- Messages
- 1,823
- OOC First Name
- Ana
- Blood Status
- Muggleborn
- Relationship Status
- Single
- Wand
- Straight 12.5'' Flexible Larch Wand with Dragon Heartstring Core
- Age
- 21
The whistle blew, and Harper knew it was over.
All around her, girls were chatting excitedly as they drifted off the pitch. The third day of football tryouts had come to an end, and the anticipation in the air was palpable. By this time tomorrow, the members of the development squad would be announced. It was the team to be on if you wanted any chance at playing at the national level. The girls who played on the squad were invited to all the major tournaments and were prepared to eventually join one of the club's elite teams. It was step one on the path to a professional career, and Harper had made the team every year since she was 13.
But not this year.
It hadn't taken her long to realize that she was hopelessly outmatched. From the start of the scrimmage to the last whistle, Harper had struggled to keep up. The other players had stolen the ball effortlessly, and all her shots on the goal had been blocked. Even her mind felt sluggish. She used to be able to read her opponents, pinpointing opportunities. Now she just saw chaos.
Harper sat by herself as she picked at the laces of her cleats, avoiding the gazes of the few girls she did know. She knew what they were thinking, the questions they were asking. Five years ago, she had been one of the most promising players in the league. But promise didn't last. While she had run around the Hogwarts grounds with an old football and some plastic cones, her former teammates had attended expensive training academies and worked with personal trainers. While she had languished on the development squad, watching the younger girls catch up, her former teammates had advanced to the senior division.
It didn't matter how many laps she ran around the castle or how many one-on-one games she dragged her friends into playing. None of it would ever be enough. When it came to the thing she loved most, her peers would always be a world ahead.
That didn't stop her from refreshing the email with the roster over and over again, as if doing so would make her name appear. Her phone buzzed on the sixth refresh, and she squinted at the notification — a text from an old teammate expressing condolences. Harper swiped it away and her phone buzzed again. And again. And again. She quickly silenced the device and tossed it towards the foot of her bed before hugging her knees to her chest.
Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the window, illuminating her room, and Harper was struck by how little it had changed in the past five years. Unable to keep anything magical in sight — lest one of her sister's friends spot something while visiting — she hadn't bothered to redecorate. Still plastered on the walls were Chelsea F.C. posters and photos of her old teammates. Stuffed in the back of her dresser were old jerseys and athletic gear that no longer fit. And littered across her shelves were rows upon rows of trophies, medals, and plaques.
It was a room that belonged to an 11-year-old child, one who had held onto dreams of becoming a professional footballer long after most kids had the sense to let go.
Harper shared the room with her sister, so it had always seemed small. But now, she felt like she was suffocating. She raced out, heading automatically for her brothers' room. Thankfully, the door was already open, and she could see Everett sprawled across his bed, tapping away at something on his laptop.
"Hey, have you seen Fletcher?" she asked, wincing at the way her voice wobbled.
Everett gave an irritated grunt and looked up. "Maybe. Why?"
She rolled her eyes. "C'mon, where is he?"
He gave her a curious look before grinning. "What's wrong?" It was no secret that Fletcher was her closest confidante and that — before Hogwarts, at least — she went to him whenever she was upset. "Boy problems? Or is magic school not magical enough for you?" he teased.
Harper paled, and he seemed to realise something was amiss. He sat up, seriousness shading his features. "Wait, I didn't mean—"
But she'd already plastered on a smile and was quickly backing away. "No, you're right." Ignoring Everett's calls, she fled towards the back porch. The shock of cold air was almost calming, and Harper sat down on the steps, closing her eyes.
Everett had been joking, but he was right. She was being ridiculous. Out of all her siblings — out of the world, even — Harper had won the genetic lottery. She had magic. She had magic and that meant she got to attend a prestigious boarding school with students and teachers from around the globe, a school that gave her free meals and housing and arranged international field trips, a school that paid her to attend. She had magic and that meant she had access to a world where potions could give you luck and spells could heal, a world where eating a certain plant allowed you to breathe underwater and gazing into a crystal ball could reveal your future. She had magic and that meant while her siblings worked their way through university and internships, she could probably land a well-paying government job straight out of high school as long as she kept her grades up. She had magic and that meant she could fly on a broomstick and turn invisible with a cloak, and if she studied hard enough, she could learn to teleport and shapeshift into an animal. She had magic and that meant not only an easier life, but a longer one, too.
She had so much, and she was selfish for wanting more.
And yet—
The door behind her creaked, and Harper's eyes flew open. But she didn't look back, not until she heard Fletcher's voice. She forced a smile as he sat next to her. "Ev said you were looking for me?"
Harper hesitated. Five years ago, she would have told him everything. He was her best friend, more twin than older brother. But in those five years, they had grown a world apart. Fletcher had never outwardly expressed any jealousy over her magic, but he didn't need to. The silences when she talked about school, the way he always changed the subject — that was more than enough.
They had an unspoken rule not to talk about magic. But they did talk about football.
"Oh, um, it's nothing, really." She stared at a nearby rock, unwilling to look at him. "I just... I found out that I didn't make the team."
He swore and let out a low whistle. "Are you okay?"
For a moment, she had her best friend back. Fletcher knew how much football meant to her. When they were younger, back when he had also played, they would speculate about the clubs they would try out for, the athletes they'd get to meet. He had eventually moved on, but even when she hadn't, they had still maintained an understanding.
But Harper quickly realised that this was as far as their conversation could go. She couldn't tell him about all the what-ifs running through her head. She couldn't tell him about the guilt she felt for wanting something so ordinary when she had something extraordinary. And she definitely couldn't tell him about the ugly resentment bubbling in her gut, the insidious voice whispering in her ear that for as much as the magical world had given her, it had also taken.
"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just football, right?"
The words sounded hollow even to her, but Fletcher nodded anyway. Harper didn't know if he genuinely believed her or if he was nodding because he didn't feel comfortable pressing her further on the subject.
What she did know was that she'd never felt more distant from her best friend.
There was a game tonight. Though dusk had already fallen, the floodlights were on, and she could see kids running across the pitch even as she stood in the shadows, just beyond the lights' perimeter. Lately, Harper had grown convinced that her sadness was visible, that it rolled off her like smoke. She didn't want it polluting the warm light that bathed the players and spectators.
Harper didn't know what she was doing here. Playing football, watching others play, even just talking about it — it all hurt. Yet she had continued to play out of a desperate need to prove that she was fine. Her club had demoted her to the "social team," which she hadn't played for since she was eight, but she'd shown up to every practice and game anyway.
She had drawn the line at her coach's offer of extra help, however. If she didn't have two more years of Hogwarts left, maybe she could have worked her way back up to the development squad. But she did, and it would've been selfish to make him waste his time on a lost cause.
Maybe it was time for a clean break. Tomorrow she would take the train to Hogwarts, and for the sixth year in a row, she would make the journey alone. Harper had always thought of herself as someone who lived in the present, but it occurred to her that she had spent the last five years rearranging her life to chase an impossible future. She had trained endlessly for a football career that had been doomed from the start and written countless letters to younger siblings about a place they would never see.
The identities that grounded her in one world — athlete, sister — simply didn't translate to the next.
The whistle blew, and the players shook hands before tumbling off the pitch and into the waiting arms of family. It was like watching a memory, and she turned away.
Who was she, without all of this? Without the adrenaline and camaraderie, without the pride of belonging to a team and the satisfaction of finding her limits and pushing past them, without the comfort of knowing there was always someone waiting for her on the sidelines — without all of this, who was she?
Who was Harper Alston?
She needed to find out.
All around her, girls were chatting excitedly as they drifted off the pitch. The third day of football tryouts had come to an end, and the anticipation in the air was palpable. By this time tomorrow, the members of the development squad would be announced. It was the team to be on if you wanted any chance at playing at the national level. The girls who played on the squad were invited to all the major tournaments and were prepared to eventually join one of the club's elite teams. It was step one on the path to a professional career, and Harper had made the team every year since she was 13.
But not this year.
It hadn't taken her long to realize that she was hopelessly outmatched. From the start of the scrimmage to the last whistle, Harper had struggled to keep up. The other players had stolen the ball effortlessly, and all her shots on the goal had been blocked. Even her mind felt sluggish. She used to be able to read her opponents, pinpointing opportunities. Now she just saw chaos.
Harper sat by herself as she picked at the laces of her cleats, avoiding the gazes of the few girls she did know. She knew what they were thinking, the questions they were asking. Five years ago, she had been one of the most promising players in the league. But promise didn't last. While she had run around the Hogwarts grounds with an old football and some plastic cones, her former teammates had attended expensive training academies and worked with personal trainers. While she had languished on the development squad, watching the younger girls catch up, her former teammates had advanced to the senior division.
It didn't matter how many laps she ran around the castle or how many one-on-one games she dragged her friends into playing. None of it would ever be enough. When it came to the thing she loved most, her peers would always be a world ahead.
***
As Harper expected, she did not make the team.
That didn't stop her from refreshing the email with the roster over and over again, as if doing so would make her name appear. Her phone buzzed on the sixth refresh, and she squinted at the notification — a text from an old teammate expressing condolences. Harper swiped it away and her phone buzzed again. And again. And again. She quickly silenced the device and tossed it towards the foot of her bed before hugging her knees to her chest.
Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the window, illuminating her room, and Harper was struck by how little it had changed in the past five years. Unable to keep anything magical in sight — lest one of her sister's friends spot something while visiting — she hadn't bothered to redecorate. Still plastered on the walls were Chelsea F.C. posters and photos of her old teammates. Stuffed in the back of her dresser were old jerseys and athletic gear that no longer fit. And littered across her shelves were rows upon rows of trophies, medals, and plaques.
It was a room that belonged to an 11-year-old child, one who had held onto dreams of becoming a professional footballer long after most kids had the sense to let go.
Harper shared the room with her sister, so it had always seemed small. But now, she felt like she was suffocating. She raced out, heading automatically for her brothers' room. Thankfully, the door was already open, and she could see Everett sprawled across his bed, tapping away at something on his laptop.
"Hey, have you seen Fletcher?" she asked, wincing at the way her voice wobbled.
Everett gave an irritated grunt and looked up. "Maybe. Why?"
She rolled her eyes. "C'mon, where is he?"
He gave her a curious look before grinning. "What's wrong?" It was no secret that Fletcher was her closest confidante and that — before Hogwarts, at least — she went to him whenever she was upset. "Boy problems? Or is magic school not magical enough for you?" he teased.
Harper paled, and he seemed to realise something was amiss. He sat up, seriousness shading his features. "Wait, I didn't mean—"
But she'd already plastered on a smile and was quickly backing away. "No, you're right." Ignoring Everett's calls, she fled towards the back porch. The shock of cold air was almost calming, and Harper sat down on the steps, closing her eyes.
Everett had been joking, but he was right. She was being ridiculous. Out of all her siblings — out of the world, even — Harper had won the genetic lottery. She had magic. She had magic and that meant she got to attend a prestigious boarding school with students and teachers from around the globe, a school that gave her free meals and housing and arranged international field trips, a school that paid her to attend. She had magic and that meant she had access to a world where potions could give you luck and spells could heal, a world where eating a certain plant allowed you to breathe underwater and gazing into a crystal ball could reveal your future. She had magic and that meant while her siblings worked their way through university and internships, she could probably land a well-paying government job straight out of high school as long as she kept her grades up. She had magic and that meant she could fly on a broomstick and turn invisible with a cloak, and if she studied hard enough, she could learn to teleport and shapeshift into an animal. She had magic and that meant not only an easier life, but a longer one, too.
She had so much, and she was selfish for wanting more.
And yet—
The door behind her creaked, and Harper's eyes flew open. But she didn't look back, not until she heard Fletcher's voice. She forced a smile as he sat next to her. "Ev said you were looking for me?"
Harper hesitated. Five years ago, she would have told him everything. He was her best friend, more twin than older brother. But in those five years, they had grown a world apart. Fletcher had never outwardly expressed any jealousy over her magic, but he didn't need to. The silences when she talked about school, the way he always changed the subject — that was more than enough.
They had an unspoken rule not to talk about magic. But they did talk about football.
"Oh, um, it's nothing, really." She stared at a nearby rock, unwilling to look at him. "I just... I found out that I didn't make the team."
He swore and let out a low whistle. "Are you okay?"
For a moment, she had her best friend back. Fletcher knew how much football meant to her. When they were younger, back when he had also played, they would speculate about the clubs they would try out for, the athletes they'd get to meet. He had eventually moved on, but even when she hadn't, they had still maintained an understanding.
But Harper quickly realised that this was as far as their conversation could go. She couldn't tell him about all the what-ifs running through her head. She couldn't tell him about the guilt she felt for wanting something so ordinary when she had something extraordinary. And she definitely couldn't tell him about the ugly resentment bubbling in her gut, the insidious voice whispering in her ear that for as much as the magical world had given her, it had also taken.
"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just football, right?"
The words sounded hollow even to her, but Fletcher nodded anyway. Harper didn't know if he genuinely believed her or if he was nodding because he didn't feel comfortable pressing her further on the subject.
What she did know was that she'd never felt more distant from her best friend.
***
On the last day of break, Harper decided to visit the park near her house. It had been the backdrop of countless adventures with her brothers, and it was on these fields that she'd kicked her first football.
There was a game tonight. Though dusk had already fallen, the floodlights were on, and she could see kids running across the pitch even as she stood in the shadows, just beyond the lights' perimeter. Lately, Harper had grown convinced that her sadness was visible, that it rolled off her like smoke. She didn't want it polluting the warm light that bathed the players and spectators.
Harper didn't know what she was doing here. Playing football, watching others play, even just talking about it — it all hurt. Yet she had continued to play out of a desperate need to prove that she was fine. Her club had demoted her to the "social team," which she hadn't played for since she was eight, but she'd shown up to every practice and game anyway.
She had drawn the line at her coach's offer of extra help, however. If she didn't have two more years of Hogwarts left, maybe she could have worked her way back up to the development squad. But she did, and it would've been selfish to make him waste his time on a lost cause.
Maybe it was time for a clean break. Tomorrow she would take the train to Hogwarts, and for the sixth year in a row, she would make the journey alone. Harper had always thought of herself as someone who lived in the present, but it occurred to her that she had spent the last five years rearranging her life to chase an impossible future. She had trained endlessly for a football career that had been doomed from the start and written countless letters to younger siblings about a place they would never see.
The identities that grounded her in one world — athlete, sister — simply didn't translate to the next.
The whistle blew, and the players shook hands before tumbling off the pitch and into the waiting arms of family. It was like watching a memory, and she turned away.
Who was she, without all of this? Without the adrenaline and camaraderie, without the pride of belonging to a team and the satisfaction of finding her limits and pushing past them, without the comfort of knowing there was always someone waiting for her on the sidelines — without all of this, who was she?
Who was Harper Alston?
She needed to find out.