The next few classes of Defense Against the Dark Arts were similar to our first. Lockhart didn't seem particularly put together and never told us anything useful, which made his lessons feel like a joke. Before too long, Seamus, Dean, Harry, Ron, and I made it a challenge to outdo any jinxes or knowledge of dark creatures that our 'professor' was teaching us. It soon became our supreme joy to show him up; the girls who shared my dormitory didn't seem very happy that we were doing this, but the boys and I couldn't care less. To the girls—and this included Hermione—Lockhart was a bloody idol.

Though Lockhart's opinion of four of us steadily decreased, he simply refused to believe that Harry was conspiring against him. That thick-headed sot continually said Harry was just trying to be noticed by his classmates, that he was attempting to look as famous as himself to be at his level, and so on and so forth.

In no time at all, the second week of school rolled around—and with it came Quidditch tryouts. Harry and I kept up with training almost every night for the second week of term. Every night he praised my flying, and promised that I was a cinch to win.

Finally, it was Friday: the evening of tryouts. With Harry's support and encouragement, I tromped out to the Quidditch field to see who else was auditioning. There was a pretty good show—Dean and Seamus both arrived, and Lavender as well. There were also some excited fifth years ready for action; they worried me, because they almost certainly had more experience than I did.

At long last, Oliver Wood appeared, with Harry by his side. The Gryffindor Quidditch Captain locked eyes with me and shot me the slightest of winks—my face went pink, although I simply waved in response.

He opened his mouth to start roll call—just before he could officially begin, the Weasley twins showed up, huffing and puffing. Based on the redness to their panicked faces, they'd obviously forgotten about the tryouts. Seeing me present, however, they both grinned and exclaimed, "Hey, Skylar!" before slapping me high-fives, which made Oliver snort in amusement.

With distractions out of the way, the Captain announced, "All right, you all know why we're here—we have a shortage on players this year! There are two options to these tryouts. One, you're here to replace Alicia Spinnet as Chaser. Two, you're here to try and outdo one of our existing players. I'm asking you to choose which option you're going after, because it won't be fair if you try for both. So what'll it be?"

He began calling everyone's names, asking which position we would be trying out for. The fifth years were evenly divided, chasing after Beaters or two who even had the gall to go against Oliver himself for Keeper. The Weasley twins shot them dirty looks, as if making mental notes of these people so they'd be able to achieve revenge by putting bugs in their bed.

Once the logistics were out of the way, Oliver tapped the clipboard in his hand with a quill. "In all, we have ten trying out for Chaser, five for Beaters, and two for Keeper! Is that it?"

It was amusing, how nobody was trying to steal Harry's spot.

"Brilliant. So… I'm scoring, along with help from Harry since he's the only one unchallenged. When judging Keeper tryouts, Harry's the judge, and the Weasleys will second him. Ready? Brown—you're up!"

Lavender haughtily raised her broom. When I saw the model, I almost laughed: a Comet 260 wouldn't be enough to keep up with other brooms.

She ended up not being too bad. When the Quaffle was released, with the goal of retrieving it from Angelina and Katie, Lavender managed to wrestle it into her grip a couple times.

Then went Seamus, who had a Cleansweap 7. My broom outshined his, at least—out of five attempts to score on the goalposts, three were met with success. Out of the corner of my eye, I noted Oliver jotting things down on a clipboard, a focused frown on his face.

I was right to fear the fifth-years the most. One of them had retrieved the Quaffle every single time from Angelina and Katie, and his dodging the Bludgers was nothing to scoff at…

Dean scored three out of five attempts like Seamus, yet his broom was the same model as Lavender's. The Comets weren't too bad at model-making; they certainly looked the part, but when it came to performance, their skill betrayed their appearance. Cleansweap brooms were the opposite—they came out rugged, while their level of ability was higher than expected.

"Skylar, let's see what you got!"

I took a deep breath and stepped forward, my broomstick propped over my shoulder. Some of my classmates were gesturing to it: the Cleansweap 8 was the newest model of its series, and it appeared people were taking note of that.

Having mounted my broom, I shot into the air and looked down to Oliver. He was smiling as he met my eyes. "First test is stealing the Quaffle!"

Oliver blew his whistle, and the Quaffle was released. By tryout rules, I was supposed to wait for either Angelina or Katie to grab it—as soon as Angelina had it in her hands, I zoomed towards her. She barely managed to get out of the way, darting the opposite direction.

The chilly September air filled my ears and nose as I flew underneath her. Angelina looked around, confused to my whereabouts—she yelped as I dove directly upwards and popped the Quaffle from her grip.

I tossed the ball back to Oliver. Harry was grinning, which was good. Oliver began writing stuff on his clipboard.

The whistle sounded again, but now it was Katie who seized the ball, leaving me to follow. I pressed low against the handle—a trick Viktor said would make me faster—and began gaining on her. She desperately threw the Quaffle to Angelina, but I intercepted its path and snatched it out of midair.

A whistle of appreciation sounded below; it was hard to restrain a grin.

Oliver was scribbling again.

For the third time, the piercing whistle sounded. Angelina passed me, making a strange path that I couldn't quite interpret. I flew closer, trying to catch her off guard—just to my right, Katie was hurtling towards me. Noting that if I weren't in the middle of their path, they would hit each other, I decided to stop completely and let them crash. As the girls groaned and parted, the Quaffle dropped from Angelina's grip. With a gasp, I made a sharp dive and caught it six feet above the ground.

Harry snorted as the two girls rubbed their heads.

Fourth trial; Katie looped under and over me—I flew straight under her again, knocking the Quaffle out of her hands. We darted to it at the same time, but when it looked like we would crash into each other, she stopped, apparently uneager to repeat the collision she'd just had with Angelina. But I kept going, and pulled up with the scarlet ball in my hand once more.

The fifth time wasn't even a challenge. It seemed that the girls had given up and were perfectly content with letting me wrestle the Quaffle from them.

With that, the first part of the tryouts were over. Now it was part two of three: escape the Bludgers. Oliver set them loose, and they immediately pelted towards me, seeing as I was the only person in the air they could throw themselves at.

I had some pretty close calls as I darted manically across the field. The first was when a Bludger was aimed for my chest; I swerved to the right, but then the second Bludger appeared, and it was aiming for my head. I couldn't escape its path in time, so I pulled a trick my cousin had taught me: a barrel-roll. The Bludger whizzed over my broomstick, which allowed me to pull myself up again. A second time was when one of the Bludgers threw itself at my broom instead. I was forced to dive towards the ground, barely missing the second Bludger that was passing below me. The last close call I had was when one of them suddenly decided that instead of going for my face, it would rather maim my foot. So it did—my ankle swelled up in three seconds flat.

After five minutes of this, it was portion three of three: score against the Keeper.

This was going to be the hardest bit—Oliver was legendary among the Gryffindors. People said that other than Charlie Weasley, he was the best Quidditch player ever on the Gryffindor House Team.

The fifth year I was setting myself against had scored three out of five. If I wanted an advantage, I couldn't miss more than two.

"Whenever you're ready," Oliver said.

I took the opportunity to think of all the tips my cousin had given me, all the nuances I'd noticed when watching Quidditch games last year, all the help Harry had armed me with.

Oliver gripped his broom and watched me intensely, trying to figure out what I'd do. I darted to his right and chucked the Quaffle at the hoops. His fingertips barely raked the ball, but it still went in.

Encouraged, the next shot I took was at his left. This one was also put in, but barely—Oliver had accidentally batted the Quaffle through the hoop with the back of his hand.

Scowling in an eager sort of way, Oliver glared at me. His intensity was unnerving, but there was almost a playful look in his eyes that admittedly… distracted me. When I took my third shot, the Captain was there to bat the Quaffle aside. That was one—if I missed two, I still had a chance. If I missed more than one more, forget it. The fifth year would claim the spot.

Everyone below me seemed to realize the same thing. Somehow, I heard Harry mutter, "Come on, Belle. You got this."

His faith boosted my spirits; a split second after Harry blew the whistle, I was able to put the red ball through the hoop on the left, one that had a considerable spin to it. Apparently, this was speedy for Oliver, because he whirled around to look at the Quaffle—and then turned back to me. It looked like he hadn't even seen the Quaffle flying past his right ear.

Last ball. If I made this, I'd be a leg up. I spared a look to my friends. Harry, Fred, and George were all watching, fists clenched.

At this point, Oliver probably knew that I was going to shoot it to the right or left. His strengths lay in predicting what the other players would do, because that meant if he was right, he was always a leg up. That was why he was considered so good.

I could take advantage of that.

For the last time, the whistle blew. Oliver's eyes flew up and down my body, across my face, as though like he could see my thoughts.

And so I studied Oliver in turn: his concentrated face, his narrowed eyes. Then I made my decision.

I darted towards Oliver's left, and he followed my path. Seeing this made me grin—he'd done exactly what I expected. His eyes widened as I rocketed upwards and put the last Quaffle through the middle hoop.

Harry, Fred, and George all exploded into cheers. The other tryouts were applauding, too… except that one fifth-year, who was scowling.

Oliver landed, a wide grin on his face as he addressed the congregation. "Thank you to all those who tried out for Chaser! I'll have results posted on the bulletin by tomorrow evening. If you like, you can stay and watch the rest of the tryouts. If not, go on up and shower or something. You stink." This last was said with a charming smirk, which said he was joking… hopefully.

After the Captain's announcement, Harry rushed over to me and exclaimed, "Belle, that was great! You were the best one! Will you stay for the rest?"

My cheeks went pink at the high praise. "Sure, why not?" I replied with a grin. I was interested to see how the fifth years compared to the Weasleys and to Oliver, anyway.

The remainder of the tryouts were actually pretty laughable. None of them held a candle to Oliver or the Weasleys; the team would be the same this year except for that one new Chaser instead of Alicia—and on the way back to the castle, Harry insisted it would be me.

I couldn't help but laugh and slug his shoulder as he said, "So bloody excellent," as we victoriously tromped back to the Gryffindor common room.


Since the next day was Saturday, there were no classes to distract me while waiting for the Quidditch results. Though Harry, Fred, and George were absolutely certain I made the team, I didn't want to be overconfident.

Hermione offered to work on homework with me, which was helpful, but it only took three hours. The remainder of the day, Harry and Ron attempted to distract me by playing Gobstones or talking about how to piss off Professor Lockhart in our next Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

This second method of distraction was incredibly entertaining, despite Hermione's dirty looks every now and then.

When it was time for dinner, I checked the common room's bulletin board—still empty. Knowing that it was likely the list would be posted when we came back, my friends and I went to the Great Hall. Ron decided to bring a deck of Exploding Snap to keep us occupied; we spent about an hour playing card games and enjoying the time together over dinner. Seamus and Parvati eventually decided to join us, and with six people involved, we started hedging bets.

I ended up losing two Sickles to Ron, and Harry lost a Galleon to Seamus—but we all had a great time, and I promised Ron that I would be getting those Sickles back.

He just wiggled an eyebrow at me, as if telling me it wasn't going to happen.

Once we had finished, the six of us trooped back up to the common room, where Harry shared some candy with us. We were soon joined by Fred and George; with these two pranksters around, I suggested we all try the Bertie Bott's game I had last played on the train with Draco. The twins especially thought this would be fun—with eight people total, it was certainly an event.

I was still glancing at the bulletin board in between rounds, however. There was no forgetting about the list… I'd been looking forward to this for over a year…

Finally, Oliver Wood emerged from the dormitories, a piece of paper in his hand. He met my eye, grinned, and tacked the list to the board.

My housemates immediately flocked to the bulletin board, craning over each other to get a good look. Knowing that I wouldn't be able to barge my way to the front, I elected to stay seated until the way was clear.

It took a few minutes, but at last the sign wasn't being surrounded. The eight of us exchanged looks, knowing it was our turn to check the Quidditch roster. All of us who had tried out shook hands to wish each other luck.

"My legs feel like jelly," I muttered. Harry laughed softly at this statement and, seeing that I wasn't rising from my seat on my own, took my hand in his and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

I flashed him a brief smile before walking over to the board:

Thanks for trying out! Here is the Gryffindor Quidditch roster for this year:

Oliver Wood—Keeper

Fred Weasley—Beater

George Weasley—Beater

Harry Potter—Seeker

Katie Bell—Chaser

Angelina Johnson—Chaser

Belle Skylar—Chaser

I had to read that list five times before I thoroughly believed it. Lavender and Seamus were eagerly congratulating me, expressing how it was great to have not one, but two second-years on the team. Fred and George broke into identical grins and said, "Great! Belle made it, congrats on that, and we managed to fill the prat's pumpkin juice with Stinksap!"

Harry threw an arm around my shoulder, saying nothing. Everything he wanted to relay was in the shining pride upon his face.

"You did well. Just like last year."

It was Oliver, who was relaxing in one of the squishiest armchairs by the fireplace. His brown eyes were on me, and he was shooting me a sideways grin. "You impressed me last year, Skylar, and you continued that trend this year. I've never seen another second year—other than Harry, of course—who had as much skill on a broom as you. Who taught you? I recall you mentioning you had a good trainer after our championship match."

"My cousin," I replied, choosing to withhold the fact that Viktor had just been accepted onto the professional Bulgarian Quidditch Team.

It could be a little fun fact for another time.

"He's an excellent teacher. Our first practice is next Saturday at nine. I'm glad you tried out, Belle, we look forward to training with you." With that, Oliver leapt up from his chair, stretched, and sauntered back up to his dormitory.

As soon as he was gone, Ron clapped a hand on my shoulder and shot me a grin. Harry kept his arm around my shoulder, and Hermione took my hand. Grateful for their support, I murmured, "Thanks, you guys."

"We knew you'd make it," cried Hermione, her eyes bright. "I heard you were spectacular. People have been talking about it all day!"

I looked across them and, both relieved and overwhelmed, replied, "It means a lot to have your support, you know. I really appreciate it."

Ron chuckled and ruffled a hand through my hair—the gesture was the same one that his older brothers often did to him. "Don't mention it, Belle. You'd show the same support for us."

"Damn right," I replied, which only made him laugh.

With the excitement of the night dying down, we returned to the table with Fred, George, Dean, and Lavender, and resumed our game of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.