Chapter 10: Quidditch Tryouts

Meli smelled a rat as soon as McGonagall came into her office. The Head of Gryffindor House seemed just a touch too friendly for her comfort, setting off an alarm in the back of Meli's that the other wanted something. No pure Gryffindor, whatever her age, could sneak up on a Slytherin (or a quasi-Slytherin) without slightly tipping her hand.

"Good afternoon," Meli said calmly, standing and offering McGonagall a seat. "What can I do for you?"

McGonagall smiled sweetly, which only further alarmed her former student. "I wonder, Meli," she began, "if you could do me a great favor."

"Well," Meli replied carefully, "that depends greatly upon the favor."

"Madam Hooch has fallen ill," the other told her.

I'm not teaching first year flying lessons! Aloud she said, "Oh, poor dear!"

McGonagall nodded. "Yes. It's nothing too serious, but she'll be under the weather for the weekend. We've covered her flying classes tomorrow—"

Good.

"—but she won't be able to supervise quidditch tryouts."

Meli stared at McGonagall, fully convinced that the older witch had lost her marbles. "You can't be serious," she breathed. "I didn't even play quidditch, Professor. What do I know about managing tryouts?"

McGonagall held up her hand in what Meli supposed was intended as a mollifying gesture. "The teams conduct the tryouts," she assured her. "They merely need a teacher to supervise, to see that things don't get out of hand." She smiled again. "And all I'm asking is for you to cover the Gryffindor tryouts."

Meli looked narrowly at her; short of an emergency cobweb count (an excuse she could only use once, if at all, with McGonagall), she could see no way of getting out of this. "And my precise duties

are—?"

"To be visible as an authority figure," McGonagall replied. "To act as an authority figure if necessary." Her smile turned into something suspiciously close to a smirk. "To enjoy yourself for two hours on a Saturday morning."

I could be writing lesson plans. "I have difficulty enjoying myself outdoors in daylight," Meli said flatly. She caught the look on McGonagall's face and sighed feelingly. "However, in the spirit of the occasion, I suppose I could make a try at it." She sighed, but felt a traitorous half-smile appear on her face. I don't suppose, strictly speaking, that it would kill me to be simultaneously outside and sociable for two hours. "All right, then," she sighed. "Sign me up, Professor."

"Thank you, Meli," McGonagall said, standing.

As if I really had a choice in the matter.

The older witch turned to leave, then turned back at the doorway. "And incidentally," she added, "now that you're also a teacher here, you can call me Minerva."

Meli waited until McGonagall had gone, then dropped her head to her desk with a thud. "First sunshine and fresh air, and now Minerva," she groaned. "I don't think I can take much more of this."

There was a light rap at the door, and she raised her head to find an amused Snape standing in the doorway. "Should I come back later?" he asked mildly.

"No, no, by all means come right in," she invited, sounding to her own ears like John Cleese nearing his breaking point. "Have a seat, make yourself comfortable." Not that I have any intention of reading Ethel the Aardvark Goes Quantity-Surveying to you.

Snape entered, but he politely declined to sit. "I only dropped by to warn you that Madame Hooch is ill—"

"And Minerva McGonagall was hoping to rope me into supervising Gryffindor's quidditch tryouts?" Meli suggested.

Snape gave her a narrow look. "Minerva has been here already," he observed belatedly. "That explains a few things."

"Yes," Meli replied, smiling broadly and not quite sanely. "So I have to go unpack my sunscreen, and I've been asked to call my Head of House by her given name, all in one day. Isn't it wonderful?"

One corner of Snape's mouth turned upward. "Do you know, you sound a bit like John Cleese near the end of 'The Bookshop Sketch'."

"Funny, I was just thinking exactly the same thing!" Meli glanced at her watch, then sobered rather depressingly. "I need to go to a pub."

Snape nearly smiled at that. "I can't argue that point," he replied. "In fact, I don't think I should."

Meli stood. "Well, in that case, you're welcome to come along. Does the Three Broomsticks pour decent scotch?"

Aside from all of the fresh air and sunshine, the Gryffindor quidditch tryouts actually weren't too terrible. In fact, Meli found them rather amusing. Following the graduation of Oliver Wood, the rest of the team had unanimously elected Fred and George Weasley to succeed him as co-captains. Wood's absence had also freed up an opening for a new Keeper—the only position Gryffindor had to fill that year. No fewer than five Gryffindors wanted the position, among them the captains' brother Ron.

Ron's trying out for the team put the twins in something of a tough spot; they had no desire to be accused of nepotism, but they also wanted to give him a fair chance at making the team. Here Meli's imagination helped them out a great deal.

"How many quaffles can we get our hands on?" she asked.

Fred and George exchanged looks, then shrugged. "Two or three," the former hazarded.

"Right. We'll need them." She offered a mild smile. "Why don't you have the candidates take turns minding the rings while I pummel them with quaffles? The one who blocks the most shots out

of . . . say, fifty, is your new Keeper."

George crossed his arms and looked at her thoughtfully. "Sounds good," he allowed. "But why do you get to have all the fun?"

"Because I'm the teacher," Meli replied, smiling wickedly. "When you're the teacher, you can have all of the fun."

The twins agreed to the plan and dispatched one of the Chasers to go find some extra quaffles. With what she brought back, they had an arsenal of three, so Meli transfigured her shoes to bring the complement up to five. The first would-be Keeper took position in front of the rings, and Meli, with another wicked smile, commenced with the nobbling. Her attention was focused on counting the number of times she aimed quaffles; it was up to the rest of the team to count successful deflections, which they obligingly did (following the twins' lead) at the top of their lungs.

By that fairly impartial test, Ron indisputably won the competition, blocking all but twelve shots. The next closest scorer was Dennis Creevey, who deflected twenty-five. He took it well enough, though, vowing to try again after Ron graduated.

Their tryouts completed, the Gryffindors strode off of the pitch, making way for the Slytherin team. Draco Malfoy, who was among them, glared spitefully at Ron, then at Harry Potter, then at Meli. The former two didn't notice; Meli rewarded Malfoy with a bone-chilling warning smile that caused him to look away so quickly he nearly gave himself whiplash.

Snape ran into her in the corridor near Slytherin, which she had to pass to go to her rooms. He narrowed his eyes in amusement, then cocked his head. "I see you survived your outdoor adventure," he noted dryly.

"Barely," she replied. "And I'm afraid I may have the beginnings of a tan, an injury from which I may never recover."

He nodded mock-sympathetically. "I'm sure that the students in Gryffindor appreciate your sacrifice," he said. "They would, of course—it's a House full of martyrs."

"I'm sure their appreciation of anything having to do with me will disappear come exam time," she countered sardonically. "For which I'm very thankful."