Chapter 13: Tryouts
Not unlike the previous year, Rick sailed through his classes with a calm confidence, absorbing lessons like his brain had been enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm. Granted, it had only been two weeks since the term began, but it already felt like he'd never left. More than the thrill of spellwork or the comfort of familiar faces like Marlene and Lily, what brought him the deepest joy was something harder to articulate. Hogwarts wasn't just a school to him, it felt like a magical nexus that quietly recognized him. Home.
Nevertheless, that wasn’t where his attention lay at this particular moment. It rarely did, if he was honest. No, his focus now was entirely consumed by the task ahead. Looking to his right and left, Rick took in the sight of roughly thirty Gryffindor students, gathered like a mismatched battalion. Some were clad in sleek Quidditch gear, leather pads, fingerless gloves, windproof tunics, while others had stripped off their wizarding robes in favor of lighter attire, hoping for less drag in flight. The patchwork of outfits gave the field an air of organized chaos, and the anticipation in the air was nearly as thick as the morning fog still curling over the pitch.
Today was the long anticipated day of Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts, and the pitch had transformed into a battleground of hopefuls eager to prove their mettle. With four coveted spots up for grabs, one beater, two chasers, and one highly sought after seeker, students from second to seventh year had swarmed the tryout list like bees to honey. The stakes were sky high.
Rick eyed the group assembled for the seeker position with a quiet, analytical detachment. There were five of them in total, and he stood out immediately, not just because he was the youngest, but because he looked like someone had hit the shrink spell on a standard second year. He barely came up to the shoulders of the second shortest competitor, and the others towered over him like broom wielding giants. If intimidation had a dress code, it would’ve looked exactly like this moment. Still, he didn’t waver.
“You know, nobody would say anything if you drop out of this.” one of his competitors said. His tone wasn’t harsh nor unkind, there was real concern in his voice.
“Hodgen’s right. You may be a smaller target for the opposite team, but one well placed bludger and it could knock you out of your broom and the game,” another commented. Rick recognized him as a sixth year student but didn’t know his name.
“I wouldn’t be a very good Gryffindor if I backed out of something because of the prospect of injuries.” Rick’s reply made one of them snort while the other just grinned.
“That’s the kind of answer I like to hear.”
The group of seeker hopefuls turned their attention to Longbottom as he strode toward them with purposeful strides, clearly having wrapped up his strategy huddle with the rest of the team. As the keeper and de facto captain, he wasn’t up for tryouts himself, which left him overseeing the selection process for seekers. The beaters and chasers, meanwhile, were being handled by their respective returning players, seasoned teammates who would be evaluating newcomers for skill, cohesion, and grit. Frank's no nonsense demeanor made it clear: this wasn’t just friendly competition, it was a proper assessment.
“Alright. I won’t take too much of your time. The test will be a free for all. I will release twenty training snitches and the two that catch the most will face each other to determine who’s going to be the seeker and who's going to be the replacement. Fair enough for you?” He got nods, ‘yes’ and ‘yeah’ of agreement and was satisfied with that.
Every hopeful clambered onto their broomsticks, nerves crackling in the air like static. Rick tightened his grip on the handle, his heart thudding in sync with the distant whistle of the wind. Frank stood a few paces ahead, gripping a large enchanted leather bag that jittered in his hands like it was alive. After a firm countdown, "Three... two... one!", he yanked the drawstring open. The bag burst with movement as twenty golden snitches shot out like fireworks, whizzing upward with erratic speed and glittering trails, vanishing into the vast dome of sky above them. The tryouts had officially begun.
Up in the stands, Marlene, Lily, and Amelia were present to cheer on Rick, each with her own brand of enthusiasm. Marlene brought the loudest voice, waving her house scarf like a flag of war; Lily nervously clutched her notes, alternating between cheers and concerned gasps; and Amelia, true to form, kept a keen eye on every seeker’s performance, her expression equal parts supportive friend and data collecting scout for Hufflepuff’s future counter strategies.
“You think he has a chance?” a worried Lily asked her fellow redhead.
“A chance? More like many. I know Hogden and Fincher are good on a broom but Rick is better.”
“Then-”
“That may not be enough however. Being a seeker is also about space awareness and dexterity. You might be the best flyer in the world but it would mean nothing if you can’t find the snitch or catch it.”
The girls winced in unison as a bludger slammed into Rick’s shoulder with a brutal thud, the impact spinning him sideways and causing him to veer off just moments before reaching one of the snitches. The collective gasp that rippled through the stands was almost louder than the hit itself, and Lily gripped the edge of the bench so tightly her knuckles turned white.
“OW! That must have hurt.”
“Sirius got him good.”
Looking a few rows down, they spotted Lupin and Pettigrew waving and shouting encouragement, clearly there to support their troublemaking friends, Sirius Black, who was vying for the beater position with a grin that promised destruction, and James Potter, determined to impress as a chaser.
“Making the beater’s selection all about hitting the seekers is… smart?” inquired Lily.
“Yes. Seekers are generally the main target of the beaters, because if they catch the snitch the game is over and more often than not it’s a loss. The test being conducted that way is to recreate actual game situations. It’s a good test, really.”
They watched with bated breath as Rick darted through the sky, weaving between bludgers and jockeying for position like a seasoned pro. He cut sharper corners, climbed faster, and read the air currents with an uncanny instinct that made him stand out effortlessly. Even the most clueless observer could tell, of the five seeker candidates, Rick was in a league of his own. When a bludger rocketed toward him, he spun into a seamless barrel roll, using a nearby flier as impromptu cover. The bludger slammed into the unlucky opponent, throwing him off balance. Without missing a beat, Rick accelerated and snatched a glinting snitch from the air with the precision of a hawk. The stands rippled with impressed murmurs and spontaneous applause.
“How many does that make?” Marlene inquired.
“Six.”
“One more and he’s sure to be qualified for the second part of the test.” added Amelia to Lily’s short answer.
“How so?” asked the blonde again.
“There are twenty snitches. Seven is more than a third of them and so the minimum to go to the second round because there are only thirteen left. That means that no matter what number one of them gets, being seven or more, everyone else won’t be able to match Rick’s seven. At best they can only get six.”
Lily’s explanation was clear, concise, and laced with that familiar tone of academic certainty, and Marlene, despite often mocking such seriousness, grasped the logic easily. She crossed her fingers under her scarf, silently pleading with the universe for Rick to snag that seventh snitch.
Above, Rick soared higher than anyone else, a lone speck against the sky, methodically circling the pitch like a hawk scanning for prey. His concentration was absolute, every micro adjustment in his posture revealing a predator’s patience. But just as he angled his broom to chase a glimmer, the shrill sound of a whistle cut through the air like a Severing Charm, signaling the end of the round. All seekers, beaters, and chasers began their descent, trailing disappointment or hope like cloaks in the wind.
“Morgana’s tits, I hope he has enough.”
“He should have. Twenty snitches, five seekers. The average would be 4 per person but Rick got six. Unless one or two were really really bad and one or two really really good, he should be alright.”
Marlene and Amelia exchanged a glance, then looked at Lily with an unreadable expression. The sudden silence caught Lily’s attention, and with a raised eyebrow and a confused tilt of her head, she asked, "What?"
““Nothing.””
“You’re just so into quidditch suddenly, bringing accurate maths into it and all.” remarked Marlene.
“Especially when you don’t want him to play.”
“I’m not- I don’t- I want him to be happy, okay? And flying makes him happy, so I’ll support him the best way I can by involving myself because he’s my friend. And for the same reason I’m also really worried. Quidditch is a violent sport, people die. How could students be allowed to participate in such a thing?”
Both pureblood witches sat in thoughtful silence, unable to offer a response. They had grown up steeped in a culture where the dangers of Quidditch were seen as tradition rather than a cause for concern. It had always been that way, violent, glorified, and unquestioned. The idea that something might be wrong with it simply hadn’t occurred to them before. The rules were carved into their upbringing, so deeply ingrained that questioning them felt like asking why gravity existed.
Back down on the grass, Frank Longbottom gathered the seeker candidates with the measured air of someone about to deliver judgment from on high. Clipboard in hand, figuratively, if not literally, he reviewed the results with a sharp eye. Rick had clearly outflown the competition, finishing first with six snitches, while Hogden came in second with five. The rest of the group had been left behind in a statistical dust cloud, their totals scattered between two, three, and four. There was no contest, the finalists had separated themselves with undeniable skill.
“Alright guys thank you for trying. You may not have made the cut but what matters is that you were ready to play for the house team. Wald, Hogden, your duel will start in a moment. We just need to wait for the chasers and the beaters' first phase of the selection to end.”
It didn’t take long for the field to start clearing, as those who hadn’t made the cut trudged away, some sulking, others just eager to disappear. A sudden spike in noise near the chaser candidates drew all eyes to the unmistakable source of drama: James Potter, mid tantrum, kicking at the grass and yelling about unfair calls and biased judging. His voice rang across the pitch with theatrical outrage. Before the situation could devolve further, or explode entirely, Sirius Black swooped in, visibly irritated, and yanked his friend away by the arm. Neither had qualified, and both were taking it poorly, but Sirius clearly had enough self preservation to know when to exit before the upper year Gryffindors, some already reaching for their wands, decided to offer James a duel he wouldn’t walk away from. Given the house's fiery temperament, retaliation wasn’t just likely, it was practically tradition.
The four chaser hopefuls and three beater candidates, among them a returning team member, made their way across the pitch to join the seekers' side. They lined up in loose formation as Longbottom stepped forward to greet them, his expression a mix of captainly authority and pragmatic focus. The air was thick with anticipation, and even the returning player seemed keyed up, knowing performance, not seniority, would determine their fate today.
“If you’re here, then it’s because you have what it takes to be on the team. Whether you become a starter or a reserve player will depend on your next performance. The test is simple, we’ll have a small game. Two chasers, one keeper, one beater and one seeker on each side. Since Battista is a good keeper too, he won’t beat. As for Johnson, she’ll be on the team facing me because I’m more difficult to score against than Battista. That way it’s more balanced.”
Lawrence Battista was a short, brown haired boy with unassuming brown eyes. At first glance, Rick, or anyone else, might dismiss him as plain and forgettable. But a closer look revealed the compact power of an athlete. His build was lean but solid, the kind of functional strength that didn’t scream for attention but performed when it counted. He was the textbook beater: low center of gravity, fast reflexes, and unshakable focus. That combination of subtle power and sharp skill was what had kept him on the team since his third year.
Eva Johnson, on the other hand, stood out effortlessly. She towered a head and a half over Rick, her slender frame honed with graceful athleticism. With deep brown skin, striking dark eyes, and long black hair often tied back for aerodynamics, she had an undeniable presence, one that carried over to the sky. On a broom, Eva moved like a bird, her flying style elegant but deceptive, able to dodge bludgers with almost preternatural ease. Rick had watched her train before, she didn’t just react to bludgers, she seemed to predict them. Of everyone on the current roster, she was the one whose technique he admired most.
“Keep in mind that winning is not the decisive factor that will get you on the team. Your performance is what will matter the most. You can lose the game but become a starter if you do well.”
Frank convened briefly with his teammates, whispering strategies and making quick assessments before calling out the final rosters. The teams were a patchwork mix of hopefuls and veterans, balanced just enough for a fair trial run. Rick, for his part, barely paid attention to who was assigned where. With the outcome not weighing on final selections, he focused instead on the thrill of flying and proving his skill. The moment the whistle blew, he kicked off the ground and rocketed skyward, the wind rushing past him like a welcome home.
Up in the stands, Marlene and Lily were engaged in a low, animated conversation about Potter’s latest antics, their expressions toggling between exasperation and disbelief as they dissected his behavior with the enthusiasm of two seasoned gossips on a tear.
“He’s going to be insufferable.” Lily said with a long and tired sigh.
“Even more when he learns that Rick made it to the team.”
“Is Potter that bad?” asked Amelia.
She wasn’t very familiar with the boy, himself, but she had heard some stories here and there the previous year. A prankster that liked to target any students from any house, most often than not: Slytherin. Lily’s answer was fiery.
“He’s an arrogant, spoiled, toerag, he is!”
“He’s been trying to chat her up since our first day at Hogwarts.” Marlene whispered to Amelia. “He also hates her friend Snape in Slytherin because well… he’s a Slytherin and doesn’t like Rick very much.”
“Because of the punch Rick gave him?”
“Yes but more because Rick is friends with Lily. The guy is a retard, he thinks that by putting them down, she will come to see him as a better option.”
“What are you whispering about?” The youngest redhead of the trio inquired with a frown on her face.
“I was filling Amelia in on Potter. Didn’t think you’d want to hear it.”
“Who in their right mind would want to hear about Mister ‘I’m the heir of Ancient and Noble House so I’m better than anyone’?”
“Potter is not the heir.”
“He’s not?!”
Marlene snapped her head toward Amelia so fast it was a miracle she didn’t sprain something, her expression twisted in pure, unfiltered shock. Lily, who had been only mildly attentive before, straightened up like she'd just been hit with a Stupefy, her entire posture radiating sudden, laser focused curiosity.
“No, he’s not. He’s not even heir presumptive.”
“Presumptive? No one knows who the heir of House Potter is?” asked Lily.
“Who is then?”
“His father is the heir presumptive.” answered Amelia.
“I thought Fleamont Potter was Lord Potter!”
“He is not. He’s just the proxy of his cousin Charlus Potter, the actual Lord of their house.”
“I’ve never heard of him.”
“He fought at the side of Lord Arcturus Black in the war against Grindelwald and married his little sister, Dorea Black. A very powerful wizard.”
“How come I don’t know about him? Father never spoke of him nor that he was the actual Lord Potter.”
“For the same reason that Fleamont Potter is the heir presumptive. Charlus and his wife had a son a bit more than a decade ago. Nobody knows what happened but he went missing. There are plenty of theories going from his death in an accident to kidnapping. Charlus named Fleamont his proxy while he searched for his son. It proved fruitless. He and his wife removed themselves from the magical world and nobody has seen them in public ever since.
Since nobody knows what happened to the son, at Charlus’ death Fleamont is supposed to officially take the mantle of Lord Potter but since there is still the possibility that the son is still alive, Fleamont is only the heir presumptive. To many, however, it’s a done deal and that's why many don’t talk about Charlus or his son or acknowledge him as Lord Potter.” Amelia explained. “Potter may not even know he’s not the heir or he knows but he’s sure he will be.”
“Knowing him, I doubt he knows.” Lilty muttered.
“I hope he’s alive so Potter- Oh shit! We missed Rick’s game!”
The two redheads whipped their heads toward the pitch just in time to catch the players touching down on the grass, their brooms trailing lazy arcs in the fading light. Without even realizing it, they had spent the entire match absorbed in conversation, completely missing Rick’s performance. Now all they could do was watch from a distance as the rest of the team dispersed and Frank Longbottom lingered at the edge of the pitch, engaged in what looked like a serious conversation with Rick. They exchanged a glance, each wondering if that was the kind of talk that ended in congratulations, or condolences.
“I can’t believe, I let Potter distract me from Rick’s performance!”
Lily didn’t know if she should be furious with herself or just plain ashamed. She’d missed Rick’s big moment, and the guilt twisted in her stomach like a poorly brewed potion. But whether he needed a cheer up or a celebration, she knew one thing for certain, she had to be there for him. Without a word, she leapt from her seat and made her way briskly down to the pitch, her robe billowing behind her like a scarlet banner. Marlene and Amelia followed in lockstep, each just as eager to know the outcome. When they reached the field, the grin that spread across Longbottom’s face at the sight of Amelia was unmistakable, and oddly smug.
“We may not win against Hufflepuff, Bones but you are going down!”
That was all Amelia needed to confirm what she’d already guessed, Rick had secured the Seeker position. His proud, slightly bashful smile was like a lit up sign, and the moment Lily saw it, she burst forward with a gleeful squeal and launched into a hug that quickly escalated into a full on flying tackle. Rick, caught completely off guard, toppled backward onto the grass with a surprised "oof!" as Lily landed squarely on top of him. Marlene burst into uncontrollable laughter, doubling over as Lily frantically scrambled off Rick, her hands fluttering in panic.
"I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Did I break something? Did I crush your wand?!"
Rick, grinning despite the impact, waved her off with a groan. “Only my dignity.”
Still giggling, Marlene offered a hand to each of them and helped them up, brushing grass off Rick’s back like a mother hen. With their moods high and victory sweet, she hooked her arms around both friends and steered them off the pitch like a Quidditch team manager marching her stars to post game recovery. On the way back to the castle, they stopped at the Gryffindor changing room where Rick ducked in for a lightning fast shower and a change of clothes, while the girls loitered outside, exchanging mock commentary like they were sports analysts waiting on a press interview.
Once inside Hogwarts, they slipped quietly into the kitchens to sneak a celebratory snack, clinking butterbeer bottles and toasting to Rick's new spot on the team. The house elves, eager as ever, provided a feast's worth of pastries before gently ushering them out. Returning to the Gryffindor common room, their laughter faded into sighs as they reluctantly turned to the last scraps of their unfinished homework. Marlene, sprawled out like a tragic heroine on the couch, dramatically lamented the betrayal of fun. Half an hour in, salvation arrived in the most unlikely and unwelcome form imaginable, courtesy of someone she’d rather hex than thank.
“Hey, Wald! How does it feel to fail at something?”
Marlene and Lily looked up from their books and parchment to see Potter and his friends, having entered the common room and making their way towards them. Potter has a smug grin on his face.
“I have no idea. Perhaps you can enlighten me, Potter?” Rick replied not even bothering to raise his head from his book. “From what I heard and saw you’re an expert at that. Throwing tantrums like a five year old when you do. Maybe you should write a book? I’m sure you’ll make a fortune, oh wait! That requires of you to know how to write and read. Nevermind then.”
Marlene burst into laughter, a high pitched cackle that turned a few heads, while Lily sat frozen, jaw slack and teetering off the edge of the table. She couldn’t believe what she’d just witnessed. Ever since she had known Rick, he had brushed off every jab, every provocation, like water off a Hippogriff’s back. That he fired back at Potter, not just with a snide remark but a scathing, surgical takedown, was nothing short of seismic. It was like seeing a statue suddenly throw a punch.
“Now, why don’t you go and bother someone else before you humiliate yourself further? Piece of advice, you should keep your mouth shut, that will help a lot.”
Between being rejected for the Quidditch team and utterly humiliated by Rick, whose very existence near Lily seemed to ignite every insecure nerve in James, he finally snapped. With his pride crumpling faster than a poorly thrown Quaffle, he whipped out his wand, jaw clenched and eyes blazing. But before he could even hiss the first syllable of a spell, a voice rang out, sharp as a severing charm, and froze him mid motion.
“Mister Potter, what do you think you are doing?”
James froze on the spot like he’d been hit with a Full Body Bind Curse. So did everyone else in the common room, the collective tension crackling like an overcharged wand. Standing tall at the entrance, Minerva McGonagall surveyed the room with her usual hawk eyed poise, her lips pressed into a line so sharp it could have cut parchment. The stern expression on her face left no doubt: she expected answers, and she expected them now.
“Well?”
“Potter was about to do a demonstration of the Skurge charm, Professor. Probably to impress Lily.”
“Is that so?” the stern woman asked Rick in a drawl. She was still looking at Potter and it was clear she wasn’t buying it. She decided to let it go. One of her favorite lions straight up lied to her face to cover for someone who was about to attack him and she could respect that. This time.
“Don’t make a habit of it.”
To anyone present, it sounded like she was talking to James, but her eyes were fixed on Rick, who gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod in return. With a swish of her robes, she made her way to the information board and pinned up the Quidditch match schedule with deliberate care. Every student in the room watched in complete silence, as though witnessing the posting of a sacred decree.
“Congratulations for making it to the team, Mister Wald. You’re officially the youngest seeker in 79 years.” With that said, she went through the hole in the hall and left the common room.
“Anything else, Potter?” Rick asked his shell shock roommates.
“Yeah. Watch your back.”
“That sounded very Slytherin of you.”
Rick returned to his book with deliberate calm, pointedly ignoring Potter as if the encounter had been nothing more than a gust of wind disrupting a page. He caught the low, feral grit of James grinding his teeth, followed by the sharp stomp of retreating footsteps, proof that the humiliation had landed like a slap. The common room held its breath in the aftermath, a suspended moment where nobody dared to speak. But silence and Lily Evans were never on good terms, and it only took a handful of heartbeats before she burst.
“What was that?”
“What?” Rick asked.
“You, putting down Potter.”
“That was more than a putting down, Marlene. That was a complete humiliation!” Lily contradicted then once again turned to Rick. “You’ve always been ignoring him, what changed?
“I ignored him because he’s a buffoon and a waste of my time. I had hoped that he would get the message and leave me alone. After a year, clearly that didn’t happen so there was no point in continuing. I also got tired of him and his attitude. Be it harassing you, humiliating and bullying others or simply his bragging. I’m no masochist saint, nor a monk with infinite patience, Lily. Just because I don’t like conflict doesn’t mean I can’t put an end to one.”
“Pretty sure, he’s going to prank the shit out of you now.” Marlene commented.
“He was always going to sooner or later because I’m better than him in everything. For someone with such a big ego, that’s unacceptable and frustrating. Now I showed him that I won’t be the easy target that he thought I was.”
“I don’t like this.”
“I don’t either, but sometimes, Lily, violence is the only language people understand because you can’t reason with them. They don’t have the brain for anything else.”
While Rick returned to his book with serene indifference, Lily glanced at Marlene, searching for reassurance or maybe just another opinion. Marlene responded with a casual shrug, but her face held no doubt, just firm agreement with Rick's stance. It wasn’t a smug expression, nor was it indifferent. It was quiet, certain solidarity. That unspoken approval made Lily pause, her thoughts tangling into silence as she stared down at her parchment, unsure whether to argue, agree, or simply understand.