. I sigh deeply. My knuckles are still bleeding. It looks kinda kickass, not gonna lie. Ban-aids appear in front of me and I tie them around my knuckles.

I look at my watch. Nine. Crap. It is past curfew.

I use the Disillusionment Charm over myself and walk out of the room, the door disappearing behind me.

• • •

Montague absolutely drains us in the practice. He makes us do so many drills, I lack fingers to count them on. I can now say that I have, for once in my life, done a proper cardio workout.

He shows us different tactics and formations: the Hawkshead defence where the three chasers fly in a triangle shape to force other chasers aside; the Body blow, when two chasers close in on the opponent and physically apply force to force them to let go of the Quaffle; Checking, that is getting hold of the ball right when the opponent passes it; Chelmondiston Charge, when a chaser stands on their broom and leaps, thrusting the Quaffle towards the goalpost.

I never thought Quidditch was a deep of a game as this and these weren't even all of the tactics. I enjoyed it. A lot. I enjoyed the rush of adrenaline when I would suddenly swoop down on my broom, or when I would jump from the broom and catch the Quaffle. I wanted to try the Chelmondiston Charge, but Montague forbid me from doing it just yet.

"You are doing great, I cannot deny that. But you need more practice for that," he says. Adrian Pucey is pretty good at all the tactics, so is Warrington. Montague would keeps going from us to the Beaters and Keeper and Seeker; refreshing their previously learnt tactics.

The weather tonight night is windy and bland; a few drops hit us.

I'm completely exhausted by the time we set foot back on the ground; the rest of the team mirror my condition. When Montague dismisses us, after a pep talk of how we need good team spirit to win, I feel my eyelids getting heavy.

"Practice next week. Same days, same time."

I shower fast and walk up to the castle with Cassius, Adrian and Miles (it feels kind of weird referring to them by their first names) since Andreas and Adira had to leave early, owing a detention to Professor McGonagall.