The Quidditch pitch was vast, stretching under the open sky like an emerald sea. The stadium towers loomed high, their stands empty save for a few curious onlookers who had come to watch the tryouts. The cool October air was crisp against Sia's skin, carrying the scent of damp grass and the faint trace of wood polish from the broomsticks lined up near the locker rooms.
She stood on the pitch, hands clasped behind her back, watching as the existing team members gathered.
Andromeda had been right about Macnair—he was already scowling at her presence, though he said nothing. He stood with his bat resting against his shoulder, his thickset frame making him look more like an enforcer than a Quidditch player.
The captain, a tall seventh-year named Damian Travers, was the first to address the group.
"Alright, listen up. We have two open spots this year—one Chaser and one Keeper. Chaser tryouts will run first, then the Keepers. If you're here for anything else, you're wasting your time."
Sia remained silent, standing among the handful of students who had stepped forward for Keeper. Andromeda gave her a brief nod from the opposite side of the pitch, already mounting her broom for the Chaser trials.
The tryouts began swiftly, the Chasers flying fast and aggressive, weaving between the goalposts as they fought for possession of the Quaffle. Andromeda was fluid in the air, her movements seamless as she dodged Bludgers and executed sharp passes.
Sia observed, memorizing the flight patterns, the way the team functioned as a unit. By the time the Keeper trials were called, she was ready.
Travers gestured to the hoops.
"Alright, Keepers, you know the drill. Your job is simple—don't let the Quaffle through. We'll cycle through different shooters, increasing the difficulty each round. Grab a broom and get up there."
Sia mounted her broom and kicked off.
The rush of wind greeted her immediately, and for the first time in months, she felt a familiar sense of weightlessness. She positioned herself in front of the hoops, gripping the broom tightly as the first Chaser flew forward.
A throw to the left—easy. She intercepted it without much effort.
The second came faster, a feint before a sharp curve downward. She adjusted in time, knocking it away.
Then the real test began.
The team's seasoned Chasers took over, sending shots at increasing speeds, attempting to catch her off guard. She blocked each one, adapting quickly to their patterns, ignoring the strain in her arms.
By the end, her breathing was steady, her heart racing—but the Quaffle had never made it past her.
When she landed, Travers eyed her for a moment, then gave a curt nod.
"You'll hear by tonight. Good work."
Andromeda jogged over, brushing a stray curl from her face. "You were brilliant," she said simply.
Sia exhaled, glancing back at the stadium once before nodding.
"It felt good to fly again."
The next morning, no one bothered her.
For the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, the common room was quiet when she entered. The usual sneering whispers, the subtle hexes, the spilled ink—none of it came.
Her bullies couldn't meet her eyes.
She wondered if Dumbledore had spoken to them himself.
Or perhaps it was the way she had snapped, the way she had lost control that night.
Either way, something had shifted.
As she sat down at breakfast, Andromeda slid onto the bench beside her, her expression unreadable.
"You made the team," she said.
Sia blinked. "What?"
"Travers put up the list early this morning. You're the new Keeper."
Sia let the words settle, her fingers tightening around her fork. She had done it.
"Practice is tomorrow," Andromeda added. "Welcome to the team."
Sia nodded, picking at her food, still feeling the weight of the stares from across the hall.
Whatever had changed overnight, she wasn't sure if she liked it.
Sia tapped her quill against the parchment, staring at the order form in front of her.
She had spent two days researching the best broomsticks she could afford, weighing performance against price. She wasn't naïve—her school broom was serviceable, but it wouldn't be enough for a proper match.
"If you're going to be a Keeper, you need a broom that responds instantly," Andromeda had told her. "Something sturdy, with sharp turns. You're not a Chaser—you don't need speed, you need control."
In the end, she settled on the Nimbus 1000—not the latest model, but reliable, steady, and built for precision.
She scrawled her name at the bottom of the order form, folded it neatly, and sent it off with one of the school owls.
Three weeks. That was how long she had until the match.
The days blurred together.
Between classes, Quidditch practice, and attempting to dodge the occasional glare from her housemates, time slipped past faster than she expected.
Her broom arrived exactly one week before the match. The moment she unwrapped it in the common room, Andromeda whistled low.
"That's a solid choice," she said, running a hand along the polished wood.
Sia didn't answer. She was too busy gripping the handle, testing the weight in her hands.
Would she be good enough?
Would she mess up in front of the whole school?
The locker room was thick with tension.
Sia sat on the bench, hands clasped, listening as the rest of the team adjusted their gear and whispered last-minute strategies. The scent of polish and damp wood filled the air, mingling with the distant roar of the crowd outside.
Travers stood before them, arms crossed. He wasn't one for long speeches.
"We've trained for this. You all know what to do." His gaze flicked to Sia. "Especially you. Do exactly what you did at tryouts, and you'll be fine."
She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.
Andromeda nudged her lightly with her elbow. "You're going to be brilliant."
Sia swallowed hard, gripping her broomstick.
It was time.