“I'm sitting in the bleachers, watching longingly as all the boys and umbumped girls in my Personal Health and Fitness class play Muggle Quidditch. I don't even like the game very much, I think it's silly, but I so miss physical activity that I'd be thrilled if I could run around the gymnasium with a broom between my legs, chasing after the human snitch wearing a gold pinny.”

“I don't run for my physical health, though that's a lucky side effect. I run because I'm tortured inside. I run to soothe the violence in my mind, the depression, the panic, the disappointments, the shame, the frustration, the helplessness against time. You could say I'm running from something... though I'd rather think I'm running TOWARD something. Though I'm probably running just to stay in one place. It seems like most of life is just maintenance, after all.”

“...just because I don't have on a silly black costume and carry a silly broom and wear a silly black hat, doesn't mean that I'm not a witch. I'm a witch all the time and not just on Halloween.”

“I don't think I can play any other way but all out. I enjoy the game so much because I'm putting so much into it.”

“I don't understand my feelings. I really don't. I don't understand how I could hate you so much after so much time. How, no matter how much I'd like to not hate you, I hate you even more. It grows.”

“We were in a pit. Fitting. This was, after all, my hell. This pit around the lake. The lake that had taken so much. My friendship with Decker. My humanity. Quite nearly my life. And I was so angry with it. I wasn't scared anymore. I was furious.”