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Aurora Areli
AT SIX-THIRTY THAT EVENING, Harry and I were making our way down to the Quidditch pitch to meet Oliver. I was beyond nervous, and the fact that I would be out there trying out by myself did not help in the slightest.
When Harry offered to come with me, I assured him I would be fine by myself, but he insisted.
"I wanted to go flying myself, anyway," he told me.
I knew this was just an excuse, but I let it slide.
Since there were still a few minutes until seven, Harry and I had some time to kill. We decided to make a few laps around the pitch to warm up.
I hadn't realized just how much I loved flying until then. I wasn't sure exactly why, but it was probably the exhilarating feeling of being so high in the air and moving so fast; knowing I had the choice to go anywhere I wanted. It was liberating.
When I saw Oliver moving along the pitch, I stopped flying to hover next to Harry. Oliver waved, beckoning us over.
"Race you there," I said to Harry, grinning at him, before taking off toward the ground.
"Hey! Rory!" Harry shouted back at me, following close behind.
I made it down seconds before he did, and laughed at the pout on his face.
"You cheated," he said, struggling to refrain from smiling.
"Well, we never officially set any rules," I said matter-of-factly, "therefore, I didn't cheat."
"I like the way you think," Oliver said.
"Thanks," I said, sending a victorious smile towards Harry.
"We should get started, since you're already warmed up," Oliver said. "I'm going to guard the goal posts, and I want you to try and get the Quaffle through as many times as you can."
"Got it," I nodded, as Oliver opened the trunk containing the four Quidditch balls. He handed me the Quaffle before flying up to the goal posts.
"Good luck," Harry told me.
I smiled and nodded in response, then followed Oliver across the pitch.
I flew back and forth in front of the three goal posts, watching him to try and see which one he favoured the most. I noticed that he tended to stick to his left side, which meant I would try and throw towards his right.
I flew to the left and acted like I would try and get the Quaffle past him, but at the last second, I sped towards his right. I threw the ball with all my might, and managed to get it through the post to his right.
I beamed as Oliver said, "Nice job."
I couldn't do that again, though, since now he had seen what I would do. Instead, I retrieved the Quaffle from Harry (he was waiting on the other side of the goal posts to catch it) and shot it through the middle hoop. That goal might have been luck, because Oliver missed by inches.
