Several weeks flew by and Patrick received no word from his grandfather. He found the anticipation the most taxing task, focusing much of his attention upwards during breakfast in search of his grey and white owl.
Patrick barely focused his attention to anything else in the morning and it was apparent in the way he ate. He paid so little attention, that it was not uncommon during breakfast for William to inform Patrick that he had been attempting to eat eggs through his nose. In fact, William had, taken up the duty of keeping Patrick alert while he anticipated his grandfather’s response.
Patrick spent most of that week thinking about what his grandfather’s letter would address and, as a result, inadvertently shirked his lessons. Fortunately, with Patrick frolicking in his own mind, William developed a habit of paying close attention to instructions; a habit that prevented Patrick from decimating their grade by adding porcupine quills too early for their boil cure potion.
Charms was no different. While Professor Snerkin was teaching the rest of the class a simple water charm, Patrick was busy thinking about his compass, indolently waving his wand in front of him. William, seeing Patrick knock over books and quills with his unfocused wand work, removed the wand from his partner’s hand and set it just out of reach; Patrick, however, still continued to swish about his wand-less hand as if conducting an imaginary orchestra.
To William’s relief, Patrick had been considerably more alert in Magic History. He listened to Professor Mott’s recitation of early wizard colonization, hoping for even the vaguest reference to anything that could be applied to what Professor Allard told him. While she did discuss, or read aloud, rather, the pitfalls of early wizard/Muggle relations, nothing else was mentioned that served as any help to Patrick.
“I just don’t see what’s taking him so long,” Patrick said to William, during one of their Dark Arts Defense lessons. “It’s not like we’re very far away.” Patrick was finally beginning to fall out of his vacant-minded slump after a couple more days without an answer; he realized that he would get the letter when it came and there was no use in continuing to flout his schoolwork. It was also due to the fact that Professor Wiggins had become more attentive of Patrick’s idle behavior.
“Thatcher!’ he shouted, “’pparently you didn’ hear me the first three times I asked ya’. What’s the incantation for the knock-back jinx?”
“I…it’s got to be,” he spluttered.
“Flipendo. Ya’ need to shape up, Thatcher.,” he injected, looking disappointed. “It’s only the start of the year. Don’t be gettin’ lazy already.”
Patrick noted Professor Wiggins’ expression. It was clear that the mystery of his compass was becoming a distraction.
“You should take your mind off of it,” William said, continuing their interrupted conversation. “I’d kind of like some help in Potions,” William added; he did not want Patrick to slide back into his vacant mood. “I say you focus on something else, like Quidditch. Tryouts are Saturday and Professor Snerkin expects a lot of students to show up.”
“Maybe you’re right,” he said, leaving the Templeton Hall building. Patrick found it hard to avoid the topic of Quidditch during the two days leading up to tryouts. Travis Sweeney and Simon Thornfield, two other boys in Patrick’s year who were almost always seen together, could not keep Quidditch out of their conversations. Even though they had both confessed to being avid Quodpot fans, the prospect of being a part of the first Allard Hall Quidditch team was too exciting to pass up. Even Henri, who was by no means intending to tryout for the team, could not wait for Saturday to arrive.
“This iz so exciting,” Henri exclaimed, reading the bulletin Professor Snerkin had posted in the Allard Common Room. “Eet reminds me of ze times my fahzer took me to see ze Quafflepunchers
“That wasn’t the one where they played the All-Stars was it? You know, the one Quiberon lost in?” grinned William.
“No, I didn’t,” Henri defended. “Isn’t zat ze match zat took five days for ze All-Stars to win?”
“Sweetwater still won and a win is still a win,” William triumphed.
Talk filled the common room the night before the tryouts. Almost all the Allards were up discussing their chances, while others were trying to discover the rules. One girl in particular, another from Patrick’s year, was busy thumbing through a book. Her short, straggly brown hair barely revealed the name of the book, Quidditch Through the Ages.
“How many people did you say were going to try out tomorrow?” Patrick asked, peering back over at the girl reading.
“I didn’t,” William replied, “I just said Professor Snerkin expects a lot of people. There’s no telling how much experience anyone’ll have.”
“If you’re concerned about her,” Elizabeth said, as Patrick looked back at the girl for a third time, “then you might want to give up now. That’s Myra Pudderly. She’s hardly anything to worry about.”
“I wasn’t,” retorted Patrick. “It just seems like a lot of people may be going out for the team.”
“Well, I’m just surprised she’s reading something other than Magic History books. She seems to be the only one interested in that class,” finished Elizabeth.
She stood up and walked over toward Patrick, William, and Elizabeth, using a finger to hold the book open as she approached.
“Excuse me, but I have a question, er…Patrick,” she started. She had a low voice, one that would be the exact opposite of a very talkative person. She didn’t look directly at any of them, but continued to talk, her eyes never leaving the word-covered page of the book she was holding.
“Do you know of any other books about Quidditch?” she asked.
“I don’t know of any other than that one,” Patrick replied pointed to her copy of Quidditch Through the Ages.”
William had suddenly perked up. It was as if he was waiting for this question to be asked and had done more than his fair share of research to answer it.
“Well, there’s Chasing Victory, that’s by Waxham Brast. Then there’s The Quintessential Quidditch Guide and Keeping Up With the Pros. Those are by Brast, too. Now, that I think of it, those are all apart of his Quidditch series.” William was counting them off on his fingers, looking upward trying to remember them all. “He’s written tons of””
“Um, thank you,” Myra said, glancing at Patrick once more then closing her book and shying away back to her table. William had been talking incredibly fast and it didn’t appear that he was entirely focused on Myra anymore.
“Then you’ve got the Quodpot stuff. Everyone should own Quodpot: Past and Present.”
“William,” Elizabeth interjected, “she left.”
He snapped out of his sports trance and finally noticed that Myra was already absorbed in her book.
“Well, if she doesn’t want to learn more about Quidditch, who am I to help her? I’ve got enough to worry about.” William stared toward the bulletin board where the tryout announcement was pinned. Patrick, after realizing that Myra only wanted to learn more about the sport, relaxed a bit and hoped that there would not be as big a crowd as he feared.
After waking up early the next morning, it appeared that Professor Snerkin’s expectation was accurate. That morning at breakfast, the Allard Hall table was filled with excited students all hoping for a spot on the new Quidditch team. Patrick, William, Elizabeth, and Henri sat eating their toast, while watching the other Quidditch hopefuls chatter excitedly. Robed students, some shouldering brooms, walked in and out of the doors of the hall. Patrick followed each one as they turned the corner counting every student to pass by their table, while swirling his goblet of pumpkin juice.
Patrick was becoming increasingly nervous. As great a flyer as Professor Pennipot said he was he couldn’t help the feeling that his skills were not entirely his own. Patrick made a decision, one that perhaps was adding to his nervousness, to abandon his compass to the bottom of his trunk for today’s tryouts. Just as he thought it unfair to take William’s dessert, he wanted to make the team on his own talent.
He took some assurance in his performance during his other flying lessons. After flying, without the compass, he found that, even on an old broom, his flying ability had gotten better since he last remembered it, granted he didn’t have to fly through trees this time around.
He did not, however, plan on using the outdated Shooting Star that he had ridden during his first flying lesson. Professor Pennipot had approached both Patrick and William, offering to allow them to use some of her more advanced broomsticks. They both accepted her offer, graciously, and she let them know their brooms would be waiting for them in the Quidditch field locker room.
“Think we should get going?” William said, dropping his fork on his plate that cleaned itself, instantly.
He could not hold it off anymore. The majority of the students in his hall were already filing out from breakfast. Noticing them, he sighed, uneasily, “Yeah, we might as well.”
Patrick rose from the table, William, Elizabeth, and Henri behind him, and walked, shakily, to the Dining Hall’s exit. A long snake of navy-blue robes could be seen slithering down the cobble-stone path to the Quidditch field making the knot in Patrick’s stomach tighten; it appeared that every Allard in the hall was going to be attending the tryouts, hopefuls and spectators alike.
Henri and Elizabeth were busy chattering all the way to the field, but Patrick had once again slipped into thought. His compass, which he believed had helped him during his first flying lesson, would not be able to assist him now. How would he be able to manage against the other students in his hall? What was keeping him from being any more impressive than any of the other students? It didn’t matter. He could only gain from giving it an attempt and had nothing to lose.
Before they reached the locker room, Patrick and William waved goodbye to Elizabeth and Henri. They pushed aside the curtain and made their way past the crowded locker room until they saw a boy waving a muscular hand, attempting to flag them down.
“Patrick? William?” he asked, his green eyes shifting between the first years.
“Yeah, that’s us,” Patrick replied.
“Hi, Gerald Flynn, fourth year,” he smiled. “Professor Pennipot left you a couple brooms. They’re over there.” One of his thick fingers was aimed at a single wooden locker, exactly like the ones that were aligned on both sides of the room. They both hustled over to it and pried open the knob affixed to the door to reveal two, mildly dusty Cleansweep Tens. Patrick grabbed the Spanish oak handle and he could immediately feel the difference between this and the shabby Shooting Star he was used to tolerating during Professor Pennipot’s class. William, too, looked pleased; his broom was floating mid-air and he was spinning it around with his finger on the handle. After a minute, Gerald butted in on Patrick and William fiddling with their new brooms.
“So what positions are you two trying out for?” he inquired.
Which position was he trying out for? So much time had passed between his compass revelation, being nervous about tryouts and now, that he had not given much thought to what position he felt he was right for. William, however, knew exactly which role he wanted on the team.
“Seeker,” he answered, looking just as confident as he did that day in Agnomon Square.
“Wow,” uttered an impressed Gerald, “good luck with that. That seems to be the most popular spot. Gets a lot of the glory, doesn’t he? I’m going for Beater, myself. I used to be a Swiper for our Quodpot team last year. So, I’ll stick to something I can do.” Patrick agreed. Gerald’s build was certainly in the range for a first class Beater. His shoulders were broad and his arms thick.
“What’re you going to play, Thatcher?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.
He gave it a quick thought. With William trying out for Seeker and Gerald for Beater, he narrowed it down to the remaining two positions. “Chaser,” he coughed up. There were three Chaser spots to fill and he had better odds of making the team by picking a position that needed the most players. Not only was there only one Keeper spot, but Patrick didn’t like having the responsibility of defending three goals with only two hands.
“Hmm,” Gerald was studying Patrick’s physique, “a little on the thin side, but that could work to your advantage. It’s worked well enough for Gravel with the Starlings. They’re on a three-match winning streak.”
They heard a shrill whistle blown from the Quidditch field and the head of their Hall Master, Professor Snerkin, peered through the curtains, once again sporting the chirping bird on his hat brim and wearing a broad grin. It appeared that he had performed a silencing charm on it, as its chirping was no longer audible.
“Allard hopefuls, this way,” he said quickly, and his head disappeared to the other side of the curtain.
Patrick, William, and Gerald were the first to exit the locker room and emerge on the other side to a large, grassy Quidditch field. On the opposite side, the female players were doing the same, joining the boys around Professors Snerkin and Pennipot in the center of the field. Patrick glanced up at the towering stands that surrounded the entire field; he could see that a large majority of the seats were filled with, what looked liked, the remaining Allards. He squinted to try and find Elizabeth and Henri, but they were too high and there were too many people to dedicate time to finding them.
“Seven of you here,” Professor Snerkin started, “will be apart of Allard Hall’s first Quidditch team. Before we start, I’m going to ask you to divide into four groups, depending on the position you intend to tryout for. The Keepers should gather over there,” and he pointed to the Northwest area of the field. A small portion of the crowd broke off and trampled along the grass to where they had been directed. “Beaters,” he continued, “over there.” Gerald and a group just a bit larger than the keepers moved their way to the Southeast area. “Seekers right over there.” William departed from Patrick along with the largest group of tryouts on the team. Gerald was right about seeker being the most popular spot. At least half of the original group had departed to the Southwest area of the field to await their turn to tryout. “Well that just leaves the Chasers. Over that way, please,” and Patrick, alongside the other Chasers, made their way to the only corner not occupied.
Both Professor Pennipot and Professor Snerkin crossed the field making their way over to the Beaters, Professor Pennipot magicking a large, brown chest as she walked. Patrick realized that it may be a while before he would actually get a chance to fly and plopped down on the grass, his Cleansweep beside him. His attention bounced from the conversations around him to the cheers of the crowd and the group of Beaters across the field who were flying up and down, one-by-one whacking iron bludgers with small, wooden bats. He spotted Gerald’s trial, which appeared to be one of the best of the bunch. He thought, for sure, Gerald would be on the team.
Several hours passed between the trials of the Beaters and keepers, offering few talented players. The keeper trials instilled laughter from the audience. The majority of the keepers had trouble guarding the three hoops, perhaps owning to the fact that Quodpot had only one pot to defend. Professor Snerkin selected the keeper among them and finally walked over to the group of Chasers to begin their trials.
“All right, Chasers, your time has come. I’ll be trying you three at a time. You will have to demonstrate basic flying skills, passing ability, and of course, shooting accuracy. You’ll each have three shots against your new Allard keeper, Allison Sinclair.” Patrick looked over at the short-haired girl floating between the first and second goal hoops of the field, before glancing back to his Hall Master. Professor Pennipot had approached from behind him, carrying a red, leather ball and handed it to Professor Snerkin. “Thank you,” he said, taking the Quaffle. “All right, why don’t we have…Gaines, Stilley, Emmert, you’re up first.”
Two boys and a girl carried their brooms to the center of the field where they stopped for a minute, listening to more instructions from Professor Snerkin, and they took to the air. Passing among them was okay; one of the boys kept fumbling with his tosses. The girl, Emmert, made some superb flying moves to prevent the Quaffle from falling and scooped up several of the boy’s, Stilley, faulty passes.
Patrick watched many more students miss passes, make goals, and be dismissed before it was finally his turn to begin his trial.
“Thatcher, Mulligan, Whitmarsh…you’re up!”
He took many deep breaths as Professor Snerkin issued the final instructions before he mounted his broom.
“You will each have three shots at the goal. Each one of you will shoot three shots at a time, while the other two will assist in passing. Once you’re all finished you can have a seat along the outside of the field. Good luck, and mount your brooms.”
The other two players in Patrick’s group, both male, were much taller than he was and by the look of them, they appeared to be either sixth or seventh years. Professor Pennipot blew her whistle and the three of them rose into the air. Patrick was worried how he would fly without his compass to assist him, but he was surprised at his lift-off. He fidgeted a little, but his Cleansweep was much easier to control and Professor Allard tossed him the Quaffle.
“Thatcher, you go first.”
He handed the Quaffle to the boy next to him and they took off to pass. Patrick swooped up slightly above the other two, while the boy on his left, Mulligan, flung the Quaffle to the boy on his right, Whitmarsh. Patrick was steadily approaching the goals and the right-boy signaled an imminent pass. Patrick was thinking about which hoop to shoot for when, luckily, the Quaffle slipped comfortably under his right arm. He watched closely at Allison’s position; she was hovering between the left and middle goals like she had done during some of the other Chaser trials. Patrick took another breath, feigned towards the left hoop and hurled the Quaffle at the right goal. Allison gave a great dive to Patrick’s left and the leather Quaffle soared into the ring on his right initiating much cheering from the stands as Patrick made his first of three goals.
“Good one,” Allison called after Patrick before he turned back to start his second attempt, “I didn’t expect someone your age to try something like that. You won’t get away with it next time.”
Patrick just smirked and realized that he had gotten under her skin. He took this round with more confidence, and after catching the Quaffle successfully, again, he aimed at the right goal once more. Allison, thinking that Patrick was attempting another feint, dove to the opposite side and Patrick once again sank another goal. He hustled back to the center to more applause, trying to avoid a sure-to-be-frustrated Allison.
Patrick did not know how he would make his third goal; he now knew that Allison would not fall for another attempt at the right goal and narrowed his choice to the left and middle. Mulligan heaved the Quaffle too high and Patrick had to extend his right hand and broom up to grab it, making the catch none the less. Left or middle…left or middle…Patrick could not decide. He chose at random and chucked the Quaffle toward the left goal. Allison watched Patrick’s arm and she was moving to intercept his throw. For a moment, Patrick thought his last goal had been blocked before he saw the Quaffle brush against the top of Allison’s fingers, bounce on the bottom of the ring, and topple downward into the hoop.
The stands erupted in the loudest of cheers; they probably did not expect Patrick to make all three goals, and neither did he. He was very much relieved and his passing to the other two boys during their trials, reflected that; they were both crisp and accurate. Neither Mulligan nor Whitmarsh sank three goals. Mulligan, who had thrown Patrick a bad pass, made two while Whitmarsh only managed to make one. Patrick felt proud of his trial and grabbed a patch of grass to sit on while waiting for the rest of the trials to finish. Once the last three flyers finished with a missed goal and Oohs from the crowd, they were summoned to the outside of the locker room that the boys had used prior to tryouts. Professor Pennipot was moving to talk to the Seekers, while Professor Snerkin was ready to make his announcement.
“There were some good Chasers among this group,” he addressed, “and it is a shame that I can only pick three. Having said that, our Allard Chasers will be, Josephine Emmert,” the girl from the first group of flyers jumped up and down excitedly. “Kyle Argenbright,” a red-haired boy with a handsome face stood proudly as his name was called. “And last, but certainly not least, Patrick Thatcher.”
He could feel his face flush red. He had not believed he made the first ever Allard Quidditch team and without the use of his compass, no less. Although clearly disappointed, many of the Allards who tried out congratulated him with a pat on the back, impressed at his talents for a young boy.
“Thank you all for your efforts and I’ll be speaking to the three of you,” he said, looking at Josephine, Kyle, and Patrick, “soon to talk about practices.”
He dismissed them and joined Professor Pennipot with the Seekers. Patrick flung open the curtains of the locker room and moved to put the Cleansweep away in the locker as a Chaser of the Quidditch team. Patrick began to think that maybe his compass had not helped him at all and his improved flying was a result of the upgrade in the broom he received from Professor Pennipot. He could not help but feel good about himself to accomplish such a feat by his own merits.
Patrick wrenched open the locker door to put away his Cleansweep and heard the soft, slow claps of someone behind him. He put the broom inside and turned to see Professor Sumpton standing feet away.
“Bravo, Mr. Thatcher, bravo,” he said, twirling his wand between his fingers advancing a little bit towards Patrick. “However did you learn to fly so well?”
“I don’t know, really, I suppose I’m a natural,” he said, cautiously. Professor Sumpton was looking at him oddly and the contents of Patrick’s father’s letter came flooding back to him.
“Well, you’d have to be with flying skills like that. Let me congratulate you. It’s not everyday you make the Quidditch team.” Professor Sumpton extended his left hand to Patrick. He moved further to shake Patrick’s hand when his foot appeared to be caught in a crack. He stumbled forward, muttering something Patrick thought must have been a swear word, and his wand fell down onto the ground blowing a fierce breeze at Patrick, causing his robes to flap open, furiously. Professor Sumpton shot his head up, looking very embarrassed, to offer his condolences. “So sorry about that, Patrick, I must’ve lost my footing. Anyway, I just wanted to congratulate you,” he said finally giving Patrick a handshake, a firm one, “and say that I look forward to seeing your first match.”
“Thanks,” Patrick replied, fastening his robes. Professor Sumpton waved goodbye and headed toward the exit.
Loud cheers were coming from outside on the field. The tryouts were not yet over. Patrick had almost forgotten that the Seekers had yet to tryout and he wanted to catch William’s trial. He darted out of the room and around the outside of the stadium to the entrance of the stands. He reached the top and spotted Elizabeth and Henri who, thankfully, had found seats close to the entrance.
“How did it go? We saw you, Patrick. You did very well,” Elizabeth perked.
“I must have done well enough,” he said, “Professor Snerkin put me on the team.”
“Zat is such good news,” Henri piped up. “’opefully, both of you will make ze teem.”
Patrick turned his attention to his best friend. “William! Has he gone yet? How did he do?” he said, quickly.
“You just missed him; he was the first to go. He looked like he stood a good chance, though. He caught that fast yellow thing,” Elizabeth frowned, not knowing the proper name for the Golden Snitch, “just a bit after he started.”
“The Snitch,” helped Patrick.
“Right, the Snick.”
The three of them sat watching the tryouts. There were a fair few that were good enough to be Seeker; one in particular was an older flyer, who made an impressive catch by swiping the Snitch after barreling on his broom and flying upside down. It took a couple hours to sift through all the students vying for Seeker and finish the trials. Once Simon Thornfield and Travis Sweeney finished their raucous attempts at being Seekers, both paying less attention to the Snitch and more to the screaming crowd of Allards cheering in the stands, and the large group down on the field retreated to the side, just as the Chasers had done.
“Come on, Professor Snerkin is about to name the Seeker,” Patrick said, standing up and leading the way back to the locker room. Before they could go inside the curtains were already being thrown back and many disgruntled Allards were stomping their way back to the school, ranting and raving. Instead of trying to enter the stampede of unhappy students, the three of them waited until they could slip past without being trampled. Patrick was the first to walk inside to see William finish a conversation with Professor Snerkin, who once again disappeared behind the curtains towards the Quidditch field.
“William!” Patrick called, his voice filled with excitement. William turned around to face the three of them, his face was hard to decipher. “Did you make the team?”
“No,” he said, softly, “not exactly. Professor Snerkin went with Harvey Pinniger, one of the seventh years.”
Elizabeth and Henri both bowed their heads, disappointed, while Patrick stood looking confused.
“What was Professor Snerkin talking to you about? We saw him leave.”
“He allowed me to stay on as Pinniger’s backup,” William said, no happier than his first statement. “He thought I had potential for a first year.”
“Well, zat means you can still play!” Henri offered, hopefully.
William scoffed, “Sure. Did you see his trial? Flying upside-down catching the Snitch, there’s no way I’m going to make it into a game with him playing.”
“Doing tricks like zat ‘e might fall off ‘is broom!” said Henri.
The only other thing Patrick wanted other than himself making the Quidditch team, was William to do the same. He found himself wishing that Harvey would come up sick before the first match so that he could be playing Quidditch along with his best friend. Elizabeth tried to get William to talk, (he hardly said a word the whole way to the Dining Hall) but he helped himself to extra servings of everything on the table trying to avoid having to speak again.
It was even harder to avoid the topic as almost every Allard in the hall was expressing their contempt about the outcome of the tryouts. Even Travis Sweeney and Simon Thornfield went back into their usual rants about how much Quodpot was better than Quidditch after their laughable trials.
The three of them were so exhausted from trying to cheer up William, when they reached the common room Henri and Elizabeth quickly retreated to their rooms. Patrick would have followed suit, but the hoots of his Great Horned owl stopped him from turning the corner, after realizing that the one thing he had been waiting for finally arrived.