Cynthia MacLanley

1859: Memoriæ

"Happy last Quidditch game day!" greeted Allie loudly, giving Cynthia a sweet kiss.

"It's jus' me las' gahm a' Hogwarts," she replied, running her finger down his crooked nose playfully.

"Well, it's the championship, and your last performance as a Gryffindor."

"Where did yeh fin' th'time outta studyin' fer N.E.W.T.'s fer seein' it tehday?"

"I always have time for you," he said in a mawkish tone, grinning saccharinely.

"Ulk, dunt e'en joke meh leek tha'." Cynthia made a face at his simpering sarcasm.

"Oh, you think I'm joking?" he asked, giving her a final, long kiss.

He moved the tapestry aside and they stepped out of the hidden alcove in the hallway. Together, they walked down a flight of steps and through a small side corridor, coming to the main staircase. Lots of students were there, most moving towards the Great Hall, and almost everyone was wearing either red or blue.

It was Cynthia's second year when Gryffindor finally took Ravenclaw, the securely established Quidditch Cup champion, out. They came back triumphant again her third year, but Gryffindor took the lead her fourth and hadn't relented since. No one could quite tell who was the underdog, and it made for a very exciting competition. Cynthia knew some of the hype was for her, not only because she was Captain. She had made an art of being Beater in her later years, and many ignored the Quaffle entirely to watch her massacre the Bludgers time and time again.

Cynthia and Allie entered the Great Hall, and the Gryffindor table, a block of red, cheered loudly. "C-Y, N-T-H-I, A-M-A, C-L-A, N-L-E-Y!" shouted some of the younger students, obviously pleased by their cheer. A first-year girl threw red confetti at Cynthia, and then ran away, quite embarrassed.

"Than' yeh! Than' yeh!" Cynthia kept saying. She tried to sit at the end of the long bench, but Allie did a clever trick of magic and conjured a chair to seat her at the foot of the table. Usually, professors frowned on anyone taking up the short ends of House tables, but as Scarelli, clad all in red, was busy glaring at the blue-dressed Ravenclaw House Head, no one objected.

Lunch was soon served, and Cynthia ate heartily. She felt so confident that her team would be victorious, either by a win or a smashing performance, that nothing could phase her. After she had polished off her second piece of bread and finished her goblet of apple juice, a witch she didn't know tapped her on the shoulder. The woman bent forward to talk to Cynthia through the unusually loud chatter of the Great Hall, and Cynthia saw a flash of gold and green beneath her traveling cloak. "Hello, Cynthia. I'm Tracey," the woman said, shaking Cynthia's hand. "May I speak to you in the hallway?"

"Aye!" replied Cynthia, standing up. She glanced at Allie, who raised his eyebrows at her with a smile. "If yeh'll excuse meh."

Cynthia followed Tracey outside the Great Hall, trying to remain professional but doing backflips on the inside. If this witch was who Cynthia thought she was-

"Cynthia, I represent the Welsh Quidditch club of the Holyhead Harpies." She unbuttoned her cloak dramatically to reveal dark green robes with a golden talon shining on her chest. "We are six and a half centuries old, and among our many major triumphs is the tradition-"

"-O' admi'in' only witches," finished Cynthia, finally bubbling over. "Yeh've wen th'Lehgue se'entehn teems th'cent'ry, the latest in 'fifteh-fehr, and yeh, Tracey Griffiths, 'ave bin pe'sonally respons'ble fer o'er a 'undred goals wi'in yer career."

"You've heard of us?" laughed the older woman. "Then I have excellent news for you, Miss MacLanley.

"Normally, the process of signing onto a team isn't begun until June, with decisions in late August. However, in your case, the Harpies are interested in inviting you to join us next autumn, and the decision is entirely your own."

Cynthia gawked. "Yeh mehn...I...?"

"Have been accepted to the Harpies."

She put a hand to her gaping mouth. "Bu'...how di' yeh...?"

"We've been private guests to Hogwarts Quidditch tournaments. I personally have attended three, not including today. Your House Head, Antonio Scarelli, was the one who contacted us first - I was in Gryffindor with him years ago. We all agree that your performance is remarkable, especially Caery Hill, whom you will be replacing next season." Tracey smiled. "That is, of course, if you're interested."

"Are yeh kiddin'?" Cynthia shook her head, afraid to wake up and ruin this perfect dream. "I would't miss this fer anythin'." A thought crossed her mind. "Wha' keend of schedule deh yeh folleh?"

"We have intensive practices for five hours five days a week from September through October, and then a game approximately once every two weeks, with practice as necessary between, from November through June."

"An' I kin Apparate teh an' from, righ'?" asked Cynthia, who was planning on getting licensed right after graduation.

"Yes. You'll find the life of a Quidditch player one of hard work, but with sure rewards."

"Oh, I've fahnd tha' alrea'y. Where deh yeh seen?"

Tracey produced a parchment written in green ink, along with a golden quill. Cynthia scanned it and found that the agreement was quite binding. "If yeh'll alleh meh teh talk this o'er with some'un," said Cynthia, stepping back into the Great Hall and motioning Allie over.

"What is it?" asked Allie.

"The 'Oly'ead 'Arpies wan' meh," she said quietly, motioning over to the woman, who was trying to occupy herself with a piece of architecture.

"Oh, Cyn, that's great!" Allie took her hands in his. "I'm so happy for you."

"The schedule i'n't as bad as I though'," she continued, "bu' i's still a commi'ment."

"Cyn, there's no way I would stop you now. We can work around it. Besides, I won't exactly get the best hours working here." He pointed to Tracey. "You tell that Harpy that she better be thanking her lucky stars that they're getting Cynthia MacLanley on their side."

"I'ill." She gave his hands a squeeze. "I'm so exceeted." Cynthia stepped around Allie and towards Tracey. "Kin I 'ave tha', plehs?"

"Welcome to the Harpies, Cynthia," replied Tracey, and she presented her the parchment and quill.

~x~

"The dey couldn' be mare pehrfec'," Cynthia thought as she sent a Bludger flying for the Ravenclaw seeker above her with a crisp uppercut. "No, ma' tha' Emily catchin' the Snitch and Gryffind'r winnin'."

It sure looked possible. The Chasers, working all their practice moves and a few Cynthia were sure had just been invented on the field, were practically unstoppable, and the Keeper was doing a fine job for the few times the Quaffle had ever even come close to her. Pretty soon, Cynthia realized as she jabbed a slower moving Bludger with the very tip of her bat, Emily wouldn't even have to catch the Snitch for them to win.

A Ravenclaw Beater who was the closest thing to competition Cynthia had faced all year slammed a Bludger at her, but she placed both hands at either ends of the bat and thrusted it right back at him with her tongue out in derision. She swerved the Bellona around as he sought an easier target.

There was a flutter of gold off to Cynthia's left, and she glanced down, thinking it was the Snitch. Instead, it was the Harpy talon emblazoned on Tracey Griffiths' chest, and Cynthia saw the professional player smile at her before she turned her attention back to the game.

Cynthia scanned the pitch for the Bludgers, and saw the other Gryffindor Beater defending Emily as she looked desperately for the Snitch. The Beater was a funny fourth-year boy who wasn't extraordinary, but very dedicated, and Cynthia hoped the best for him when she was gone. She wondered why he was doing individual defense, but sure enough Cynthia saw the weaker Ravenclaw Beater send a Bludger her way. The Gryffindor could fend it off easily, but Cynthia realized that both Ravenclaw Beaters, ignoring their obvious loss with the Quaffle, were doing anything they could to keep Gryffindor from claiming the Snitch, too.

She flew in next to the Gryffindor. "Go ge' their See'er!" she shouted, motioning with her bat to the other side of the field. "I go' Emily!"

He nodded and flew off, leaving Cynthia with the weaker Ravenclaw trying to cover her and the stronger one somewhere on the Gryffindor side of the field chasing a Bludger. Cynthia hoped that Tracey was watching the intelligent strategy, somewhere in the stands below.

"Cyn!" hissed Emily. Cynthia couldn't hear it through the wind rushing in her ears. "Cyn!" whispered Emily, louder and more urgently. Cynthia heard it this time, and looked at the Seeker. Emily looked up and over Cynthia's right shoulder quickly, almost accidentally, but Cynthia knew what it meant. She had seen the Snitch, but didn't want to attract undue attention to it.

Cynthia saw the Bludger the stronger Ravenclaw had sought speeding towards the back of Emily's head, and she rushed forward to protect the Seeker. Thinking fast, Cynthia saw that she would have to hit the Bludger at the last minute to distract him from assaulting Emily as she went for the Snitch. She shouted, "Up on threh!" and raised her bat. "Un."

Just then, the weaker Ravenclaw deflected the Bludger circling the Ravenclaw Seeker towards Cynthia's back. "Teh."

Cynthia adjusted the grip on her bat and readied for a solid, definite hit. The Bludger from the strong Beater was getting close.

The Bludger from the weaker Beater was closer.

"Threh!" shouted Cyn, just before the Bludger behind her slammed full force into the space between her shoulder blades. A fraction of a second later, the Bludger she had been keeping both eyes on smashed into her face. The force of the two impacts knocked her from the Bellona, and, before the eyes of hundreds of horrified spectators, her limp body fell a hundred feet through the air.

There was a sickening crunch, and, with an awful, terrible, and absolutely depressing silence, everyone in the stadium knew it.

Cynthia MacLanley was dead.

The silence was broken.

"NOOOOOOOO!!!"

Allie half-ran and half-fell down the stairs to the ground pitch, and, his mind and blood numbingly cold, he stumbled across the field to Cynthia's broken, twisted body. He threw himself to the ground, tears pouring from his eyes and inhuman cries uttering from his mouth, and he drew his beloved to his chest. Her face, broken inwards by the Bludger and lolling hideously off her broken neck, looked nothing like the woman he loved. He closed his eyes and buried his head in her hair, sobbing all the while, and not caring about the blood that was drenching his clothes and body. She...she was...she was....

"Allie?" called the Headmistress, five feet and a million miles away.

He responded with a racking sob, his arms tightly clenched around the still-warm body.

"Allie, she's gone." Scarelli was standing over him.

"NO, SHE'S NOT!!" Allie raised his head, wet from tears and Cynthia's blood. "YOU CAN DO ANYTHING WITH MAGIC! MAKE HER COME BACK!"

"You can't bring the dead back to life!!"

"SHE'S NOT DEAD! SHE'S...SHE'S...." He gasped and put his hands over his face. "SHE'S DEAD!!" he screamed through his hands.

The Headmistress moved a step forward and reached out towards Allie.

"Don't touch me," he snarled.

"Give him time," said Scarelli softly.

Allie closed his eyes and lifted her disfigured forehead to his lips. He kissed it softly, and a gold star appeared there for a moment. "I will never forget you," he whispered, so quietly that only Cynthia could hear him. "I promise."

~x~

"Allie, I...I'm not very good at these kinds of things, I'm afraid." Scarelli stood behind Allie, who was watching a summer rain fall outside the window of his dormitory. "I.... Here.... This.... Cynthia would have wanted you to have this, I think." The young man turned, and Scarelli saw his eyes were pink. The professor held out the Bellona to him. Allie nodded and took it from him slowly, clutching the shaft tightly and turning back to the window.

"We graded your N.E.W.T.s," announced Scarelli hesitantly. "We -we were thinking about taking...the situation into consideration -"

" -Please don't," interrupted Allie, his voice cracking from its silence.

"We barely can. You received twelve N.E.W.T.s, which is more than enough to become a Professor here. We are all humbled by your efforts."

Allie nodded, and for a while, there was no sound but a soft swish of rain outside.

"Twelve?" said Allie finally.

"Yes," replied Scarelli.

A faint smile cracked Allie's face. "Cynthia would have liked that."

~x~

The next year, Allie became an associate professor of Charms, and then the Charms professor the year after that. He remained Charms professor for twenty years, eventually moving into Transfiguration, his favorite subject, when the older professor became Headmaster. During these switches, the Bellona was always the last thing to leave, and the first fixture up. Students who had been at the Quidditch match and had called him Allie had never asked him about it, but soon they graduated and the increasingly antique broomstick became an object of much speculation. Some said it was from their professor's wilder Quidditch days, some said it was a present from some town he had saved from magical disaster, and some thought he had just put it up to make people wonder about it. He did nothing to stop the rumors, and soon, only in him did the memory of the Scottish Quidditch star live on.

His office became cluttered with more and more collected treasures, not a small amount from his battles with Grindelwald and other Dark wizards, and the Bellona slowly slid from place of pride to just another memory Allie carried with him. Eventually, when he took the very old Headmaster's place, he had no room to put Cynthia's broomstick on display. "I'm sorry, Cynthia," he said out loud, wrapping the Bellona in oilcloth and placing it gently in a storage box. "I haven't forgotten you." He took a deep breath. "But I'm not your Allie anymore. I'm Headmaster Albus Dumbledore now."

He shut the lid, and for a moment he saw a gold star shine in his mind's eye.

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