Ron's eyebrows were stuck halfway up his forehead.
"This is it?"
Harry sighed, his lips curling into a small frown. "This is it. Now you know why we were so strapped for Keeper prospects last year."
"This isn't good," Mel agreed. "At least they're all nice people."
Ron joined Harry's frown. The three of them watched from the far end of the pitch as the prospective candidates adjusted themselves and their equipment. Fully fifteen people had turned out to audition, but none of them looked like Quidditch Cup material.
"Hey, Potter! You guys are a shoe-in for the British Pre-school Title," Malfoy shouted from his perch on the hill near the stadium. The entire Slytherin team had turned out to watch the Gryffindors select their team.
"Ah, man, we're gonna haveta listen to that idiot Malfoy braggin' on all year," Ron muttered.
"Hey, how many Quidditch Cups does Malfoy have?" Mel asked, her eyes still on the prospective players. "I, for one, am not conceding any to a bastard like that without a fight."
Harry and Ron traded a surprised look, both thinking the same thing: Oliver used to sound like that.
In the booth above them, McGonagall blew her whistle. Everyone on the field paused and turned their attention to her.
"Alright, now, Gryffindors," she said over the microphone, "as you are all quite aware, today we are holding the tryout for this year's Quidditch team. We have four positions available: two chasers and two beaters. Those of you not selected will be assigned to our reserve roster." She went on to explain that Melissa and Harry would work with the prospective Chasers and Ron would be testing out the prospective Beaters, then turned the tryout over to the students.
"Alright," Harry said, climbing onto the Firebolt, "let's do this." The other two nodded, and soon the three of them floated in midair facing the group. "Flying first?"
Mel nodded. "Follow the leader, the leader being you, Harry."
"Sounds good."
"This first drill," she called to the others, "is simple. You'll queue up behind Harry, and he'll start to fly. You follow him – if you can't keep up, or you're worried you'll get smashed to bits, veer off and return to the center. Harry will keep going until he's the last one, so don't feel bad about bowing out." The prospective players slid into a line, Seamus Finnigan at the front with a broad smile on his face. She turned to Harry. "Whenever you're ready, Harry."
Harry glanced around the stadium, mentally plotting his route. He maneuvered the broom to a stop several feet in front of Seamus.
"Think you can keep up?" He asked the sandy-haired boy.
Seamus smiled. "I'll stay with you, Harry. Better you worry about the little ones behind us."
"Hang on, then."
Harry leaned in and the Firebolt took off, cannonballing across the stadium. He knew none of them could match his speed, so he eased off a bit and curved around, leading the pack on a lazy series of loops. When he figured they were suitably lulled, he leaned back and pulled into a steep climb. As the line passed the announcer's booth, he saw a slight frown on McGonagall's face.
The frown only got larger as he reached the peak of his climb; putting on a burst of speed, he jerked the Firebolt into a hard right turn, then angled it back down toward the pitch. He descended almost vertically, gravity lending him extra speed that his broom couldn't manage. The shouts of surprise were barely audible over the rush of the wind, and Harry didn't listen very hard.
He was having too much fun.
He pulled out of the sharp dive well before hitting the ground, launching into an intricate series of flips and rolls. When he finally had the chance to look back, half of the line had disappeared for the center of the ring. Seamus still had the lead behind him, but a tiny second-year girl that he didn't know had moved up into the third spot.
"Rookies," he muttered with a smile. Harry zoomed twice around the stadium, really pouring on the speed now, loving the chance to cut loose and fly where he wanted.
Behind him, Seamus pinched his face in concentration. The dive had scared the wits out of him; Harry flew like a man possessed. He understood that Harry rode a broom better than any Gryffindor in years, and he loved watching him in matches. Following him, though? That was an altogether different animal. As he hung on Harry's tail the Seeker dodged and weaved around the goal posts, and Seamus realized how good Harry really was. He could turn and accelerate completely without fear. He seemed utterly unaffected by speeds and angles that left Seamus' stomach churning and his head swimming.
Still, Seamus gamely trailed through another series of dives and some ground-level flying that shook off everyone but the girl behind him. When Harry barely missed knicking the stands as he curled over them, Seamus gasped in surprise but hung on and made it over.
Then he watched incredulously as Harry flew underneath the bleachers, and Seamus knew he was licked.
Harry heard a groan from the crowd and figured that either the girl or Seamus had broken away, but he couldn't spare the time to look. As he had once before, he careened around corners and zigzagged between the stanchions, sometimes skimming the grass with his shoes as a beam brushed through his unruly hair. He made it halfway around the stadium's underbelly before swerving out into the open air above the stands. He floated to a halt, figuring none of the others would have been mad enough to follow him through that maze..
A tiny brown-haired girl drifted up next to him.
"Is that all you've got, Harry?" She asked with a brave smile, even though her face was very pale and bathed in sweat.
Harry looked up in surprise. "You stayed with me?" She nodded. "Nice flying."
"Thanks." She scooted her broom closer and put out her hand. "Before you ask, we haven't met. I'm Liza."
He shook her little hand. "You're Alicia's sister, aren't you?"
"Uh huh." Alicia Spinnet had been a Gryffindor Chaser two years ahead of Harry. Harry hadn't known her that well, but Liza was a miniature version of her with big brown eyes. "She taught me how to fly."
"Pretty well, too. Am I gonna be able to shake you?"
"Nope. I might get hurt, but I'm not joining that circle." The girl shook her head emphatically and Harry laughed.
"Okay, well, I don't want you to get hurt." He turned, still smiling, and shouted to Mel and Ron, "Let's move on. I think this one's got a winner."
They nodded and waved Harry and Liza back over for the next drill.
After Saturday's dinner, Harry, Ron, and Mel met in the Gryffindor common room. They each had pages of notes taken during the remaining drills, covering everything from flight skills to hand-eye coordination and teamwork. The tryout had lasted several hours.
"That could've gone worse," Ron said when they had settled in.
Harry nodded. "They were nowhere near as bad as they seemed. I don't know if we've got a shot at the Cup, though."
"Aw, don't be all doom and gloom, Harry. We can come up with a crew as good as Ravenclaw, at the least," Mel said, "add a few lucky breaks and we win."
"Sure, it'll be easy," Harry said, though he wore a smile as he did. "So what've we got?"
"Let's start with the easy one first. Ron? The Beaters?"
"Okay, well," he looked at his notes for a second, then flipped the stack over, "nobody as good as Fred an' George. Not even close."
"Couldn't expect that, could we? Your brothers were the best Beaters in school," Harry replied.
"I s'pose. Sorta disappointing, though. I think Mike and Eric are our best bet. Some o' the others hit better, but those two work together real well."
Mike Silver and Eric Gold were fourth-years that Harry and Ron only vaguely knew. Both had tried out for Ron's Keeper spot the year before, but neither had been very good candidates.
"I figured that," Mel said. "They were better Beaters than Keepers with the reserves last year. Plus, they've been completely inseparable since they were about four, so they've spent years playing together."
"Really?" Harry asked. "I didn't know that."
"Uh huh. From the same block in London and everything. Told me they had no choice, because of their names." All three of them laughed. "But seriously, they're good guys. I say we pick 'em. Ron?"
"Okay. Yeah."
"Harry?"
"If you guys think so," he said with a shrug. "I didn't see them."
"Alright," Mel said, "good. Two down, two to go. Now, Chasers."
"Seamus," Harry said immediately. "He can fly, he can shoot, an' he knows the game."
"Plus, if we don't pick him he'll throw a wingding," Ron added. "He was better than everybody else, anyway."
"I don't know, I thought Davies was better," Mel said. "His brother was fantastic, and Allan told me that Roger taught him everything he knew." Roger Davies had been a standout Ravenclaw Chaser.
"He did look good," Ron admitted. "You're not just sayin' that 'cos you think he's cute, are you, Mel?"
She blushed. "You take that back, Ron!" She tossed a notebook at him, but he and Harry had already broken down laughing.
"Jus' kiddin'. Geez. No need to get violent."
"But anyway," Harry said when they had calmed down, "what about Liza Spinnet? She was the best flyer out there."
"Too good, actually," Mel said with a shake of her head. "She can fly and shoot just fine, but she kept breaking out ahead of the others. She's not good enough to go one on three yet, but she doesn't have the team thing down."
"She's not big enough, either," Ron added. "The Bludgers'll kill her!"
"I guess, but you can't teach somebody how to fly like that. I don't think the Bludgers intimidate her."
"Can you imagine her against Slytherin, Harry? We'll haveta scrape her off the flamin' bleachers."
"Is there anyone else you guys thought was any good?" Harry and Ron pondered that for a few seconds, and then shook their heads. "So we're at Allan, Seamus, and Liza?
"Uh huh."
"Looks that way."
"So Harry, who do we take Liza instead of, if we do? Allan or Seamus?"
Harry thought about it. The girl wasn't better than either of those two, and she was small. He liked her attitude, though. Instinctively, he knew she would be a really good player one day.
"So you want to take the two of them, huh?" Ron and Mel both nodded. "Okay. I can live with that."
"I don't think there's necessarily a wrong choice, Harry."
"No," he agreed, "I don't think there is, either."
Mel looked down at the list of four names.
"Alright. Let's get 'em up here and start practicing. We've only got 47 days until the first match."
Ron and Harry looked at each other, and the same thought popped into their heads again.
Definitely just like Oliver.
