"Aren't boys ridiculous?"
Over a week had passed since the first meeting of the SSA. Finally learning the truth about the mysterious organization had calmed Beth down a lot, and Melissa wasn't getting cursed anymore since they were allowed to talk about it with other members. Bruce, on the other hand, was no better off. His big concerns were the Slytherin team Quidditch trials, taking place that very morning.
"Look, Bruce didn't even eat anything," Melissa continued. Down the table, Bruce sat with Aaron, Mervin, and Warrington, all of whom looked nervous in different ways. No one met another's gaze -- traditional Slytherin ambition, Beth realized. They were so concerned with the fact that they would be competing against each other, that they could not recall that they were friends.
"Boys are dumb," she agreed cheerfully. "Rule number one. The underlying truth of humanity."
The incumbent members of the team didn't seem to be having the same problems. Uther downed six eggs on toast while chatting merrily with Terrence Higgs, Adrian Pucey, and Marcus Flint. Marcus and Terrence were exact opposites as far as looks went; Marcus was broad and strong, with a sincere but dull demeanor, while Terrence was short and skinny with oily black hair. It made him look untrustworthy.
"How's this sound: Terrence back for the Seeker ... Warrington, Little Puce and Uther as Chasers ... Flint and Logres, Beaters ... and Bruce gets to be Keeper," Beth suggested, looking critically at the group of boys at the end of the table.
"No, Adrian's coming back as a chaser," Melissa disagreed. "Aaron can be a Beater. He likes hitting things."
Aaron was drumming on the table with his fork.
"But definitely Flint as a Beater."
"If he's smart. He's the biggest guy we have."
Marcus Flint was the captain of the Quidditch team that year; when he stood up and started out the door, the whole entourage of hopeful players went with him. So did a few dozen spectators, Beth and Melissa included. They tracked across the Hogwarts grounds to the Quidditch fields, the players silent, the others chattering excitedly and making bets over who would make up the team that year.
"Not everyone tests their players like we do," Melissa bragged on the way, as if she knew any more about how the Quidditch team operated than Beth. "That's why we're on a streak. We make sure we've got the best players, not just the ones who ask first."
"About time, too," Beth noted. "The first match is right after the Halloween feast."
"Gryffindor," added a sixth-year girl excitedly. "But they lost their Seeker and half their players, so it should be a lock."
Melissa snorted.
The crowd parted at the playing field; the competing players milled around on the sidelines, while their friends filled in the bleachers on one side. On the field, the players nervously clutched their brooms or engaged in last-minute conversations with their friends.
"Good luck, Uther!" Antigone cried sweetly.
Melissa cupped her hands around her mouth. "Bruce Bletchley, you rock my world!"
Beth could see a nervous grin break out over Bruce's face even from the stands.
"Quidditch stinks, Quodpot rules!" Beth called in cheerful belligerence.
Several of the guys booed their disagreement or waved dismissingly in her direction. "You and me, Parson," Uther threatened casually, and a nearby pair of girls looked so jealous that he had spoken to someone else that Beth blushed furiously under her smile.
Marcus called the competitors together into a huddle; after a few moments, they spread out onto the field and mounted their broomsticks. Bruce grasped his with determination, but the fierceness in his gaze was nothing like the ambition that contorted Aaron Pucey's face.
Marcus blew into a whistle and raised one hand into the air. Beth caught a glimpse of gold through his fingers.
"All right, everyone up-" Twelve broomsticks shot into the air. "Aaand ... go!"
Marcus hurled the Snitch into the middle of the field. The spectators started cheering for their friends. Beth lost sight of it almost at once, between its speed and size and the fact that she was shrieking Bruce's name pretty emphatically.
The contestants soared around the field, some in confusion, some in desperation, and one or two with real purpose. It was close; just as Aaron Pucey started in on a ten-foot dive with his arm outstretched, Terrence Higgs popped out a hand and, with a grunt, snagged the Snitch securely. He raised his fist into the sky and crowed in exuberance. The other players sank to the ground, looking disappointed. Aaron's face was a mask of devastation.
"So close," Beth could see him saying to his brother Adrian. The older one said something back and gave him a reassuring nod.
"Told you Terrence was going to get Seeker again," Beth murmured to Melissa.
"Yeah, but there's no way Logres is going to get Beater," she sniffed in reply.
The Seeker was the only position that could be decided on so easily. To choose Beaters, Marcus split them up into groups of six, armed them all with clubs, and let loose a couple of Bludgers. The balls zoomed around the air, arbitrarily attacking the players, who had to keep fending them off and sending them toward the other group.
Melissa was on the edge of her seat, narrating as if she were the only person there with eyes. "Ouch, there goes Terrence ... well, he's got a spot anyway ... oh no, look, two of them are going for Logres -- that had to hurt!" Logres landed on the ground with a black eye and a disgusted look on his face. "Wow, he hung on longer than I -- wait -- poor Mervin!" Mervin Fletcher was pelted in the back of the head and made a near-miss landing.
Adrian Pucey and Bruce went out at about the same time. Three or so other upperclassmen followed.
"Aaron, Warrington, and Bole," Melissa almost shouted. "Look at that!"
"I can see it as well as you," Beth shouted back, too excited to be truly cranky. "Hang in there, Puce!"
Now the contest had degraded to a duke-out between the three contestants. The Bludgers hurled back and forth between them as each boy struggled to knock them into someone else.
"The next one to get hit, loses," chirped Melissa, leaning forward.
"Mel, I know!"
Warrington beat off both Bludgers at once, sending them in different directions. Aaron dove and sent one to Bole. He flung back his arm to pelt the other one, misjudged by an inch, and hit it with his wrist as hard as he could. The club flew out of his hand.
"Oh no!" Beth cried.
Aaron launched into a dive after his club. Behind him, Bole warded off the Bludger and sent it streaming toward Aaron.
The impact was loud. Aaron whirled around in a circle, gripping his broomstick in terror, and sank to earth still spinning. Marcus blew his whistle and froze the Bludgers with a few hasty charms.
"The Beaters are Warrington and Bole!" he hollered. Their friends in the stands cheered wildly.
Aaron stalked off the field, holding his wrist tightly, with his broomstick under one arm. His mouth was twisted in frustration. The other competitors gave him a wide berth as he joined their ranks, scowling and rubbing his wrist between two fingers. Adrian Pucey leaned over to tell him something; Aaron jerked away.
Marcus blew his whistle again, and they lined up for the Keeper trials. Bruce looked especially drawn; even from the stands, Beth could tell that he kept licking his lips nervously and griping his Comet tighter and tighter.
Since Marcus was the captain, he had the right to give himself the position of Chaser, and did as much right then. "So I'll be trying to get by you, and you keep me out," he barked. "Three tries apiece. One at a time. Ready?"
Warrington swooped into position in front of the three goals. Marcus grabbed a Quaffle and soared onto the field for the first time that day. Despite his bulk, he truly flew elegantly. His first pass at Warrington was an easy one, making it obvious where he would try to score. Warrington stopped him effortlessly.
Out of the first round, only Terrence, Bole, and Mervin Fletcher were eliminated, and the first two didn't even care. "Terrence is terrible at everything except being Seeker," a seventh-year girl confided to Melissa. "Good thing he has at least one skill. His O.W.L.s were pathetic."
"They can't be as bad as Marcus's," Vivian interjected from behind. "Poor fellow only got five or six. If he doesn't get on with a team, I'm not sure what he'll do."
"Anyone who'd turn down Marcus would be crazy," Melissa said staunchly. "He's the best thing to happen to Quidditch at Hogwarts since that one Weasley."
"Charlie," the seventh-year sneered. Charlie Weasley had practically handed the Quidditch cup to Gryffindor five or six years in a row. No one was more relieved to see him graduate than the second-ranked Slytherins.
"Hey, they're on the third round," Beth exclaimed. Aaron, Bruce, Logres, and a tall second-year remained.
"Come on, Derrick, hang in there!" one of his classmates cried.
The air was filled with encouraging cheers. "You can do it, Bruce!" Beth and Melissa screamed almost in unison.
The second-year went first, hovering into position and leaning forward slightly on his broom. Marcus advanced slowly at first, picking up speed as he came -- he shot upward and twisted to the left; the second-year followed. Instantly, Marcus dove back down and came in on the right, hurling the Quaffle through the far hoop.
The second-year floated back down in defeat. "That's okay, Derrick," his supporter called. He gave her a halfhearted thumbs-up as he trudged off the field.
Logres, a bulky and pockmarked boy in his sixth year, took his turn and fell for the exact same trick. "Come to think of it, he's not too bright either," Vivian mentioned, with no special malice. "But he tries out every year. You can't fault him for not trying."
"Aaron's up," Melissa said.
Aaron Pucey hovered in front of the goal posts, glaring at Marcus like he had just made a new enemy. He held one hand ready at his side, the other choked up on his broomstick for quick maneuvers. Beth thought that if she was in Marcus's place, she'd give him the job based on his fierce expression alone.
Marcus started out the same way; a building entrance and a feint upward. Instead of following him, though, Aaron hung back and traced his motion toward the goals. Marcus continued to climb farther into the air, not even coming any closer. Finally Aaron pointed his broomstick upward and drew a little closer. Marcus turned to the right and started in on his dive. Aaron zoomed in front of him and lunged for the Quaffle. In a moment, Marcus clutched his broom and the ball and executed a flawless barrel roll. He shot under Aaron and came out behind him. Still upside-down, he launched the ball into the central goal for a ten-point score.
Aaron let out a grunt and landed near the group of competitors, who looked like they were telling him that he did a good job. He shrugged and gave Bruce a dirty look. Luckily Bruce never noticed, since he was already soaring onto the field.
"If Bruce doesn't block this, Aaron's likely to get the position," said Melissa, leaning forward in anticipation.
"I know how it works already!"
Marcus started advancing on Bruce, the Quaffle secured in one arm. Bruce wove back and forth, following his every move. When Marcus swept upward and started to climb, Bruce dogged him like a leech.
"Oh no, that's what the other two did!" Melissa cried in dismay.
Clutching the Quaffle, Marcus feinted left and jerked away. Bruce followed him to the right and swooped between him and the goal. Marcus backed up and lurched downward. Bruce retreated into the goal zone, staying in front of Marcus with one hand ready. The team captain pulled up and swept to the left, cruising for the far hoop. Bruce tailed him and pulled ahead -- screeched to a halt in midair, just as Marcus hurled at him -- Marcus veered off, but Bruce was there -- he narrowly missed Marcus's startled face ... and the Quaffle fell to the earth.
Bruce snagged the Quaffle and landed with it in his arm, beaming proudly. Marcus landed with an equally joyous expression on his face. "Bletchley, Keeper!" he announced.
"Yeah, Bruce!" Beth shrieked, pounding her feet.
"Well done you!" Melissa crowed.
Marcus blew his whistle again. He seemed to be enjoying his power as captain. The players drew together in a huddle. Bruce, Warrington, and the rest of the selected team members hung around at the fringes; Beth noticed that they already clumped together as if they had an instant bond between them. Like the SSA, she thought. The Quidditch team is a secret society all its own.
Terrence and Bole, apparently happy with their assignments, didn't even try out for the position of Chaser. The rest of the hopefuls swarmed onto the field en masse. Marcus whistled at Bruce, who took his place in front of the goals, looking thrilled to death.
The job of the Chaser on a Quidditch team is to use the bright red Quaffle to score goals through three fifty-foot-high vertical hoops. For a while, Marcus had everyone hurling a bunch of Quaffles back and forth. Then he executed a few drills, watching them catch, throw, and maneuver with the ball in their arms. He paid close attention to how everyone was doing. Eventually, he split them up into groups of three and had them try to sink goals past Bruce.
"After all, the Chasers work together closely," Vivian observed reasonably. "You can't choose them like you do the Seeker. He works alone."
As if to back up her statement, Terrence Higgs stood by himself, watching the Chaser trials critically.
In front of the goals, Bruce seemed to be having the time of his life. Over and over, he dove, twisted, and rose in midair to keep the Quaffle out of the goal zone. "I didn't think he was that good," Beth breathed in disbelief.
As she spoke, Uther managed to slip past him and score in the right-hand hoop. He raised his arms in a victory sign.
"He'll get back on the team," Melissa analyzed. "Him and one of the Puceys, probably. Warrington's not bad, but he has his position."
"Speak of the Puceys -- Aaron's got the ball!"
Aaron Pucey zoomed toward the goals like a man on fire. Clutching the Quaffle in one arm and clinging to his broom in the other, he zigzagged up to Bruce and dove just as they were about to crash.
Bruce dogged him from behind, urging his Comet to overtake Aaron. He pulled up suddenly and swept across Aaron's path with barely a few inches to spare.
The sudden proximity of the Keeper startled Aaron into letting his hand fly off of the broom handle. He lurched to the right., lost his sense of position, and tilted a little. He teetered over the side of his broom for a few fearful seconds, grasping at thin air; then he lost his balance completely and fell fifteen feet to earth, hands outstretched.
The crowd let out a startled gasp. Some of the spectators climbed down from the bleachers and ran down to the field to get a better look. Beth and Melissa followed worriedly.
Aaron moved slightly and let out a moan. He clutched his wrist, grimacing. His brother and Marcus Flint hurried to his side; after a few tense minutes, they helped him stand up shakily.
Adrian Pucey forced his brother's fingers away from the injured hand and looked it over critically. "That's bad, Aaron. This needs to be looked at. No Quidditch for you this year. Come on, let's go to the infirmary."
"No," Aaron gasped, his eyes starting to fill with furious tears. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not," his brother retorted. "We're going to see Pomfrey if I have to stupefy you and carry you."
"I'm telling you I'm -- aah!" He suddenly let out a howl of pain.
"Come on," Adrian insisted. He put an arm around his brother's shaking shoulders. They left their broomsticks behind on the field.
Bruce watched them go, guilt all over his face. "I didn't mean to knock him off," he said lamely, to no one in particular.
Marcus came up behind him. "If someone tries that in a game, do the exact same thing," he ordered. "You want to put the enemy out of the game. Remember?"
"Yeah," Bruce said faintly, eyes fixed on the slowly-moving pair of brothers. "The enemy."