The day was calm and she had been easily eighty feet in the air, or maybe closer to a hundred, a place she felt safer than on any form of solid ground. As the witch hovered diagonal to the center hoop at the end of the pitch, Qri pulled out her wand, a long breath trailing behind that lasted til her spell hit the cold trunk, its hinges giving immediately and releasing open a quaffle and the near rogue bludgers. They had seemed almost as cooped up as she had. There was no reason to release the snitch at least for the moment, Qri knew better than to believe she was going to catch it today, nor did she honestly remember the spell to put it away. As the balls shot up higher and higher, the witch fell still til there was nothing but silence and strained wind tapping in her ears, a sound that had refreshed her after nearly a year without its song. With her grip in her robes tightening around the handle of her bat, Qri's eyes already fixed on the target, she took the first swing of January, the near snap of the wood striking against the bludger sounding as if it could be heard outside even the thick spell hiding the grounds. It felt good, more than good, more than perfect as if there was such a thing. With all of her strength pooling to her wrist, the Slytherin zoomed off in flight, the quaffle never leaving her peripheral as her outer shell finally began to melt. She had more passion for the game than any kiss she shared, and nothing had ever made her feel more free.