Trying For Keeper (Josh)

Standing in the middle of the pitch, his left hand clutched tightly around his new broom, Tristan looked around nervously. Trying out for a position in his house team was something that hadn't even crossed his mind, yet here he was, waiting for the unknown Slytherin captain to arrive.

It had started when Brooke's friend, Thana, had come to stay at their house. He had watched them practise flying and one of those days, Brooke had insisted he get on hers to "try it out." As it turned out, he had a natural talent for flying and was soon going as speeds that had made his sister and both his parents gasp in fear. But that was not what he felt, no. He felt free, at peace and happy. He had finally slowed down when Cale - no, his dad - had called for him. Hovering slightly above them, he grinned down, his cheeks flushed. Brooke had gotten a gleam in her eyes and whispered something to their parents, who had nodded. Turning back to him, she had made light conversation about flying when she suddenly threw a quaffle towards him. Reacting without even realizing it, his hand reached out and caught it. A split second later, he was staring at the oddly-shaped object, partially unsure how it had got there.

Judging from the claps he was getting from the people below, he figured that was a good thing and smiled. He landed and got off the broom, handing both it and the quaffle back to Brooke. It was then that she asked him to join the Quidditch team for his house. Obviously, he had said no, but somehow she had managed to talk him into it. His parents, being ecstatic at him finding something he enjoyed, had immediately gone and bought him the latest firebolt as a present.

Now, as he took in the details of the pitch, an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He hoped that the Slytherin captain would arrive soon, so he could get this whole ordeal over and done with. As much as he wanted to be on the team - and Brooke had made being keeper sound like a big deal - he was not looking forward to all the attention it would bring. At least for now, the only one who would see him was the captain. He hoped it was someone kind, at the very least.

His ears picked up light footsteps approaching and he turned his head to look. Immediately he felt his insides start to churn and he caught his breath, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart. Walking over to Tristan, with a box floating behind him, was Josh, his apparent captain. This was the last thing he expected.

"Walters, isn't it?"

He desperately wanted to leave, to get away from the older Slytherin, but like in most nightmares, he found himself incapable of movement, as though his legs were frozen in place. He gave a couple of quick nods in answer to the question, knowing that disrespect would not go in his favour. Maybe he could give an excuse, say he wasn't ready or something, he reasoned with himself, trying to find a way out of it.

"Waste my time, you'll wish you hadn't. Mount up, give me a lap of the pitch. I need to see speed, agility through the posts - use them as a slalom, and change of directions. Then, if you succeed in that, we'll look at your Keeper skills."

His brain stopped mid thought. So much for an excuse, he thought. Best to just follow instructions and hope that he impressed Josh, if that was even possible; he didn't seem the type to be impressed. Quickly obeying the Slytherin captain, Tristan slipped the broom between his legs and pushed hard against the ground. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he leaned forward, feeling the broom speed up. Keeping in mind what he was expected to do, he raced towards the three hoops at the end of the pitch, making sure to curve around the pitch and not fly directly towards them.

Picking up his speed, he reached the goal posts in seconds and turned the broom to weave between it. Deciding to spend a few more seconds at the hoops, he circled the middle one a few time before he moved on the the third. Leaving them behind, he continued the opposite side of the pitch, before suddenly pulling the broom harshly to the right, resulting in a sharp turn back, and the ground became a blur as he fled back towards the posts. Once again navigating around them, he smiled to himself, enjoying the challenge of it all. Heading back towards where he started, he lowered the broom and came to an abrupt halt a few feet from the ground. It had been more sudden than he expected, and he jerked forward. Quickly recovering, he jumped down and snatched the broom, which had still been hovering above him, holding it firmly.

Turning to face Josh, he quietly asked, "H-h-how was that?"

Trying to read the older boy proved impossible, but Tristan took the fact that he wasn't being hexed as a good sign, and watched silently as Josh removed a Quaffle and got onto his broom.

"Get in the hoops, Walters."

Hurrying to obey, Tristan tripped slightly in his haste, but caught himself before he fell and mounted his broom, kicking off. He raced towards the goal posts, trying to keep up with Josh. Once there, he positioned himself in front of the middle hoop, where he reckoned he'd have the best chance of blocking shots made to any of the goals.

"If you can block ninety percent of the shots, you're in. If not, well, you best make yourself scarce for a few days."

The not-so-subtle warning made him shudder, despite all the close calls he had faced while living on his own. He knew that, unlike most people who were all talk and no action, this Slytherin's bite would be way worse than his bark, and that was not something he particularly wanted to face. For some reason, the air felt colder than before, and there was a slight chill - but it could have just been his fear.

Watching carefully, he braced himself for the first throw, but it came faster and stronger than he expected, towards the hoop on his right. Spinning his broom around, he reached out with his hand and, just managing to make contact with the tip of his fingers, pushed it aside so that it missed the goal by inches. The sigh of relief that was beginning to escape was cut short when another Quaffle made its way to the left hoop.

Not expecting such another one so quick, he tried to fly over but missed it by mere milliseconds, and his eyes widened with horror as it flew straight through the ring, not so much as grazing the sides. Immediately his gaze darted to Josh, fear evident in his tense poise. How many was he planning on throwing? Whatever the number, Tristan figured he couldn't miss more than one, which meant that he had already reached his maximum number of misses and couldn't afford another slip up.

He didn't have much time to contemplate on the consequences of him failing because another Quaffle was coming his way. More determined than ever - for now he was fearful for his life, and that instinct of survival was in play - he directed his broom towards it and caught it before letting it drop and darting back again to stop a fourth ball from entering the hoop. By now, he had grown accustomed to the constant flow of Quaffles, and the fifth he stopped with a tad more ease.

"You got eighty percent."

Tristan nodded, taking in the information. What had Josh said earlier? Something about disappearing for a few days if he failed and not wasting the Slytherin captain's time, he recalled, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It felt like he was playing for his life, and perhaps this wasn't too far from the truth. Clearing his head of any distracting thoughts, he turned his fullest attention of the Quaffle in Josh's hand, readying himself for the slightest movements.

"No more slip ups, Walters. Or you're out."

Again, he nodded; yes, he understood perfectly fine. He never altered his gaze, keeping it firmly fixed on the Quaffle. The ball came as fast and as sudden as before, but this time, he was expecting it. Following it to the goal on the right, he readied himself to catch it. Something in the back of his mind, however, nagged at him, refusing to be ignored. True enough, there was something different about this throw. Although it was flying directly at him as he predicted, it was spinning differently than the previous times. He never failed to pick up on small details, trained by nights and days on the streets, where details could mean life or death.

Frowning, he watched it come closer towards him, his grip on the broom firm and ready to manoeuvre. Abruptly, it curved to the left, heading straight at the open middle goal. Pulling the broom harshly, Tristan forced an almost 90 degree turn and he lurched forward, reaching out as far as he could to intercept the Quaffle and managing to hit it away.

He let out a soft sigh of relief, but was still on high alert for the next throw. As expected, it came, and he wondered if this was another trick one. Moving to the middle of two goals, he watched it once again change direction mid-air and, this time, he was able to quite easily move to stop it. The pattern became clear to him as he observed the way the Quaffle flew towards him, although he didn't know how to describe it.

The next three came and went with relief, and when there were no more being thrown towards him, he sat straight up on the broom and dared to offer a semi-smile towards Josh. "D-did I do okay?"