She couldn't get it right. Ronja couldn't lift the feather right. When she finally did, it wobbled about in front of her chin and fluttered back down. Barely a second had passed. It truly cut her deep to think that her skill in magic was poor. Her family was full of pure-blooded wizards and witches, with her mother, Lukas, and herself being the only exceptions. For so many years she questioned why her father had strayed from the path his parents before him had taken- to be wed to someone of their own blood status. Instead, he married a muggle woman. Ronja didn't think poorly of muggles, but she dreaded the looks she got from her pure-blood relatives for being a half-blood. They didn't say it outright, but she could see how they felt about her.
Viggo had taught her something, however; to never measure yourself based on what someone else thinks. If he were here now, he'd be urging her on. He would tell her that it was going to be okay, and that she can do whatever she puts her mind to. Except, Viggo wasn't here. Ronja was alone. She frowned, and felt a stinging sensation in her eyes.
I have to do this. I can't be like this. I have to get this right.
She sighed, and let her wand roll out of her grasp and onto the desk. She stared at it for a moment, before closing her eyes and shaking her head.
Home 
