Cynthia MacLanley

1853: Collision

"Un more go, Papa," scowled Cynthia, striking the poor, battered Bludger determinedly with surprising power for her size. She drew the broom's nose up sharply, pulling her self-named Bellona higher into the bright blue bowl of the late August sky. Halfway between her and the heather-filled ground, Donovan was ready and astride on his now-obsolete broomstick. The weary Bludger half-charged and half-fell towards its target, who smacked the ball at an odd angle. Cynthia saw her papa's strike propel the Bludger along a lateral path, and also saw it as it reduced speed and looped to return to its sender.

Even though her father was closer to the Bludger than her, with the distance between the two quickly closing, Cynthia decided to take the incentive and streaked towards the moving target's path. Donovan, on the other hand, had put both of his eyes on the Bludger, and was determined to correct his aim and deliver the iron ball to his daughter properly. The only problem was that his last glimpse of Cynthia placed her a hundred feet above him in the air, not thirty feet away and closing. The returning Bludger whipped through the rising easterly wind, determined to return a blow to its attacker. Donovan had just raised his bat when Cynthia suddenly darted in front of him and deftly sent the ball flying with a sharp crack of wood on metal.

The Bellona, in both speed and handling, outstripped Donovan's broom, and he could barely stop the arc of his swing into the side of his daughter's head, let alone the ensuing collision. Cynthia's slight frame couldn't help but be knocked from her post by Donovan's bulky mass, and for an unbelievable second it looked as if Cynthia was going to fall. He shouted in horror as she shrieked in terror, but the girl had one knee and foot secure, and Donovan held her other foot in an iron grip. "C'mon, Cyn!" begged her father, and she quickly regained enough of her senses to grab onto the front of the Bellona and haul herself back onto her broom.

"Yeh alrigh'?" asked Donovan, his heart beating as quickly as his daughter's. Holding onto both Cynthia and her broom, he began to float downwards to the ground.

She took a big gulp of air and swallowed it. "Aye," she said, blinking rapidly and trying to regain focus.

When they had touched ground again, Donovan took his shook-up daughter by the shoulders and looked at her seriously "Wha' were yeh doin', lass? Yeh nearly took yerself awt, ne'ermind yer poor ol' Pa! D'ya think we'ure playin' Creaothceann or some keenda dayur-game?"

"I- I thought I would hit it for yeh...," she stammered.

"Di'n't I teach yeh tha' yeh wouldn' geh lookin' fer trouble?" continued Donovan, subtly yet distressingly raising his voice. "Yeh never should get tha' close!"

"Bu' wha' if yeh were a Chaser? Or teh Seeker?" snapped Cynthia, more bracing than she had intended to sound.

"THEY AREN' TEH UNS SWINGIN' A BLIMEY CLUB AT YEH!" he shouted, and then he regained something of his composure. "'Ad I bin an opposin' Bea'er an' no' yer ol' Pa, they would'a' swung anyway, no' carin' if they hit Bludger or lass. Yeh woulda bin hurt, an' it would be yer fault, teh! Yeh should be busy enou' keepin' the Bludger from yer Chasers an' Seekers, not from yer own team's Bea'ers. Teh devlish things-"

Suddenly, Donovan realized that his practice Bludger, while having been hit rather far by Cynthia, should definitely have returned by then. He squinted in the direction it had been sent, remembering that the ten-inch iron balls would attack the nearest wizard, whether Beater or Keeper or spectator - if not jinxed otherwise, which was becoming the fashion. A far-off female scream from exactly the direction he was facing confirmed Donovan's worst fears (okay, so maybe it was really a reoccurring daydream he frequently had) of his Bludger finding Elfrida a target. Groaning, he jumped on Bellona and sped off to free his wife, leaving the dejected Cynthia with the old broomstick and her father's shouts still ringing in her ears.

"'Oo does he think he is," she grumbled to herself, already forgetting how close to falling she had just been. All she could remember now was her fine hit in such close quarters, not how much danger she had put her father in. Even though Donovan rarely disciplined her, so she always listened when he did, she found his admonition unneeded. "I think he's gettin' jealous o' me," Cynthia concluded, mounting the weathered broom and following him back to the house.

The Bellona was leaning against the house by the front door by the time she had coaxed the old broom back home. She propped the broomstick next to her own and went inside, fighting the easterly to close the door as she let her eyes adjust from the sunshine outside to the dim, fire-lit interior.

Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table, her lips pursed venomously as she stirred tea. Donovan was closing the latches on the wooden box by the fireplace that held the Bludger, and the way his shoulders were drooped told Cynthia that he'd already gotten a talking-to from Elfrida.

"Allie wrote," the black-haired woman announced, and she pointed to a parchment envelope addressed to Cynthia in purple ink.

"Are yeh all righ'?" asked Cynthia, picking up the message.

"Aye. I ducked rill quick till yer Pa came." She took a sip of black, bitter tea. "Are yeh?"

Cynthia shot a look of perfidy at her father, who was trying to make his broad-shouldered, almost six-foot tall self look busy with the fire. "Well, o' course I'm -"

"-Tryin' teh make yerself inteh some kaynd o' heroun'? Think yeh kin throw yerself in the trouble now, aye?" Elfrida looked calculatingly at her daughter.

"Ma!" protested Cynthia. "Yeh an' Papa are makin' such a fuss o'er naught!"

"'E're concerned abou' yeh, lass," said Donovan. "'E dun' wan' yeh teh get hurt." For once, Elfrida and Donovan had an agreement, and Cynthia was very alone on the other end. The yellow-haired girl felt betrayed.

"Look!" shouted Cynthia, raising her arms and turning in a circle. "I'm all righ'! I'm okay! I di' a silly thin', but I'll beh more cayrful in teh future, alrigh'?"

Her parents looked unconvinced. "See, weh can'd be takin' care o' yeh when yer a' Hogwarts-" began Elfrida, but Cynthia had had enough.

"-An' thank Brid fer tha'!" She stormed up the stairs to her room, Allie's letter scrunched up unceremoniously in her small, clenched fist. The sound of her slamming door ricocheted downstairs.

"Wha' have we go'?" asked Donovan, bewildered by the snarling beast his little girl had suddenly become.

"A growin' lady," replied Elfrida. "An' it's gonna geh worse befur it gits better."

"Don' tell me yeh were like tha' unce!" laughed Donovan.

"She'll geh more an' more like me." Elfrida smiled, a subtle smile that softened her face and reminded Donovan of just why he had married her years ago. "A' leas' she'll be awhee at Hogwarts when it happens."

Upstairs, Cynthia threw herself on her bed into a confused little knot of pubescent anger. She was mad at her parents for getting upset about a little stupid risk she had taken, and mad at herself for getting so worked up about it. She suddenly remembered the letter in her hand, and distracted herself enough to read it.

Dear Cynthia,

It's almost Hogwarts time! I'm so excited, I can't stop talking or thinking about it. I'm afraid of driving my mother and father silly. (Abbie stays out of the house all night and sleeps all day, so I rarely see him, let alone talk to him.) For studies, as you asked, memorization can't hurt! But if you really practice all day for Quidditch as you say, just having a good working knowledge of the texts should be sufficient. Think Ravenclaw thoughts! The last thing we want is to be stuck in Gryffindor with Abbie. The hat only put him there, I bet, because there isn't a House for lazybones like him. I asked him about Quidditch tryouts for you, and he grunted something about Bludgers. His friend Androgski is the Quidditch player, anyway, so he's the one to ask at school. Almost here! I can't wait! Don't bother writing back, okay? I'll see you at the opening feast. Be in Ravenclaw!

Yours Truly,

Allie D.