Good evening my faithful compatriots, I'm nearly 100% certain that I'm using that word wrong. Today I give you... quidditch tryouts! I know right, so exciting. Overall it's not a hugely important chapter but there are a few little lines in there that set up bigger things. Follow, review, all that stuff, and enjoy.

- Lost Boy

xxx

Tryouts

Genevieve grinned wildly, the wind whipping against her face as she wandered down to the Quidditch pitch, Regulus by her side. It had been a week since the Ravenclaw tryouts and MacDougal's successor, Ackerly Crabbe, had finally gotten his act together. Crabbe was far from the brightest of fellows, and she couldn't possibly fathom why MacDougal would have recommended him to Professor Slughorn for the position of captain. This led her to the conclusion that Professor Slughorn had completely disregarded MacDougal's qualified opinion and decided that a member of his infamous Slug-Club would be much more useful to him in the position of captain. To be frank, even she could have made a better captain than Crabbe, and she knew next to nothing about the techniques and tactics that didn't apply to her own position. It was why she liked playing keeper so much, whatever anybody else might be doing on the field, she relied on nothing but her own skill. She supposed it would be a similar experience for Regulus should he secure the position of seeker.

"You nervous?" She asked. Regulus had been chewing on his lip since they left the castle.

"No." His worried expression morphed into one of cool disinterest, betraying no emotion as he caught himself.

Regulus seemed to be doing that a lot lately, though still slightly less than last year. With each time, she grew to be more and more concerned. Shutting off all emotion could not be good for his health, it limited his experiences. And she knew in her gut that one day it would come back and bite him in the arse. But for now, she would let it slide. If she noticed the telltale signs that it was progressing into something dangerous, she would confront him. But that could wait. For now, he seemed to be fine, despite the complete and utter tragedies that were his familial relationships.

So instead she overlooked his apparent nervousness in an odd attempt at comfort. "Nah, I guess you wouldn't need to worry anyway."

She personally wasn't concerned about losing her own position, nobody ever tried out for keeper. As a chaser you were in the thick of the action, as a beater you protected your teammates and as a seeker, you were responsible for ending the match. Keepers, on the other hand, were responsible for saving goals constantly. And if you missed just one, it could be the difference between the first or last place in the running for the Quidditch cup. At least seekers weren't constantly under pressure, just the last few minutes of a match. And if a seeker should succeed they were glorified by their housemates.

If by some miracle somebody did show up to try out for keeper, she still had more qualification as a past player. Then again, Hufflepuffs keeper had been outdone by a fresh player this year. Hufflepuff wasn't a particularly strong team, the greatest competition lied in Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. But still, it was important to never underestimate an opponent. Hufflepuff seemed to be improving little by little every year. Quickly enough to make a difference, but not so quick that those who weren't looking would notice.

This year their team was made up of Captain of three years, who played chaser. He had a good eye for opponents weaknesses and never failed to attempt exploitation of said weaknesses. The remaining two chasers put up a strong front, but both lacked the proper arm strength for direct passing, making it easy to intercept. Their beaters did have strong arms, unlike their chasing counterparts. But they lacked the foresight required to properly direct bludgers away from their teammates. The seeker, however, was beyond talented at his position, though a little too tall to dart through the air with the speed displayed by a smaller player like Regulus.

And then there was the keeper, the wild card. They might be fabulous, or they might be shite. Only time would tell.

The wind picked up as they stepped out onto the field. Pushing escaped strands of hair to the side her face, she subconsciously she attempted to smooth it down, pulling it back over her scar. Regulus hadn't seen it, and she would much rather keep it that way. As a matter of fact, no one but Madame Pomfrey had seen it. Andy and a few of her dormmates had seen it peeking out from beneath the edges of her hair, but none of them had seen the complete mess it had made of the back of her neck. At the very least, the colouring had dulled down slightly.

Her gaze swept over the field. Unsurprisingly, Crabbe was late. Their head chaser Siobhan Fawley had begun organising the newbies into groups depending on their position and recording it on a scrap of parchment. For the position of beater there were seven students ready to try out, for chaser; twelve, for seeker, six, and for keeper, a grand total of zero players. Genevieve was beginning to grow a little concerned about who would fill her place one she left the team. Last year she had been the only one to try out and the year before, the keeper had needed to play into his seventh year despite needing precious study time for work as an arithmancer; a career path renowned for its difficulty.

She still hadn't the faintest clue what she wanted to do with her life, career talks would begin in only a few months and most people had some sort of plan. Unfortunately, she hadn't received a sudden epiphany since escaping the hospital wing and was still clueless as ever. She should probably take some time out of her schedule to figure that out, but between schoolwork and the upcoming Quidditch training, she would barely have the time for a crossword. Oh well, things would work out in the end. Probably. She wasn't the only student that was unsure as to their career prospectives, just the only Slytherin. But Slytherins were all overachievers, even if they would never admit it. In all honesty, they could give the Ravenclaws a run for their money.

"Do you reckon any of them are good?" Genevieve asked as she sidled up to her teammate who had just finished organising the groups, Regulus slipping among the group of seekers.

Siobhan just so happened to be the only other girl on the Slytherin team since Andy had left. Given that only two girls had shown up for tryouts this year, she assumed things would remain that way given that no girls had shown up for tryouts. Most of them were simply clever enough to realise that they didn't want to spend hours trapped in the hospital wing. They must have had their heads screwed on tighter than she did.

"Maybe Newbie."

"Do you have to call me that?" She scowled. "I'm not even the newbie anymore, these kids are." She gestured at them wildly, keeping her voice just low enough to not attracts said newbies' attention.

Siobhan shrugged. "You were the only new player in my second year, you'll always be the Newbie to me."

"But I'm older! I'm a whole year older than you."

"So, that just means you're not as talented." She grinned in an aloof manner as she dodged Genevieve's incoming fist.

"Too slow." She stuck out her tongue.

It was a strange experience, talking with Siobhan. Her family was famous among purebloods for refusing to take a side in the blood purity debate, so most Slytherins either left her alone, or they went out of their way to make her life hell. As a result of this, she had spent a great deal of her first year attempting to impress her housemates to no avail. By the time she had given up, she began to act as her true self. She had no mask of indifference and had no difficulty expressing emotion, unlike most other Slytherins. It was precisely this that made her so interesting to talk to. When she had become a chaser in only her second year, most of the house had thought MacDougal to be a fool for selecting someone with such a controversial political status amongst her house. But they changed their tune after she scored a record-breaking number of points for Slytherin house in her first match. Since that match, they had treated her with a begrudging respect, but she had found that she was sick of the standards she was being set up to by her house. And while she still had a sense of house pride for both the house and quidditch cup, she spent most of her time the Hufflepuffs who she had found to be more to her taste.

"You ready to put their arses into gear?" Genevieve asked.

Siobhan responded with a snort. "Well, it's not as if Crabbe will be turning up anytime soon so we'd best get started. What Slughorn was thinking making him captain I will never know."

"Crabbe's in his Slug-Club, it only makes sense that he'd play favourites."

"But still, any other player on this team could do a better job than that git." Siobhan grimaced before returning to the task at hand.

"Alright morons!" She called out. "You were all stupid enough to decide that you want to play Quidditch, a sport famed for its serious injuries."

Genevieve very nearly burst out laughing at the indignant expressions on some of the particularly uppity Slytherins' faces. They clearly hadn't been expecting someone like Siobhan to take charge. She could practically see the phrases written on their faces. She could imagine them thinking: 'How dare someone speak to them like that, they were righteous purebloods!'

"And as idiotic as the decision might be," Siobhan continued, pacing before them. "It at least means that we'll have a full team, provided that you aren't all shite players. Given that our esteemed captain has decided not to attend his teams' tryout session, it will instead be conducted by us lot who are already on the team. I do hope that you all stretched beforehand because we will not go easy on you. We'll start out with a few activities on the ground, then split off into groups and work on the skills required for each position. Understood?"

They all nodded, though some nerves broke through their cool facades as they grew somewhat worried as to what someone as barbaric as Siobhan Fawley might make them do.

"TEN LAPS AROUND THE FIELD. NOW!"

The vast majority of them scampered off, beginning their laps around the large field. At a curt nod from Siobhan, the rest of the team took off after the hopefuls. Leaving Siobhan to deal with those moronic enough to refuse to run was probably not a wise course of action given her famously sharp tongue. She would not put up with any bullshit from anyone who wasn't on the team, something those unfortunate souls would soon learn. She and her current teammates shared a look, deciding on where in the pack each would run. It was rather impressive really that MacDougal's captaincy had been of such high calibre that they could understand one another without exchanging words. And all despite the fact that none of them particularly liked one another. Crabbe had been the exception to this, but then again most of Crabbe's communication was slurred by inebriation. Genevieve took a place the back of the pack, occasionally telling off students for not running fast enough. Their beater who had bothered to show up, Travers, took the middle as their second chaser, Rowle, took the front. For chasers, speed and physical fitness were one of the most important attributes and though many thought otherwise, Quidditch wasn't all about what happened up in the air.

Her calf muscles began to burn a little as they began the third lap and with it passed the students who had refused to run once more. There were only two left now, the other two had joined the pack after the end of the first lap. One of the two remaining appeared to be in a heated argument with Siobhan, the pair near-yelling at one another as the boy's friend stood awkwardly beside him, unsure as to whether he should join the rest of the runners or support his friend.

"This is Quidditch, I came here to fly, not to run like some mudblood!"

As a child, Genevieve might have flinched at the use of the phrase mudblood, but it no longer had such an effect on her. After hearing it hollered at muggleborns or used so casually in the common room hundreds of times it no longer seemed important. The perpetrator of the slur in question looked to be about thirteen, clearly too young to even know how to use the slur in the correct context. Running wasn't a just a muggle pastime, anyone who played quidditch knew how to run. It was basic logic that the more you run the fitter you became and for Quidditch, you needed to be in top form.

"Well, you git," Siobhan growled. "Either you start running and if you redeem your obnoxiousness with some talent, though I sincerely doubt you have any, and you just might get yourself a spot on the team. Merlin knows you need something to make up for your nasty personality. But if you won't run, then get the hell off this field. We have no place for overconfident tweens who think they're gods goddamn gift to the planet."

The boy pulled himself up to his full height, still at least a full foot shorter than Siobhan, particularly tall for a girl of Japanese descent, especially at age fourteen. "It isn't as though I'd ever want to play on a team with a filthy blood traitor like you Fawley."

That said, the boy stalked off the field, grabbing his friend's arm and pulling him along, their brooms dragging behind them as they left the field. They were going to destroy their brooms doing that, not that Genevieve would be caught dead complaining about it. Siobhan couldn't even technically be a blood-traitor when she resided in the neutral zone in regards to purebloods and muggleborns, but that was enough for most people. It was an accepted truth that Siobhan was not a typical Slytherin, in the minds of many her views were warped and her attitude unnatural.

Siobhan turned to face the runners, her cheeks heated, many of whom had slowed down considerably to watch the argument.

"Was that ten laps eejits?" She snapped, her ability to come up with fresh, ridiculing names act every turn impressive as ever.

Taking off with a burst of speed, Siobhan pushed her way to the head of the pack, jet black hair flying behind her as she led the group through the next five laps before pulling off to the side to take notes on her scrap of parchment about students ability. Taking notes on whether or not they were unable to keep pace or whether they looked particularly promising. Genevieve was proud to see that Regulus had maintained his position between the middle and the front of the group for the entire six laps. She didn't doubt that Kemp's constant laps around the lake during Defence Against The Dark Arts had helped any of the fifth or fourth-year students trying out. Unfortunately, Kemp hadn't put all years through such a rigorous regime and many were struggling to keep pace, falling behind the group. If a student fell too far behind, Genevieve would get them moving once more with the threat that they wouldn't be permitted to continue tryouts if they didn't keep pace. This convinced most to rejoin the group, but one particularly sickly looking sixth year had decided to drop out.

When Siobhan finally called for a halt, allowing them to go and get a drink, Genevieve was sweating like a pig. Siobhan obviously used the break time to plan the rest of the tryouts activities because not a minute after finishing her drink she put the hopefuls through exhausting agility and balance testing. The balance testing was hilarious to watch, and that was an understatement. Siobhan split everyone off into four groups, one per team member. Each team member would use their wands to record how long each person could stand on one foot with their heel off the ground. Of the five people in Genevieve's group, two had such a level of concentration painted across their faces as they wobbled that she couldn't help a giggle from escaping her, though she did her best to disguise it with a cough. One second year boy managed to balance for an impressive two minutes, far longer than what she could do.

Siobhan scratched down the times, taking particular note of the most impressive ones, having found a new piece of parchment within the pockets of her robes to scribble on. She put them back into new groups based on preferred position, shoving Genevieve and Rowle towards the chasers and Travers towards the beaters after briefly describing two different drills to each, taking the remaining five seekers herself.

"I trust your judgement. I'll pick out a seeker and reserve. Shafiq and Rowle, I need you to find us a replacement chaser and a reserve. Travers, a reserve for the beater position," She muttered under her breath. "It's a pity that we can't replace Crabbe."

Genevieve and Rowle put the eleven chasers through a passing exercise. Upon discovering that one rather disagreeable boy could barely even throw the ball, she politely asked him to leave (knowing that if she allowed Rowle to perform the task that the boy might start a shouting match), explaining that he was not what they were looking for. The ten possible chasers left all seemed to be at least adequate at passing the quaffle. For most of the passing drill, all she did was watch, but for the second drill, she would defend the goals against the hopefuls.

"Alright," Rowle called. "Everyone is going to line up and you will have three shots at Shafiq. Those who get the most goals will have a second turn. Our top scorers will probably get a shot to play in the trial match."

Twisting the quaffle in his dominant hand, Rowle demonstrated how to take the shot. His left arm raised up behind his head and Genevieve watched intently as the Quaffle soared from his fingers in a near perfect throw, his wrist propelling the quaffle forward in such a manner that only someone who played regularly could display. The moment it left his grip, everything but the quaffle disappeared for Genevieve. All was silent as the players faded into a blinding white. The quaffle flew at the left goal and she dived, arm outstretched. A euphoric glee filled her as she felt the quaffle collide with her hand, pulling it in close to her chest for security. Being the last line of defence was always daunting, but damn was it bloody exhilarating.

"Go easier on this lot will you?" Rowle asked, the closest he would ever get to a compliment.

Tossing the quaffle to the first competitor, she nodded in response, waiting for the new kid to take his shot. They had three shots, so she made sure to make note of any technical errors, both for the purposes of identifying the stronger players and how to take advantage of it during the harsher second round. The first competitor's wrist was weak as he threw the quaffle and he entirely missed the shot. His next two weren't much better as his face burned in humiliation. She let the third one in, mostly out of pity. She also let past any goals from other players that she determined had good technique and only needed a little improvement here and there. Most of the other boys were all rather average with the exception of two who both performed very well. Although most got one or two goals, these two got all three. To be fair she was being rather generous with the goals, but they clearly knew what they were doing.

As Rowle organised the pair for the last shootout Genevieve glanced upwards at the seekers, streaking through the sky above. They raced across the field, competing for first place. She was overjoyed to see Regulus darting to the front of the group, taking first place and following Siobhan into a steep dive. His eyes were alight with a pure and innocent energy that she hadn't seen in years, his hair whipping around his face. She hadn't seen him look that happy since... not since before his catastrophic fallout with his brother.

Turning her gaze back to her own group she found the two more impressive ones waiting in line, ready to shoot. She grinned. "Come at me then."

She was not going to go easy on these boys. They would have difficulty getting anything past her. The first shot she saved easily, catching it in the palm of her hand. The second she saved with a little more difficulty, darting to the left goal. The third shot came straight towards her as the poor soul seemed to have given up entirely. The second competitor put up a bit more of a challenge, his first shot barely skimming her fingertips as she pushed forward with a desperate burst of speed, pulling the quaffle into her chest and passing it back. Everything a keeper did while playing against a formidable opponent was desperate to succeed, if you weren't desperate you were a fool and had no hope of saving any goals. His second shot wasn't of as good quality as the first, but his third shot... his third shot was bloody brilliant. Genevieve all but threw herself towards the Quaffle flew for the right goal, feeling the rough material glide against her fingertips, unable to stop it from passing into the goals. It was somewhat a surprise, that a new kid had managed to get the quaffle past her. After a year of honing her skills, it was rare for even her teammates to get the quaffle past her at training. Upon looking up to Rowle, she found a similar expression of shock on his face.

"Good job rookie," she complimented, turning back to the boy. "What's your name again?"

"Yaxley, William Yaxley"

"Well Yaxley, that was bloody brilliant."

She had hoped that the boy would smile at this, but instead, he nodded curtly in archetype Slytherin fashion before retreating to the stands with his fellow competitors. The beaters and seekers seemed to have all finished up their drills, a few players floating loftily in the air as they relaxed after the ordeal.

"Rowle, Shafiq, get over here," Siobhan called.

Genevieve withdrew her gaze from the dark night sky, it hadn't felt like they had been out here for that long but when the started the sky had been a dusty pink. Siobhan stood with the quiet and burly Travers in a corner of the field, waving them over.

Her calf muscles screamed in protest as she jogged over. Despite Professor Kemp's training, running was not her forte and ten laps of the field had been a tad excessive to kick off the season while they were all unfit, but no one was about to tell Siobhan what to do when she was the only one making an effort to manage tryouts (even if most of the team had low opinions of her).

"Who do you place your bets on?" Siobhan asked, pulling out her various sheets of parchment.

"Yaxley for the main team and Blishwick for reserve" Rowle immediately responded, listing the two boys that had made it to the final shooting round. "Both of them have good shooting skills."

"Blishwick could barely manage any of the passes," Genevieve argued. "Gamp scored two of his three goals and had the best passing abilities of the lot."

Siobhan flipped through her notes, triumphant upon finding the correct name. "Blishwick, he had a poor running ability which might suggest overall bad fitness. His balance and agility were… not bad I suppose, but not overly good either. Gamp on the other hand…" She flipped through her notes. "Kept in the middle of the pack for the entire run, had average balance and excellent agility. I'll try them both out in the practise match. And Yaxley… he performed above average in each ground drill. Seems like the perfect pick for a chaser." She turned to Travers. "And the reserve beater?"

"Either Flint or Lestrange, either seemed capable."

"Flint was..." She pulled out a sheet of parchment. "Average for all fitness testing, Lestrange too. And Lestrange's brother was our seeker last year, so if we're lucky he's learnt a few things from him. For seeker I'm thinking Black or maybe Thorfin, both performed very well in their fitness, particularly well balance for Black."

"I taught Reg everything he knows," Genevieve jokingly boasted, ducking a fist from Siobhan.

They ended sending back those who didn't have a chance of making the cut and starting up a match. The match teams were composed of one seeker, one beater and two chasers, meaning that Genevieve's participation wasn't needed and leaving her to watch from the stands. Team A was composed of Regulus as a seeker, Yaxley and Rowle as chasers, and Flint as a beater. Team B had Thorfin as a seeker, Gamp and Siobhan as the chasers, and Lestrange as a beater.

Not too soon after the match started, Genevieve felt her eyelids begin to droop, sliding over her eyes before she could think to stop it. Her sleep schedule had been less than adequate lately by her inconvenient dreams of undead creatures and she found herself falling asleep at the most inopportune of times.

Sometime later she awoke to a finger prodding against her shoulder. Startled awake, she spun around to see who it was.

Regulus was grinning at her, something she did not see often. "I got on the team,"

He must have been really overjoyed by the news if he hadn't taken advantage of the fact that she had fallen asleep watching Quidditch, teasing her was his favourite hobby. "What did I tell you, nothing to be nervous about, you're a natural. Who else got on the team?"

"Yaxley for the main team. Gamp got reserve chaser, Lestrange for the reserve beater and Thorfin for the reserve seeker."

Genevieve pulled herself to her feet. "That's good, I don't think that any of them being particularly uptight or whiny. Did Crabbe ever show up?"

"Halfway through the match and drunk off his arse." He chuckled. "You should've seen Fawley lay into him about his responsibilities as captain. It was quite some talking to she gave him."

"Wish I had." She yawned widely. "Let's head back."

As the pair wandered back to the Slytherin dorms she had one thought running through her mind on an endless loop. The Quidditch cup was their's for the taking this year.