As a Quidditch player, I believe you can tell a lot about a person by just looking at their brooms.

Take my broom, the Pegasus 200, for example. Nice looking, but not flashy. Efficient, good-quality, and gets the job done without a hitch. This might sound self-centered, but if that doesn't describe me, I don't know what does.

Or look at James Potter. He flies a Saturn 450 – flashy, expensive, and incredibly good looking. Perfect for an arrogant, incredibly good-looking prat like himself.

See what I mean?

But nothing about Potter's broom could have prepared me for the shock that arrived by owl a week before my seventh year at Hogwarts began – James Potter was named Gryffindor House Quidditch Captain.

Not me.

"Why does it have to be him, Mum?" I wail, falling back onto the sofa in our living room. The horrid parchment with the words 'James Potter, Gryffindor Quidditch Captain' printed on it in tidy script is still clutched in my hand. "If it wasn't going to be me, couldn't it have been Ananya Patil? She's a Seventh Year. Potter is such an insufferable twat, always boasting about his fancy broom or his Quidditch skills. And now he's captain! Ugh."

My mother, a talented Healer, looks up from the sweater she is knitting. "You have to admit, darling, that James is rather brilliant at Quidditch. He's the best Chaser on the team. And he doesn't seem to get injured as much as a certain someone I know."

She gives me a pointed look, and I huff, exasperated.

"I'm a Seeker, Mum. Getting hurt is practically part of the job." I say, sitting up. "And even if Potter is good at Quidditch, he's got the coaching skills of an… an acorn. This year is going to be bloody awful."

"Watch your language, Eloise." my mum says sternly.

"Sorry, Mum." I say, swinging my legs off the couch and standing up. "I think I'll go for a quick fly until Dad gets home. I want to tell him the news first thing."

My mother's face softens. "Don't be too hard on yourself, love. Your father may be disappointed, but both of us are still proud of you, no matter what."

I give her a hug. "Thanks, Mum. I'll be back in a bit."

Still upset at myself and Potter, I leave the house and stare out across the hilly expanse of land we live on, hoping that the view will calm me down. Beautiful scenery 24/7 is one of the perks of my father being Oliver Wood, former all-star player on the Puddlemere United Quidditch team and current coach of the team itself.

And since I have two older brothers and one younger brother, our family lives, eats, sleeps, and breathes Quidditch, myself included. Mum played for Ravenclaw when she was at Hogwarts, so she loves the game as well. And of course Dad loves regaling us with stories of how he led the Gryffindor Quidditch team to winning the Quidditch Cup when he was captain.

So, as you can imagine, my father will be pretty disappointed I'm not captain this year. My two older brothers, Jared and Cyrus, were both captains in their respective Seventh years. And knowing my Fifth Year brother Ricky, who's been a Beater since his third year, he'll be captain eventually. Leave it to me to break that streak.

Trying to push aside my negative thoughts, I wander over to the Quidditch shack (really just a garden shed used for Quidditch equipment) and grab my trusty Pegasus. Thanks to the polish Dad bought me last term, my broom is in perfect condition. But I'm extremely OCD when it comes to Quidditch equipment, (unfortunately I don't feel the same way about my room, which currently resembles a pigsty) so I trim some of the loose twigs and polish it a bit more before mounting and kicking off.

A few seconds later, I'm soaring over my house, which looks rather tiny from way up here. I honestly pity people who don't know how to fly or are too scared – the feeling is unparalleled and the views are superb. After practicing barrell rolls and attempting a Wronski Feint, (I'm getting rather good) I go down a bit lower and fly around the Quidditch pitch Dad built. I'm flying a bit higher to have another go at a Wronski Feint when I see my dad apparate at the front door.

Oh boy. Here goes.

"Oi! Dad!" I call, swooping down to the ground and hopping off my broom. "I've got news."

Dad's face lights up at this. "Are you Quidditch captain?" he asks in his strong Scottish accent, pulling me in for a brief hug before leaning back and looking at me with an expectant smile.

"Er… no." I admit, and my dad's face falls. "James Potter was chosen. That's what I wanted to tell you."

"Well, I'll admit I'm a bit disappointed, but I know you'll still do wonderfully this year." Dad says, pulling me in for another hug. "And James Potter is a nice enough lad. I know his parents quite well. Lovely people, the Potters."

"Not James." I insist, wrinkling my nose. "Lily and Al are all right, but James is a twat."

My dad shrugs, opening the front door and gesturing for me to go inside first. "But he's a bloody good Chaser. And he's a smart fellow. Not that I don't think you could be a better captain, but I still think the team will be successful with him running things."

I roll my eyes. "We'll see about that."