Saturday was an overcast, gray day, but I was too excited to care. It was finally time for Quidditch tryouts, and hopefully by the end of the day I would be a Chaser.

Despite it being a weekend day – therefore meaning no classes – I was out of bed by seven. Hermione had to practically force feed me breakfast while Harry soothed my nerves with encouraging words and Seamus ever so helpfully pointed out that the worst that could happen was me getting nailed in the head with the Quaffle and dying from blunt force trauma.

After I calmed down from the hysteric fit that caused, I curled up on an armchair in the Common Room with Quidditch Through The Ages to study some of what was to be expected of me. I liked the maneuvers the best, personally, but Fred, George, and Harry all advised me to not try and break my neck with an extravagant move before I even qualified.

Lunch was even more of a struggle than breakfast, but then the main event was upon us.

We all make our way down to the pitch, Hermione and Ron splitting off to go find seats while Harry dragged me over to the other applicants and wished me luck before joining the team.

I shift my weight from foot to foot nervously as the others all chatter amongst themselves. A quick head count reveals about twenty applicants.

Twenty applicants and only one position on the team, and – if Wood was correct – no need for reserves. Which means they were all here to try out for Chaser.

One spot.

Twenty people.

Oh, Merlin.

I breathe out and close my eyes to keep from hyperventilating, and before I know it Wood's standing in front of us and talking.

"Welcome, fellow Gryffindors and hopefully future teammates! Today's tryout will be for the only spot left open as of right now – third Chaser, recently vacated by Katie Bell. We are not building reserves at this time, so if you're here for that, sorry, but you can leave or head to the stands."

Only one person moves – a boy, looking to be a first year and about eleven.

Nine people left, still just one spot.

"So," Wood continues, "you will each be given a set of Quidditch robes to fly in for tryouts only – unless you make the team, in which case you'll get your own robes. Now, once you're all dressed we'll get you on brooms. We'll be calling by last name alphabetical order."

I groan slightly – this means I'll be one of the first to go up.

Well, my conscience reminds me, at least you'll get it over with.

After we've all dressed in the right robes (mine are a little too big), we make our way back to the pitch, where Wood was standing with a stopwatch, Quaffle, and clipboard. "Alright, good. Now then…Aston, Michael…"

Sometime later (my concept of time was as frayed as my nerves) "Bibbs, William," touches down after making six successful shots out of ten and almost crashing into Angelina Johnson.

"Black, Orissa."

I take a deep breath and force myself to walk forward, ignoring the whispers that break out at the sound of my name as I accept a school broom – a Cleansweep Five – from Angelina and mount it.

"Okay, Black," Wood nods at me. "Here's what's going to happen. Angelina and Alicia Spinnet over there will take to the skies with you in order to both test your ability to work with them and your skill in evasion. I will be acting as Keeper, to test how well you can get the ball past me. There is no opposing team, unfortunately, but act like there is, okay?"

I nod mutely as he finishes repeat what he's said to every applicant that's gone so far.

"Whenever you're ready."

I nod again, glancing over towards the team just in time to see Harry give me a thumbs up, making a small smile climb onto my face as I urge the broom a little higher.

Once the three of us are high enough in the air, Oliver mounts his own broom and hovers in front of the hoops, handing Fred the Quaffle. "3…2…1…start!"

The Quaffle gets launched into the air, and I instantly move forward to catch it, tucking it under one arm as I take off across the field.

About halfway across the field, a red blur streaks past me in the opposite direction, and I just barely register that it's Angelina, and now she was the Quaffle. I catch Alicia's eye, however, and she nods; coming into positon above me.

We both rush at Angelina at the same time – Alicia going higher to steal the Quaffle and make Angelina follow her, which she does, and once she's lead Angelina a safe distance away she lets the Quaffle escape her grasp, letting it fall about five feet to where I hover, waiting to catch.

While Alicia deals with Angelina, I take off across the field at full speed; headed straight for Wood and the goalposts. I quickly asses the Keeper's position and find out he's lacking on the left ring, and I alter my course to adjust.

I dart the final few feet, turning my broom to the side slightly as I skid to an almost-stop, tossing the Quaffle immediately and giving a whoop as it passes neatly through the hoop.

"Nice job, Black!" Angelina calls. "Let's try that again…"

Nine tries and eight goals later, my boots touch back down onto the ground, and I – along with Alicia and Angelina – was only painting slightly.

I get off my broom and pass it off to Wood, shaking hands with the other two girls before heading off to stand with the other completed applicants.

"Orissa!" Hermione squeals, running up to me. "You were amazing!"

"Yeah, mate," Ron nods. "That roll you did to avoid Alicia when she came down to you on your seventh throw was brilliant!"

I can't help the slight heat that rises to my cheeks as I shrug. "Yeah, well, let's just hope it's enough."

"Oh, it will be!"

A while later, after the last person ("Yerman, Jessica!") came down, Oliver announced that the team would deliberate and probably get back to us within the hour.

I amble my way over to the stands, Hermione, Ron, and I, finding spots on the first row.

"So," I strike up a conversation, "has Malfoy let up yet?"

Hermione shakes her head. "No, not yet. He's fine, and he probably doesn't even need the bandages now, but you know him."

"Milking it for all it's worth," Ron sneers.

"And what does he have to gain?" I sigh. "Just getting Hagrid fired. Hagrid has nothing against Malfoy; the grudge is completely one-sided."

"And it's only a grudge, per say, because you and Harry adore Hagrid," Hermione muses. "And Malfoy, of course, hates the both of you."

"Yeah," I nod sullenly as I watch the huddle of red that was the Gryffindor Quidditch team. "His new hobby seems to be taunting me about Si – my father."

Hermione frowns and puts a hand on my shoulder. "That's not fair. We don't berate and belittle him for things his father has done. Don't let him get to you, 'Rissa."

Ron stays silent but nods empathetically.

I sigh. "I'll try not to."

A sudden shrill whistling sound makes us all jump, and we look down to see Wood calling down all applicants. A decision must have been made.

I tentatively make my way onto the pitch, Ron and Hermione's last 'good luck's following me.

"Everyone here?" Oliver starts as soon as we're all gathered. "Good. Now, before we tell you who we chose, I want you to all know that you are good fliers, but there's only one spot open right now and nine of you."

I resist the urge to scream out and demand he get to the point.

"So, without further ado, your newest Gryffindor Chaser is…Ms. Orissa Black!"

I stand there in shock for a moment before Harry laughs, walks over to me, and gives me a nudge in the right direction. "Go on."

I give my head a shake as I reach out to shake hands with Wood. "Thank you."

He just grins and hands me a set of robes – scarlet, my size, and displaying BLACK and a 5 on the back.

Harry runs up and gives me a hug, fully decked out in his number 7 robes. "You did it! You actually did it!"

"I actually did it?" I mock teasingly. "Wow, ye of little faith!"

He rolls his eyes as Ron and Hermione run up to us and I barely brace myself before I'm tackled in a hug. "Oh my god, oh my god, you did it, you really, really did it-"

"Hermione?" I ask calmly as soon as I can get a word in. "Can you get off me?"

"Oh…right," she scrambles to get up. "Sorry."

I chuckle as I accept the hand up. "No problem."

We slowly make our way back to the castle, with Ron bragging about how he knew I had talent, I just had to show it, and the rest of us chatting aimlessly about brooms.

"I mean, the Shooting Star was probably nice, way back when," I tell Ron as we walk back into the Common Room, "but honestly the Nimbus is far greater when it comes to this century."

"The Shooting Star was in the 1950s!" he argues. "That's barely forty years ago!"

I open my mouth to counter that, but I'm cut off by a tapping sound at the window. I get up to look, finding a big, brown owl I don't recognize. I let it in instantly, untying a small, wrapped up piece of paper from it's leg.

Harry peeks over my shoulder. "What is it?"

"And who is it from?" Hermione adds.

"It's a note…" I unroll it and read the first line. "From Hagrid."

"Read it!"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Orissa- I read,

The Ministry is investigating Buckbeak. Don't try and help. Maybe I deserve it.

-Hagrid.

I give a slight gasp. "Buckbeak."

Ron huffs behind me. "That's a low blow Malfoy."

"It's not the first time he's pulled something like this," I remind them. "Trophy room, first year."

"We need to help him," Harry decides, and Ron and I nod eagerly.

"But he said no to!" Hermione protests weakly, and we all turn to stare at her.

I give her a really look. "'Mione, tell me you're not thinking of standing by and letting a Hippogriff be punished for something he was not responsible for!"

She glances at the three of us and then the note. "But…"

"Hermione."

"Fine," she huffs, but I can see the excitement growing in her eyes. "What do we have to do?"


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