October.

"Urg," I said, struggling to pin a piece of paper to the common room bulletin board. Suddenly a pair of warm arms enveloped my head.

"Here," a low voice murmured, attaching the notice firmly.

"Thanks," I said, turning to stand face-to-face Matt Edwards. His nose was only about 1.57 inches from my own. "Oh!"

"Sorry," he grinned, taking a step back. He surveyed the notice board. The aforementioned note read Ravenclaw Quidditch Team Try-out Sign-sup Sheet (date to be announced). "Quidditch tryouts, already?"

"Yeah," I managed, staring determinedly at a spot over his—broad—shoulder. "You trying out?"

"Me? Oh, no," Edwards chuckled. "A little late in the spell, I think, for me. I was never any good anyway." He looked directly into my eyes and smiled.

"Ah, well," I said. Not everyone has what it takes, I suppose.

"I'm actually quite fond of the Muggle sport football, though," he continued. A black-and-white sphere came to my mind. "No chance of falling 300 hundred feet up."

A weak chuckle escaped from my mouth. Then I ducked my head and hurried back up to my dorm. I paused just outside the seventh-year dorm and laid a hand on the cool stone of the wall, trying to round up my runaway thoughts and shove them back in the kennel.

Matt Edwards was a fellow seventh year Ravenclaw. Tall, athletic (though he'd never made the Quidditch team) and good-looking, he was one of the most sought after blokes in the school. Every time I saw him in the hallway, talking and laughing with Theodore Wisz or Benedict Mauceri, my heart delivered a tempting case about punching through my chest wall. Today he'd worn a cream sweater coupled with red slacks. That sweater had looked soft…

I shook my head hard and reveled in the dark spots that consequently appeared in my vision, taking the opportunity to clear my head. I took a deep breath and proceeded into the dormitory.

As I had meditated on before, somehow Ravenclaw Tower had gotten the pleasure of housing not five, not six, but seven girls on a dark September night six years ago. You'd think we'd all be terribly crowded, but Hogwarts did not fail to produce; the circular room was enchanted to be bigger than what would seem physically possible. Nonetheless, I had jumped to claim a bed right next to the window.

Like the common room, the dorm room had an airy, large quality about it; the wide windows let loads of light in so the only lamps were very small and dim (which made moving about at night a little touching). Thick blue curtains draped around the seven four-poster beds, each of which had an accompanying dark-stained wooden bedside table and a white water basin.

"Hey, are Quidditch tryouts coming up soon?" asked Holly, sticking her head around the curtain of her four-poster bed. The action made the dark pink cylinders that dangled from her earlobes swing dangerously.

"Uh, yeah," I said, picking my way across the clothing-decorated floor. "Thinking of trying out?"

"Maybe," she answered coyly, smiling. "What's open?"

"Well, technically everything's open, except for Keeper of course," I told her. "I won't necessarily keep all of the returning people."

"What? But that's so mean!"

"It's understood," I tried to explain, finally flopping onto my sheets and propping my head up on a pillow. I rolled my head to the side and tracked a cloud moving across the blue sky through my window. "No new Captain should stick with their old team for old times' sake."

"Still," Holly mused aloud.

I flipped my hair out of my eyes and rotated on to my stomach. Fishing around my open trunk for a ponytail holder, I said, "Well, both our Beaters, our Seeker, and one of our Chasers left last year, so those are definitely empty."

After a moment, she finally said, "Well, I'll think about it." Then she grabbed her bag and flounced out, leaving me feeling a little annoyed at her small display of arrogance. Did she think that if she tried out, I would just put her on the team? I'd never seen her play, but I'd never seen Holly Williams fail at anything she did.

I shrugged and turned my mind to the more pressing matter at hand—literally, the small folded bit of parchment I'd just grabbed from my pillow. "Quidditch Captains meeting, 1 PM, in the staff room," I read it aloud. "…Merlin's little blue bra."

I plopped down on my bed to think. Though school had to have been in session for at least a month, the identities of the various Captains were still hotly guarded (and equally in temperature, debated) secrets. With me as Ravenclaw Captain and Potter (ugh) as Gryffindor's, there was still Slytherin and Hufflepuff to consider; Darius Calvios was a sure bet for Slytherin, as he had been Captain last year. But the case of Hufflepuff's captain was a mystery. Actually, most of Hufflepuff's team would be a mystery, I realized, as more than half the members graduated last year. "Sucks to your ass-mar, Hufflepuff," I said aloud, smirking, then grimaced; Lord of the Flies had never been a favorite of mine.

A growl from my stomach interrupted my musings. "If I don't eat right now I'll pass out in a dramatic fashion, puke up my nonexistent lunch, or both," I decided aloud, and hurried down to the Great Hall.

"Hi," Elli greeted me shortly as I sat down next to her. She absently began to mix her mashed potatoes and jell-o with her knife.

"Uh, hi?" I said, giving her a strange look. "What's with you?" She sighed and shook her head. "Okay then…"

I glanced at my watch. "Agh, gotta run," I told her, pushing myself up and grabbing a couple bread rolls. "Quidditch Captains' meeting." Elli remained silent. "Uh, catch you later?" Bemused, I gave myself a mental shake and walked off.

Outside the staff room, I nervously stuffed a bit of bread in my mouth as I waited for some sort of signal to be given so that I might be granted entry. Anxiously, I started to pace and wring my hands, all the while eating the massive pile of rolls I had somehow procured.

"Oi, Wood!" came a panting voice down the hall. It was James Potter, looking sweaty and out of breath. "Not the only late one, am I?"

"Apparently not," I muttered under my breath. I'd arrived ten minutes earlier. "I don't recall ever giving you my name," I commented louder.

"Nick told me, after our, uh, little tiff," he explained, stopping next to me. "Well then. Shall we?" He gave the staff room door a push and held it open. Inside I could see several curious—and some frustrated—faces. "Why in Merlin's name do you have so many rolls?"

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies," I answered as I passed him, red-faced. Head ducked, I shuffled toward an empty corner.

"Well then," said Professor McGonagall, who stood at the front of the room. "Now that everyone-," she glared at Potter and me, "-is here, let's begin. First, we'll have the Heads of Houses introduce their Captains."

"Ahem," said the dark-skinned man standing next to her. His hair was slicked back with some kind of gel and he wore yellow and dark purple pinstriped robes. "Although I'm sure everyone knows him, here is the Slytherin Quidditch Captain, seventh-year Darius Calvios."

"Darius Calvus (1)." The words escaped my mouth unbidden, though thankfully to quietly for Calvios to hear. But James' head whipped toward me; after a brief moment of eye contact, he turned to stifle his laughter.

Darius ran a hand through his glossy blond hair, which hung a little past his chin. As his hand receded to his side, my eyes were drawn to the fake mole poised like a Stunned Bludger by his mouth, ready to pop out and attack everyone in the vicinity. "I hope to do just as well if not better this year while Slytherin Captain," he simpered to Professor Noguchi.

HA! I thought. Slytherin had their broomsticks handed to them by Hufflepuff last year!

"Well, Ravenclaw's Captain is none other than seventh-year Allison Wood," the man across from Noguchi quickly interjected. From where I was standing, I could see his shaking hands wringing themselves to death behind his robes of blue.

"Thank you, Professor Rousch," I said quietly. Several people turned to me in surprise, as if they hadn't noticed my presence. I flushed once again and retreated back into my corner.

"Gryffindor," began the third man, sitting comfortably in an armchair, "has the pleasure of having sixth-year James Potter as its Captain. James?"

"Neville," James acknowledged. He gave his audience a little wave.

My eyebrows rose before I could control them. James was on a first name basis with the Herbology professor? But of course—I'd forgotten Professor Longbottom was a family friend of the Potters.

Someone coughed. It was Professor Hauge, the Muggle Studies teacher that always seemed to have a permanent cold. "The—cough—Hufflepuff Captain is Mark—hack—van Hulle. Mr. van Hulle is a fifth year."

Murmurs erupted throughout the small room. I craned my neck in an effort to look at this new face.

Mark van Hulle was short but surprisingly muscular for a fifteen-year-old. His nondescript brown hair was cut short in an effort to get that military look, but his unruly locks spiked up in random places. His face was expressionless as people strained to get a look at him, except for a small muscle working in his jaw.

What a serious looking guy, I thought, giving him the once-over. Unbidden, a small smile crept onto my face. I have a feeling Hufflepuff won't be quite the pushover everyone is expecting this year.

I caught James' eye when my gaze left van Hulle. His face betrayed nothing, but his mouth broke into a small smile as he saw me looking at him. He wiggled his eyebrows at me. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting into laughter.

"Now that everyone has been introduced, let's discuss pitch bookings," McGonagall continued briskly. "We've already set up a tentative try-out schedule… Ravenclaw will have this Saturday from 8 to 2; Hufflepuff's will be on the same day but from 3-9. Gryffindor will be this Sunday from 8 to 2 and Slytherin will have Sunday from 3-9…"

"Well," I said, surveying the massive group of hopefuls before me, all talking and conversing with their neighbors excitedly. "Well." I was in too much shock to say much else. Were there always quite so many people? To my left I could see Scharkey and Scarlett climbing the stands to get a good seat. Catching my eye, Scharkey waved and gave me a thumbs-up.

"Well," I repeated, a little louder. The talking immediately stopped; every eye was focused on me. My mind was momentarily blank as I adjusted to being the subject of so much attention (as opposed to normally fading into the background). "If you're not here for the Ravenclaw Quidditch try-outs, get out."

No one moved.

"Okay, then," I said, looking around once more. "Any first years, skat." I made shooing movements with my free hand (the other clasping a Cleansweep Seventeen), and several small figures dashed away, shamefaced.

Now that that was settled, I had the remaining contestants fly a lap around the pitch so I could take a look at their basic skills… Let's just say that I feared for the future of my beloved team.

I spotted a dark figure in the far stands, intently bent over something in their lap. I squinted and made out unruly, spiky hair and a thick, red-and-gold scarf. "Potter…" I snarled under my breath. "That bastard, spying on my try-outs! And they say Gryffindors are the chivalrous ones." I'd conveniently forgotten my own, not-so sportsman-like plans for the weekend.

A crash and a shrill scream interrupted my dark musings. "Oh, crap tabs," I muttered. One of the second-years had flown into a goal post.

Despite my fears, I managed to put together a pretty fair team by the end of tryouts.

Stephen Stroupe, the snobby blonde boy I'd bragged my Captainship to had returned as Chaser, along with Kayla Milam, a tall, athletic girl with an arm like a cannon. Both were fellow seventh-years. The third Chaser was a fifth-year named Maggie Anderson, who had never had any real experience with Quidditch and decided to try out "on a whim." The kid, small and mousy, was a natural, maybe even better than Stroupe and Milam.

Another returnee was sixth-year Beater Carl Mauldin, a large, heavy-set boy with arms about as thick as my head. His partner was Timothy McCulley, whose arms were… not as thick as my head, by a long shot. The scrawny fourth-year looked almost comical next to the gorilla-like Mauldin.

Last but not least—the hotly contested position of Seeker was of course the most important of my beloved sport—was a little third-year I liked to refer to as my "secret weapon." When you look at David Lankford, you don't think much—average size, brown hair & eyes, not much of an intelligent look to him—but the boy is a Quidditch player after my own heart. Call me a cougar, but damn is all I will say.

"Congratulations on making the team," I said finally, surveying the six people before me. "I hope you all are as committed to Quidditch as I am, because if I had my way we'd start practicing now, but unfortunately McGonagall forbids all official practices until all try-outs have been complete."

"When will we practice, then?" Carl grunted.

"I booked the pitch from 7:30 to 10:30 on Mondays and Thursdays," I answered. "Wednesdays and Fridays will be shorter, from 6:30 to 8. And Saturdays will be from 8 to noon."

"No Sunday practice?" asked Stephen, surprised into conversation.

"For now. As matches approach, the schedule may change. I'll post it weekly on the notice board every Sunday evening."

Stephen nodded, satisfied for now.

I pursed my lips. "Alright then. See you guys Monday. Don't be late."

As we walked across the pitch, Maggie hesitantly touched my elbow. "Um, what if we don't have a broom?"

I sighed. "Just use a school broom for now. You'll want to order one fast, though—school brooms can only do so much. I have a copy of Quidditch Weekly back in the changing rooms that you can borrow."

"Oh! Uh, okay," she said. "Thanks, Captain." Her dark eyes shone as she looked at me.

"Sweet Merlin, don't do that," I told her. "That makes me feel like I should be on a yacht or something."

She sent me a puzzled look. "A what?"

"Never mind," I said absentmindedly, spotting a familiar person making his way down the stands. "Oi! Potter!"

"Ah, my poor eyes must be blessed, to be able to see your lovely visage this brisk Saturday mor—afternoon!" James called, hurriedly shoving a small leather-bound notebook in his bag.

"Oh, don't bother," I chided. "Let me see." I held out my hand expectantly.

"Wh-what? Like I'd hand over all my hard work to you!"

I raised my eyebrows. "You've only had the chance to see the Ravenclaw tryouts. Nothing in there I don't already know. Now gimme!"

James made a face as he thrust his papers into my hand.

After a while… "Hm. And here—ha! Oh, baby Grindelwald you are a riot, Potter," I said finally, wiping a tear from my eyes with one hand.

"Wait, what?" He made a grab for the notebook but missed. "What's so bad?"

"Nothing, nothing," I chuckled. "It's just… your drawings. Is that supposed to be an arm or is Carl just really happy to be back on the pitch?"

He shrugged. "Well—I'm not really sure. He doesn't talk much in class…"

I laughed out loud at that. "Really? He's the loudest one on the pitch. By the way, my name has two L's, not one." I tossed the book back and he stuffed it out of sight.

"Who cares?" James made a face. "I only ever think of you as 'Wood' anyway."

My brow furrowed as several dirty and inappropriate jokes immediately came to mind, but I shooed them away with a cough. "That's the way it should be, anyway."

He started to nod in agreement and then did a double take. "What does that-,"

"Oh my fruitcakes I'm hungry," I moaned. "Do you think lunch is still going?" It was already two o'clock and I needed some sustenance before the Hufflepuff try-outs.

"I doubt it."

We stood there awkwardly for a moment. "I should, uh, probably get going…" I started.

"Or we could just go to the kitchens? The house-elves won't mind," said James, hands in his pockets.

"Oh." I blinked. "Um, okay. Just, uh, let me change first."

As I walked into the locker rooms, I shook my head and chuckled. Of course James Potter would know a way to get into the school kitchens, the fabled land of endless food and willing house-elves. He wasn't what you'd call the school prankster—that was more up Fred's alley—but he definitely gave off that air of being someone who knew more than he should.

After dumping my broom and other equipment in my Captain's Office—yes, I actually have an office now—I changed quickly into jeans and a comfy navy blue sweater. I grabbed my jacket off the door on the way out, thinking of how chilly the walk back up to the castle would be. It was, after all, October already.