Donovan had given up on waiting outside the MARS classroom- patience not being one of his strong suits- and had gone ahead and laced up his skates and hopped into the rink. He’d sent Misty an invite that morning to resume their ice-skating practice in the new school year. Whether she was available or not, he was still going to skate.
The rink at Sonora was a lot smoother than the pond in his backyard, and Donovan much preferred it. His skates didn’t bounce over every bump and crevice, and he could gain speed without worrying about faceplanting on the ice. He went around the rink a few times to warm up and get comfortable balancing on his blades again after the long summer break. Misty had taught him rudimentary moves in their first year, and built them up in every year since, until Donovan was actually quite good. He wasn’t on her level of grace and precision, but he could keep up well enough. He could switch from one edge of his blade to the other with less than a thought and spin without getting dizzy. He could jump without landing on his rear (most of the time) and balance on one foot halfway across the rink.
Donovan had a hard time admitting it, but he sometimes got overwhelmed with wizard stuff. Magic defied physics and logic, and even Quidditch needed a crazy amount of trust that his broom wasn’t going to just fall out of the sky. It was nice to have the MARS room as a reprieve. The ironically magical room could simulate Muggle activities convincingly enough that Donovan, for a moment, remembered how magical ordinary things like gliding across ice could be.
He worked through a couple of exercises that Misty had taught him, brushing the cobwebs off his skills, savoring the cold air that wooshed through his hair as he gained speed.