Written for QLFC: Season 9, Round 2
Team: Kenmare Kestrels (Beater 2)
Prompt: I Will Go the Distance - Hercules
Optional Prompts: (character) George Weasley / (weather) sleet / (dialogue) "Don't get too impressed"
Word Count (Excluding AN): 1830
As food appeared in front of George, he tried to eat despite the butterflies filling his stomach, but to no success. He and his brother, Fred, were trying out for the Gryffindor quidditch team after breakfast. Fred was nonchalantly drinking his coffee at the Gryffindor table while George buttered his toast, unable to focus on anything but the approaching tryouts.
Both twins loved Quidditch, but while Fred got the athletic gene, George wasn't so lucky. He'd been desperate to join his house Quidditch team growing up, but his lack of skill with flying seemed to stand in his way. Despite his lack of grace on a broomstick, George was still eager to try out for the Gryffindor team.
Everyone saw Fred and George as the boisterous twins without a care, but in reality, George was fairly insecure about his lack of athletic ability. Most of their fellow second years knew of the twins' plan to try out, and while they were sure Fred would make the team, they didn't believe George would have the same success.
"You excited for tryouts, Georgie?" Fred looked at his twin with his trademark mischievous glint in his eye. George smiled at him, bubbling with excitement and not being able to eat his toast. Accepting that he wouldn't eat before tryouts, George set down his toast and began on his glass of orange juice.
"You have no idea." George smiled at his twin, ready to prove the nay-sayers wrong. He was well aware of the whisperings between his peers; some weren't too quiet with their doubts about him. One first year even told him that he should stop trying since he'd never make it.
Fred laughed at his brother's obvious enthusiasm, feeling the same nerves in his gut but not showing it. "Maybe some toast would do you good," Fred nodded to his brother's still full plate. "Fainting off your broom won't help." He smiled knowingly across the table at George, nodding to his plate.
"Alright, alright. I'll try to eat." George knew Fred wouldn't let him leave the table without at least attempting to finish his breakfast. Picking up a piece of toast, George smothered his nerves just enough to force down a few bites of the buttery food. Realizing that he was famished, George quickly shoveled the rest of his food into his mouth, barely having a chance to breathe.
"Hey, Fred. Tryouts are soon; you should get to the pitch." A third year Gryffindor walked past the twins, nodding Fred towards the door. The Weasley in question quickly finished his breakfast and hopped up, ready to join his house team.
"Come on, Georgie." Fred was practically buzzing with excitement. The third year a few feet behind Fred looked annoyed at the thought of George trying out, but kept his mouth shut. The other Weasley twin joined the pair and they hurried out of the Great Hall.
The journey to the Quidditch pitch was quick and silent, only punctuated by the heaving of breath as they pushed themselves to their limit, desperate to be on time. George was bursting at the seams, nervous he'd make a mess at tryouts but eager to show he belonged on the team.
At least a dozen Gryffindors were gathered on the pitch, with a few dotting the stands. The third year that joined Fred and George loped off to a few of his friends, breaking into a loud, excited discussion. Fred and George were slower to join the discussion of their fellow athletes as they were reluctant of George's attendance.
"Alright, everyone. Let's get started." The Gryffindor captain Oliver Wood called the rowdy group to order. "I'll be one of the keepers, along with Alicia Spinnet, who will be in our reserves this year." Oliver began separating the group into two opposing teams, putting Fred and George on opposing sides as beaters.
George was excited to show his skills, and even show up a few of the boys who teased him about his dream to be on the team. George hurriedly picked up one of the school provided brooms on the perimeter of the pitch and swung his leg over, gripping the handle to stay in place. A tiny ball of fear began forming in his stomach, scared he would actually make a fool of himself. Shoving his fear aside, George looked across the pitch at his brother, and rose to the air seconds after he did.
Initially, he seemed to be steady on his broom as he rose higher and higher, until he was at the same level as his future teammates, aside from the two seekers that were high enough to see the whole pitch. The beater was snug in his grip as he eyed the opposing team, doing his best to remember their faces as they were all wearing the same colors.
Once George had reached an even level with his teammates, he breathed a sigh of relief, seeming secure on his broom. As the quaffle was thrown into play, George hung back, letting the rest of his team rush for it. Seeing his team had secured the quaffle, George flew on the outskirts of the players, prepared to step in when the opposing team got its hands on the quaffle.
Within seconds, the third year they'd arrived with snatched the quaffle out of a player's hands and rushed towards the other end of the pitch. George tightened his grip around the bat's handle, searching the pitch for the bludger. Seeing it mere feet away from him, George hurried to hit it.
As George swung at the bludger, his hand faltered; he was terrified he would miss it. Missing the bludger, George quickly realized his situation. The bludger hit George's broom, splitting it in two.
Attempting to cling to the broom for dear life, George's fingernails dug into the wood. The pain resulting from the splinters shocked George's system, prompting him to let go of the broom. Staring at where his broom was hovering, George fell from the sky. The broom fell to the ground alongside him, no longer piloted by the redhead. The broom splintered on impact moments before George hit the ground.
Pain erupted through his body as the wind was knocked out of him, his eyes closed from the weight of the pain. Fred, who had noticed the instant George began his freefall touched down seconds after he landed, thoughts of tryouts long forgotten.
Fred kneeled at George's side, taking his head in his hands. "Georgie?" Fred's voice was but a whisper, worried George would never wake. George's eyes remained closed and unresponsive. "George!" Fred's tone was louder, more desperate. "Wake up!" George shook his brother lightly, not wanting to worsen any of his injuries.
George stirred at his brother's actions, his eyes fluttering open before squinting at the bright sunlight glinting overhead. He lifted his arm to block the sun, wincing at the pain he felt in his chest. He coughed a few times before catching his breath. Looking around him from his position on the ground, he could see that Fred was kneeling beside him with the rest of the players gathered around them.
George looked up at Oliver Wood, "Did I make the team?" His raspy question was punctuated by another cough. Fred looked at his twin, reeling that he was thinking about his try out while he was laying on the ground after tumbling off his broom.
"Weasley, you can't be serious." One of the players looked down at him, scoffing, "you can't even stay on your broom." A few of the gathered players laughed while Oliver looked at him sympathetically.
Madam Pomfrey arrived after Oliver had silenced the group. With the help of Fred, Madame Pomfrey helped George up and began the slow journey back to the castle.
"Hey, George," Oliver called out to the retreating trio. "Next weekend, same time. One more chance." George tried to thank him, but a coughing fit began the moment he tried to speak. "Don't get too impressed. It's just a chance, Weasley." Oliver waved them on as he re-gathered the Gryffindors, planning on resuming tryouts.
Healing his wounds took less time than he thought. Just three nights later, George was down in the quidditch pitch, rigorously practicing ever since he was released from the hospital wing. For hours he flew from one end to another and back again. He couldn't give up. He tightened his grip on the broom as he flew faster. Nerves got the best of him and he fell once; he couldn't fall again.
Day turned to night as George practiced harder and harder, only stopping when the bludger was no longer visible. He planned on practicing every spare moment until his tryout. He would make the team. He had to.
The morning of his try out, George awoke to a familiar sensation in his gut: nerves. What if he messed up again? Pushing down the nerves, he refused to let them get the best of him again.
Weather turned the closer tryouts came; the sun became hidden behind dark clouds as wind whipped the trees. Rushing down the quidditch pitch after breakfast, George saw the rest of his house's players in the stands, eager to see if he would fail again. Fred stood on the edge of the pitch, there more for support than to see the outcome.
"Alright, Weasley, mount up and show me what you got." Oliver Wood mounted his broom and moved into place, this time as George's opponent rather than one of the keepers. Sleet began slowly falling from the sky. Oliver held his hand out and looked up at the clouds before signalling Weasley up.
George mounted his broom and, with an encouraging smile from his brother, he rose to meet Oliver. The quaffle was thrown into play and Oliver quickly took control, George hot on his tail. Oliver made quick work of reaching the goal, before George snatched the quaffle from his hands and made a beeline for the opposite end of the pitch. George tossed the quaffle into the highest goal, Oliver mere moments behind.
The pair flew back and forth; George kept pace with Oliver, his training paying off. Sleet poured from the sky as George gripped his broom tighter and tighter to keep from falling off. He felt a familiar sensation of splinters under his fingernails but he paid no mind, desperately focusing on his last chance to join the Gryffindor house team. After George had a lengthy lead on Oliver, they ended George's tryout. The pair landed near the center of the pitch and George looked at Oliver expectantly.
"Well, you're better than I thought you would be," Oliver held his hand out to George. "Congratulations. You made the team, Weasley."
George nearly leapt for joy, but did his best to appear composed in front of his new captain. He thanked Oliver and rushed to his brother, warmth flowing through him. He had done it.