Proving One's Worth

It wasn't every day that a new student tried out for the house Quidditch teams. In fact, Keiran had never seen it happen before. First years weren't stupid enough, and he hadn't known many transfers. Sure, someone had probably done it, but nobody in Keiran's circle. To be fair, he didn't spend much time worrying about those outside of that circle, or about people who did not directly affect him. He didn't see the point in bothering them, or in wasting his time when he had graduation and his NEWTs to worry about. Not to mention the house rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Or, really, between him and Jack Dyllan.

If anybody was going to take the newly open spot on the team, it was going to be someone good. Keiran didn't care about being welcoming to the new guy if it hurt his chances of defeating her. Their battle had waged for years and while each had managed pyrrhic victories, the only one that really mattered was their final year's house cup. Which meant they had to beat out all the teams, and absolutely destroy Gryffindor if they wanted to have a chance.

As he made his way out onto the grounds, he caught sight of the Transfiguration professor down the hall, likely on his way to his office or somewhere similar. Keiran had mixed feelings about that particular professor, but he was glad to note that he'd already prepared for whatever assignments he predicted they'd cover. One less thing to stress about, at least until graduation.

Out on the grounds, Apollo Zabini was already waiting for him. Keiran had asked for help with the tryout, and though the younger Slytherin didn't do much talking about it, he was skilled enough to help with something like this. And quiet enough that he wouldn't make a show of it, should the new kid turn out to be terrible.

Apollo was already prepped to go, and he kicked off when he saw Keiran approach, before flying up to weave casually between and around the columns of the pitch.

Keiran walked up to the trunk and opened it up, ready to launch each piece as needed. All that was left was for their fellow Slytherin to arrive and get this tryout going.

Hesitant brown eyes connected with their twins in the smooth, reflective glass. An exhale parted the red, slightly chapped lips that were lined with the dusting of a beard in its early, teenaged beginnings. Elijah Krum took stock of himself as he washed his hands, soap bubbling across his skin. He had tied his hair back, holding it in place with a strip of black silk. A stray lock that was too short to be contained at fallen out at his temple and was curling against his left eye. In those few, sparse moments, Elijah knew that he had never looked more like his mother – barring obvious, more masculine differences, of course. He took many traits from the tempestuous Frenchwoman but in the task that lay ahead of him, Elijah knew he would have to draw heavily on what his father had brought to the coupling that had produced him. He didn’t share much with his father but Quidditch was their one sure similarity. Even then, though, Elijah felt he disappointed the great Viktor Krum.

With a sigh, the young wizard left the bathroom, banishing such thoughts from his mind as he strode back towards his bed. He knelt down in front of the large, mahogany trunk that he had brought with him to Hogwarts – one of the only pieces of school equipment that he still had that he had taken to Durmstrang. It was a sturdy beast, though, so he wasn’t prepared to forsake it despite the connotations that still clung to it. Those were thoughts Elijah also endeavoured to shake off as he opened the trunk and delved inside for his broomstick. Unlike his father, he also had one other thing to bring out from within the trunk’s depths: his beater’s bat.

The broomstick was now somewhat out of date but when it had been new it had been the envy of his Durmstrang peers. When Elijah had shown no interest in joining his house Quidditch team while at the school, Viktor had made no effort to replace it when newer models hit the market. When he finally did show he had the skill and the desire to be a Beater it was his mother who bought the bat for him and carefully engraved their family sigil into the handle. When she presented it to him, her face shone with pride. His father merely despaired that Elijah wasn't a Seeker and dinner that night was a frosty affair.

During his first year at Hogwarts, Elijah had made little effort to involve himself with, well, anyone really – let alone getting embroiled in Quidditch. He still felt like the fish out of water he had been when he had first arrived but this year he was determined to get in the mix, make some real friends, and do something with his last two years at the school. Thus, when the position on the Slytherin team opened up, he knew he absolutely had to go for it. But Merlin, did he feel sick as he walked up the stairs from the dungeons and out through the courtyard into the grounds.

Somehow, though, Elijah managed not to run for the Highlands on his walk down to the pitch. He had wanted to be early but on spotting the other two boys there, he knew he couldn’t work himself into a fit of anxiety while waiting for them – he had to just do it. So, taking a breath, Elijah ambled across the pitch towards Keiran, his broomstick over one shoulder, the bat resting on the other. And as he got closer, Elijah felt his muscles begin to hum as they considered the movements that they knew he would make and confidence began to spread through him, making him feel buoyed and much happier. He could do this. He could. He was one hell of a flier – that even his father could not dispute. It was the only thing he was truly sure of himself about. And Bludgers? Well, they just needed hitting, didn’t they?

“Keiran!” He called as he neared, waving the bat a little in greeting. “How are you?”

Keiran looked up at the greeting, only mildly surprised by the fact that the new Slytherin was early. But it was also mildly impressive, given some of the students Keiran had seen, who'd just assumed they'd make the cut by the fact that they were Slytherins or thought themselves friends with Keiran. That was the bigger mistake, of course: thinking that the team captain cared more about friendships than about destroying the other houses at their sport of choice.

Really, it was a risk to suggest to Keiran that he was your friend. It more often made him want to say outright that he wasn't, just be contrary. But that likely came from being actual friends with someone like Jack Dyllan.

"I'm all right," he returned, knowing full well that nobody asked that question because they wanted a real answer. "You?"

Keiran waited for the answer before gesturing towards Apollo, silently calling him back down. Then he turned to Elijah again. "This kid is only a fifth year, but he'd be the other Beater alongside you. I figured we should see how you two work together."

Jack didn’t consider it spying on the enemy. She’d happily let Kieran sit in on any try outs she still had. Try outs was different from practices, and even then she might let him sit in. If they had to rely on closed practices to develop trick strategies, then her team wasn’t the team she thought they were. She wanted to win on true skill and merit, not on strategy. If they were meant to win on strategy, she was a piss poor choice for Captain. No, take away all trickery, expose each other to their plays. And then see who won. That would be a Cup worth seeing.

It had been a rough week. To say the least. Her fat lip was finally going down, but it had been reopened in her second fight with Matt Lestrange - a fight she still couldn’t quite wrap her head around. They had never been chums, sure, but she had been under the impression that there was a sort of mutual enjoyment of their antagonism. They had certainly made each other much better duellers. But he had been... off. Almost desperate to get her to hit him.

Which, of course, he only had to ask once.

Her first two days had been all fun and games, business as usual. She acted out, made scenes, and people laughed along or rolled their eyes. Even fighting Matt the first time was no big surprise - it wasn’t the first time and evidently wasn’t meant to be the last time. She wasn’t sure if anyone even knew about their scuffle on the grounds, just that there had been a shift of energy between them.

But people knew about Godric.

She stood by that. Happily. Too long this school had been ruled by assholes that thought they were better than anyone else because of money and names. It was bullshit, in her eyes, that Godric Malloy could waltz in and declare his opinion worth anything while Ariel Greyback had never done anything wrong to anyone - and people would laugh. When it came to injustice, Jack had rage to spare. It might not have been the best way to handle it, but at least she had done something. She hadn’t laughed and averted her gaze, she stood up for someone who couldn’t do it for themselves. She’d want someone to do it for her - though she doubted anyone in this school would. Not now, now that she was “unhinged.” Oh yeah. She had seen that.

She had never had many fans at the Slytherin table, for reasons both in and out of her control, but now there was an electricity as she walked by, a charge of energy that she was sure would find its mark if she didn’t keep up this air of being willing to fight back, always. She was relying on the Slytherins money and privilege to keep her safe. When was the last they took out the garbage, rather than their maids.

She smirked to herself at the thought, a small consolation all things considered, and began to climb the bleachers.

But it wasn’t just the Slytherins. She had seen the messages Christy had posted on the Wheezes comm, introducing the word “unhinged” to the litany of charges. Good faith ruined, instantly - and she hadn’t even properly hit Godric.

Whatever. She didn’t mind anyone else’s poor opinion, not for something she didn’t regret. She regretted hitting Matt, that much was true, but she only regretted not hitting Godric hard enough to shut him up.

She climbed to the middle of the stands and plopped down, dropping her backpack to her feet. Elbows on knees, chin on elbow, she leaned forward. She wouldn’t be able to see anything, but she didn’t need to see. She wasn’t even here as the Quidditch Captain, truly. She was just a fan, excited to see how the son of one her favorite Seekers played.

And if anyone had a problem with that, she’d punch them.

What? Too soon?

“Yeah,” Elijah exhaled his reply, his chest lifting beneath the jumper he wore. A breathless smile lit his face and he adjusted his grip around his broom. “I’m good, thank you. Yeah. Nervous, a bit.”

Although, nervous wasn’t exactly accurate now. He felt ready. Almost. He knew that any lingering doubt would hopefully be swept away as soon as he took to the air.

When Keiran called down Apollo, Elijah felt his stomach twitch a little within him. He raised a new smile for the sake of the younger boy and lowered the arm that was attached to the Beater’s bat.

“All ready to get going, then?” Elijah asked, his eyes flicking back to Keiran. “What did you want me to do? I'm fine with pretty much anything."

Apollo touched down in time to catch the seemingly uncomfortable smile that was passed his way from their new housemate. Their potential teammate. The fifth year had never been exceptionally skilled at making friends, as he didn't see a reason to go out of his way when few had done so for him. But teammates were different. Easier to come by.

Keiran provided his suggestion: "I thought perhaps an exercise we do to warm up during practices." Apollo already knew what was coming, once the sentence left the captain's mouth. He turned around and walked away as Keiran continued behind him. "I'll set a bludger on Apollo, he'll hit it towards the hoops, and before it makes it there, you'll take off from down here and stop it by hitting it back to me. Or, close to me as you can get it."

Apollo kicked off enough to hover a few feet off the ground, centered in front of the hoops on the other side of the pitch, and looked over at them, just waiting.