Cynthia MacLanley

1853: Tryouts

"You'll be fine!" Allie reassured her for the thirtieth time.

"I'll beh sick!" replied Cynthia. She sure looked it.

The two first-years were eating lunch, or at least trying to, on the far end of the Gryffindor Great Hall table in front of the professors. They had both been Sorted into the leonine House against their mental will, but the confounded Hat had insisted that both were true Gryffindors. The fortunate thing, Allie pointed out later, was that both of them had been "misplaced together".

Today was Quidditch tryouts, and Cynthia was up against stiff competition. All the other Beaters who were trying out for the team were more than twice her size, it seemed, and all were male. After a quick perusal of his own miniature library (he nearly passed out in ecstasy in the Hogwarts one), Allie informed Cynthia that, although women Beaters were not uncommon in professional Quidditch, Hogwarts had never had a female Beater under the age of fifteen before. And those older girls, he had added with eyebrows raised and glasses falling all over the place, weren't exactly...feminine.

There was still a glimmer of hope for the slight-framed Cynthia, though, as both positions were open. One of the previous years' Beaters had graduated, while the other, Abbie's friend Calvin Androgski, had moved to Keeper. There was also a little bit of hubbub about Cynthia, as the seemingly unresponsive Abbie had actually listened to his little brother's boasting about his "unstoppable" and "champion" friend and made all his older Quidditch friends bother her with questions. At first, she was nearly driven to tears with their taunting of her not even knowing what a Dopplebeater Defense or Snitchnip was. But, after a quick lesson of "ne'er lettin' 'em git teh yeh" written to her by her father (and the study of a book of Quidditch terminology kindly found by Allie), she could either answer or ignore her hecklers.

Now, as the actual tryouts drew near, Cynthia was jealous of all the older boys and girls whom she knew to be the Quidditch players. They all looked calm and collected, laughing even, as they heartily ate their lunch. (And looked like they could keep it down, too.)

"Eat," commanded Allie through a mouthful of turkey. He swallowed and stirred her stew with her spoon. "Don't make me force this nutrition down your throat."

"Oh, Allie, c'mon." Cynthia took her spoon back. "I'm alleed teh eat what I wan'."

"Gryffindor, may I have your attention please?" The House Head, a jovial, dark young man named Antonio Scarelli, knocked loudly on the table in front of Cynthia and Allie. All the younger students by the professor silenced immediately as a quiet spread down the table towards the far end. A crowd of seventh-years occupying the foot continued to talk. Scarelli coughed loudly, and after a few seconds, the older students finally obliged. "Will all Quidditch tryouts please follow me to the pitch."

"Good luck, Cyn!" said Allie, grinning wide and pushing his glasses up his nose before giving her a thumbs-up.

"I'm gonna make it teh the pitch, I'm gonna make it teh the pitch...," Cynthia chanted to herself, taking up the Bellona and stumbling over her own feet.

~x~

Just five hundred feet long and almost two hundred feet wide, the Quidditch pitch could have been hidden several times over in the MacLanley's northern field. However, unlike the slowly undulating and heathered or harvested acres Cynthia had been practicing over, this pitch was surrounded by massive, ominous spectator stands. The little confidence she had finally found scampered off into the distance as Cynthia imagined them full of people, all watching her.

She ducked her head and ran to catch up with Scarelli and the rest of the Gryffindors, who had already walked onto the pitch. There was a dark wooden table on the boundary of the pitch, almost indistinguishable from the dark green grass. Four students, presumably the current team as Androgski was among them, took seats at the table. Cynthia wondered why they also carried brooms. Also at the table was Scarelli and another professor whom Cynthia assumed was the referee, or Quijudge. Tryouts stood awkwardly behind the table. A parchment folder appeared out of Scarelli's robes, and he opened it and read the first name aloud.

"Cecilia Abner, fifth-year, Chaser." A poised-looking girl with dark blonde hair drawn back into a tight bun stepped forward, an old but polished broomstick in one hand. The Quijudge opened a wooden box and drew out a red leather ball with a foot-long loop for a handle. The students groaned, and Scarelli shot them a look as he took the Quaffle. "Do you want to have to try out for your own team?" he warned, swinging the ball at them expertly.

Androgski, who was tall and had curly black hair, caught the Quaffle one-handed and hopped on his broom. He zoomed up to just in front of the goal baskets and swung the red ball to another team member, a curvy, red-haired girl with more freckles than Allie. The final Chaser was a skinny, limber-looking black boy, and he caught the girl Chaser's pass. He then swung it to Cecilia, who caught it firmly, but with obviously less confidence than the others had.

The Quijudge blew his whistle, and suddenly the three Chasers were on full alert. Cynthia watched in disbelief as they suddenly functioned as one unit, and flew quickly towards Androgski, the Quaffle constantly changing hands. Suddenly, there was a flash of red, and it seemed as if Androgski had grabbed the Quaffle before had even thrown it towards the center basket.

The whistle was blown again, and Cecilia flew down, looking furious at herself. "Thank you," said Scarelli, writing with a black quill on her sheet. She stomped off to her friends among the tryouts, who all patted her on the back. "Matthew Lovegood, sixth-year, Beater," announced Scarelli, turning the page.

Cynthia gulped as a sandy-haired behemoth plodded forward and kicked off into the air on his broomstick. The two Chasers and Androgski moved closer to the ground as the Quijudge released the latches holding back one of the Bludgers. Cynthia outright gasped as the iron ball launched itself a hundred feet into the air, looking much more energetic and outright dangerous than the battered Bludger she had always used. She couldn't bring herself to look away from Matthew, who smacked the Bludger effortlessly.

"Don't ever watch your competition," came a voice from behind Cynthia. She tore her eyes from the Beater tryout and turned around. A very kind-looking boy with a round face, pug nose, and big smile extended a chubby hand. "You're that first-year, am I right?" She nodded. "I'm Steve Merridew, and I'm a third-year. This is my first tryout, too." He smiled again as he shook her hand, and Cynthia decided that she liked him immediately.

"Wha' d'yeh play?" asked Cynthia.

"I'm a Chaser through and through," he replied, grinning like that was the greatest thing he had ever said. Looking over her shoulder at the descending Matthew, Steve nodded towards the pitch. "Look's like you're on. Good luck!" He flashed her another smile.

Cynthia turned, just as Scarelli called her name. She took a deep breath and walked out to the pitch. Matthew handed her the heavy bat and passed her without eye contact. Getting a grip on the new bat, she launched herself up upon the Bellona while keeping an eye on Androgski, who was holding the Bludger to his chest. When she got as high as the goal baskets, the whistle blew, and he threw the Bludger out to her.

The iron ball flew straight for her head, and she had just gotten the bat raised when she had to strike. It was a weak hit, the Bludger skidding barely fifty feet away. Cynthia used the time to pose herself for the strong ball with the reinforced bat, and her second hit was a strong one that made her arms tingle. The Bludger careened all the way down the field, almost to the other goal baskets, and now Cynthia was in her element. When it came towards her a third time, she considered attempting a Backbeat, but decided instead to smack it vertically. As the ball shrank into the sky, Cynthia heard the whistle again, and smiled. She had done it!

~x~

"Look, Cynthia! We're reserves!" Steve grinned broadly and clapped his hands together as he looked again at the list.

"We di'n't make it," said Cynthia dejectedly.

"Are you kidding!?" He remained almost dementedly happy. "Being the reserve is just a raincheck for making the team! See?" He put one arm around Cynthia and pointed to the team names with the other hand. "The whole group is sixth- and seventh-years. Trust me on this, Cyn -" He put his hands on both her shoulders and looked straight into her blue eyes. "We'll both be on the team in a year."

She thought it over for a few seconds, and smiled. "I kin wait."