Bagsy Beetlehorn and the Corvid Trials (The Bagsy Chronicles 2)

Tunnel Vision

With Sunday, and the match, fast approaching, there wasn't a moment of free time Bagsy didn't dedicate to practising with her mag-net bat and ball. Foncée was happy to sit and watch as she walked around the Hogwarts grounds hitting the ball over and over, trying to perfect her aim.

'Let me help,' Foncée called abruptly. She waved her hand, a wand appearing in its grasp, and silvery wisps of mist appeared around the field, each in the rough shape of students on broom sticks. 'Once you hit them they'll disappear. See how quick you can clear them all.'

Bagsy, with a breathless smile of gratitude at Mistress Foncée, who she decided was pretty cool, tried as hard as she could to hit them, grunting with each swing. The first few times it took her a while, but by the time Saturday evening rolled around and Bagsy had a good number of hours of practise behind her, her aim had improved immensely. Now, hitting the targets was a case of focussing her mind and remembering the muscle movements, her eyes easily guiding the rest.

Bagsy cleared the misty silhouettes in a few seconds, tops, whacking the ball this way and that, spinning as it came back towards her and sending it in the other direction. Once the figures had all vanished she caught the ball on the side of the magnetised bat, heaving in breath after breath, a bead of sweat on her forehead. The motions felt thrilling, and it was as if her eyes were designed for the very purpose of working out how to get the ball to exactly where it needed to be.

Foncée clapped her hands together, impressed, and smiled. 'I think you'll do well.'

Bagsy stared at her, dumbfounded. 'You think?' Even if she did well at the exercise, it was still very different from an actual quidditch match.

Foncée nodded. 'I do. If it isn't unfair for me to say so, I consider myself a key component of your practise, and can't help but feel proud.'

'Thanks, mu-' Bagsy stalled. 'M-mistress Foncée,' she corrected herself, her face flushing. If Foncée noticed her slip up, she didn't show it.

'I recommend rest and food before the match tomorrow. I'll be watching, Bagsy, and I know you'll try your best. Remember, that is all that matters.'

When Bagsy lay in bed that night, she wondered if her parents had ever said anything that supportive to her in her whole life.

She didn't think they had.

She woke with a start the next day. The sun had barely over the horizon, so why was she awake?

'Bagsy!' Teresa hissed loudly at her. Bagsy blinked blearily as Teresa hauled her out of bed and thrust her quidditch gear into her arms. Bagsy had raided the lost and found for it – the idea of wearing shiny, expensive quidditch gear bought with her parents' money made her skin crawl, even though she didn't know why. 'Come on! Let's go!' Teresa bounced up and down on her heels as Bagsy hurried into her clothes. Bill and Jill, who'd been woken by Teresa, looked reproachfully at her from their cage. Bagsy, taking Primrose's threat about her cat eating them to heart, had built a network of cages for her rats into her bedside table, the space below her bed, and the space above it so they had ample roaming and climbing space but always had bars between them and sharp, feline claws.

'You've got to make a cage like that for my pets,' Teresa said wistfully as Bagsy pulled the canary yellow quidditch jumper the Hufflepuffs wore over her head.

'I'm stuck!' Bagsy squeaked, her arms jammed in the sleeves.

Teresa tutted and roughly pulled the jumper down. 'Let's go, come on!'

Bagsy blundered through her breakfast, still half asleep. Jon looked just as tired, but Ford and Greenda were annoyingly chipper, chatting excitedly to each other about tactics. Greenda, whose voice was particularly loud, was a nice stream of information to help Bagsy wake up. She comfortably listened in, even if it did make her sad Greenda wasn't talking directly to her.