"If you've made it this far, congratulations."
A group of twenty students were packed into the locker room, many red-faced and sweating as they panted. The unrelenting summer heat had seeped inside despite the use of charms that one boy swore would keep the building cool. Emily Blake stood in the midst, her hair plastered to her sweaty forehead and a stain of grass and mud covered her left leg. Her chest was heaving, her body screamed with exhaustion, but she kept her back straight and her eyes trained on the captain in the center of the room.
His exposed arms were tan from spending the last week flying in the summer sun. His smile was bright and infectious. It was the first thing Emily had noticed about him, actually. Shaggy burgundy hair fell into his eyes, but he was an impeccable seeker despite of it. Charlie Weasley was perfect.
Emily had struggled with talking to him for years. They had come into contact occasionally, passing in the common room or coincidentally sharing a table in the Great Hall. She doubted that he even knew her name.
"The good news is that everyone in this room will at least be on the reserve team. Take a minute to give yourselves a pat on the back." Two lanky red-headed twins turned and clapped one another on the back. "I won't be the type of captain to call names or post lists. I'll save everyone's privacy and send a note to you by the end of the evening. Those of you who made the team will get an envelope with our practice schedule for next week."
He took a pause to smile at the breathless hoard in front of him. "All of you did brilliant work this week. I'm proud that Gryffindor has so much talent. Those of you who are put on reserves, don't fret. Keep playing your game and you'll have a sure spot on the team next year."
With that they were dismissed. A swarm of hopeful students began filing out of the room, some chattering excitedly about whether or not they would receive an envelope, some voicing disappointment that he hadn't posted a list of those who made the team immediately after the practice.
Emily began the trek back to the castle alone, trudging slowly up the slope as she carried a pair of flying boots and her Silver Arrow. Some students chose to fly back to the castle on their brooms, but Emily refused to try it. Madame Hooch had strictly forbidden the use of broomsticks outside of the Quidditch arena after an incident a few years past.
"Emily!" A young scot was running up the hill behind her. Oliver Wood, the team's keeper, had caught up to her in seconds. "Nice shots today. You made scoring on me look effortless."
"Maybe it was," she teased.
Oliver snorted in response. "Clever. Maybe you should take some of that unused effort and put it into your barrel rolls." He started chuckling at himself before she gave him a playful punch to the arm.
"Thanks for the advice. It must be so easy to see chasers' flaws while you sit back by the rings and wait for the action to come to you."
Oliver gave a good natured laugh. "Seriously though, I didn't know you flew. Where have you been? We could have used you on the team last year."
"Eh, I mainly play at home. I've never felt the need to fly in an organized league." She tried to keep talking with confidence, but in truth Emily had never been comfortable with playing in public. She learned to fly from her father when she was small, and had practiced against her uncle and cousins whenever they came to visit. She had spent countless summer hours playing with a makeshift hoop target by herself, passing the time before the next session at Hogwarts began.
"Well, I'm glad you changed your mind this year. We really need strong chasers this season after losing Astrix. Charlie and I can only do so much on our own, you know. Someone has to score points."
Wait, did Oliver actually think she was a skilled player? Emily knew she had done well, sure, but he spoke as if her spot on the team were guaranteed. Coming from a boy who was more obsessed with Quidditch than a troll was with bridges, she was both confused and flattered.
"Do you expect an envelope tonight?" She asked jokingly. Oliver lived and breathed Quidditch. If he could somehow eat, sleep, and use the bathroom from the back of a broomstick, she was sure that he would. It was an unspoken fact that he would be keeper once again this year.
"I hope so," He said with earnest. "And for the sake of the team, I hope some good chasers do too."
Author's Notes: Hello! Thank you for taking the time to read my new story. This was a short, introductory chapter so that I could publish the story and begin building upon it. Please feel free to provide feedback in a message or review. Thanks again for stopping by!