February 17th, 1895 — Dueling Club Classroom, Early Evening
"Incendio! No! Incendio, Stupefy! Oh, blessed - grr!" Anne's snarl of frustration was animalistic, her patience non-existent, her temper hot, and her frustration peaking. Sweat soaked her hairline, her sleeves shoved to her elbows; Anne sucked in deep breaths, her hands clasped over her head as she paced the dueling hall. She glared at the test dummy across the way, the damned thing mocking her.
She'd picked one of the NEWT dummies that was charmed to shield when attacked, trying to work on her speed. Anne didn't question the strength of her spells, and, until the dueling final, she hadn't questioned her speed. Anne was one of the fastest in the dueling club, but she lost the title to one of the few people who proved faster. The loss hurt more than any spell could. It also presented a problem: what sort of auror could she be if she wasn't faster than her opponent? It sounded like a quick recipe for death or failure; neither interested Anne.
Her body ached, her muscles reminding her that she had been here every night for the past twelve days. The cramp in her shoulder also reminded her she'd had multiple quidditch practices since then and took a bludger in the last one. The first few nights had been easy and she quickly moved from the OWL dummy to the NEWT dummy, but here she'd ground to a halt. She could beat the dummy and get around its shields, but not consistently or how she wanted. It made her need this more.
When her next spell rebounded off the dummy's shield, Anne punched the air with a snarl. "What am I doing wrong?" She demanded of the lifeless training aid glaring back.
She'd picked one of the NEWT dummies that was charmed to shield when attacked, trying to work on her speed. Anne didn't question the strength of her spells, and, until the dueling final, she hadn't questioned her speed. Anne was one of the fastest in the dueling club, but she lost the title to one of the few people who proved faster. The loss hurt more than any spell could. It also presented a problem: what sort of auror could she be if she wasn't faster than her opponent? It sounded like a quick recipe for death or failure; neither interested Anne.
Her body ached, her muscles reminding her that she had been here every night for the past twelve days. The cramp in her shoulder also reminded her she'd had multiple quidditch practices since then and took a bludger in the last one. The first few nights had been easy and she quickly moved from the OWL dummy to the NEWT dummy, but here she'd ground to a halt. She could beat the dummy and get around its shields, but not consistently or how she wanted. It made her need this more.
When her next spell rebounded off the dummy's shield, Anne punched the air with a snarl. "What am I doing wrong?" She demanded of the lifeless training aid glaring back.
![[Image: rOjzpw3.png]](https://i.imgur.com/rOjzpw3.png)