Eryon stepped onto the pitch, the golden afternoon sun casting long shadows across the field. A light breeze rustled the house banners hanging from the stands and he felt a familiar tingle of excitement as he tightened his grip on his broomstick. Flying with his mother had been one of the rare magical experiences he could indulge in back in his mostly Muggle home. Flying was his connection to magic before Hogwarts and it remained his favorite escape.
Today, however, wasn’t about leisure. Eryon was resolute in his mission to discover his place on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Although he lacked the experience of playing the game itself, his time soaring through the skies back home had honed his flying skills, making him a capable—though slightly cautious—flyer. Now, he yearned to test his abilities and determine if he possessed the potential to transcend his casual broomstick enthusiast status.
The practice balls he’d borrowed from the equipment shed sat neatly in their case near the center of the pitch. The scarlet quaffle gleamed in the sunlight, while the two bludgers quivered slightly in their restraints, as if eager to take flight. The golden snitch was still tucked away, its wings pinned, waiting for release.
Eryon mounted his broom and kicked off gently, his movements deliberate and steady. He started with a few warm-up laps, weaving in and out of the goal hoops at either end of the pitch. His flying was smooth, but he couldn’t deny that he lacked the speed that seemed essential for a seeker—or even a chaser.
Landing lightly, he took a deep breath and picked up the quaffle. Its weight felt reassuring in his hands as he examined it.
Being a chaser appealed to him—strategy and teamwork sounded like something he’d enjoy. Still, the idea of chasing down the snitch, scanning the pitch for that elusive glint of gold, had its own allure.
“Alright, let’s see what I’ve got,” he murmured to himself, gripping the quaffle tightly.
He mounted his broom again, this time rising quickly and aiming for the nearest hoop. His throw lacked power but was precise, the quaffle slipping cleanly through the center. A small grin crept across his face—there was potential here, even if he had a lot to work on.
For the next few minutes, Eryon alternated between practicing his aim with the quaffle and releasing the snitch for short bursts, chasing it down while trying to refine his turns and speed.
He wasn’t as agile as he’d like to be, but he was getting the hang of anticipating the snitch’s erratic movements.
The bludgers remained in their restraints for now. He wasn’t sure he was ready to take on their chaotic energy, though the thought of trying his hand at being a beater crossed his mind briefly. That would require a strength and aggression he wasn’t sure he had.
Eryon’s focus was so intense that he hardly noticed the sound of footsteps behind him. Another student, perhaps curious about his solo practice session?
