A New Chapter: Lennon's Anticipation for Quidditch Tryouts

"You're going to love it, I promise!" Lennon said, her eyes shimmering with excitement as she tugged her little brother's arm, pulling him through the bustling crowd at King's Cross station.

The Weasleys, a red-haired clan of eight, had invited Lennon to tag along on their trip to Platform 9¾. It wasn't her first time, but the magic never lost its allure. The way the muggles stumbled over the invisible barrier, the sudden burst of cold air, and the sight of the Hogwarts Express waiting patiently on the tracks—it was like stepping into a secret world she never wanted to leave. Lennon's heart raced as they approached the platform, her eyes searching for her friend Oliver Wood. She hadn't seen him since the end of term, and she was eager to hear about his summer playing Quidditch.

Oliver's head popped up from the crowd, his grin wide and welcoming. He looked more muscular than ever, his Quidditch gear slung over one shoulder. Lennon waved, her cheeks flushing slightly as their eyes met. He pushed through the throng of students, his stride long and confident, and greeted her with a firm handshake that turned into a warm hug.

"McCauley!" he boomed. "Ready for another year of magic and mayhem?"

Lennon laughed, feeling a thrill of anticipation. "You bet I am, Wood."

Oliver leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And have you heard the rumors about this year's Quidditch team?"

Lennon's eyes widened. "No, what's going on?"

Lennon is excitedly taking her younger brother to Platform 9¾ at King's Cross station to join the Weasleys on their way to Hogwarts. She's looking forward to seeing her friend Oliver Wood, who has grown more muscular from his Quidditch training. Upon reuniting, Oliver hints at intriguing rumors about the upcoming school year's Quidditch team.

Oliver's grin grew mischievous. "They're saying we might have a shot at the Quidditch Cup this year. Madam Hooch has been scouting new talent like crazy, and some of the older players have been training harder than ever. It's going to be intense."

Lennon felt a flicker of excitement. "Really? Maybe I'll finally get to see you play in the finals!"

Oliver's expression grew serious. "With you as our secret weapon, who knows what could happen."

Lennon's heart skipped a beat. He knew she had a knack for flying, even though she'd never played Quidditch for the school team. They'd bonded over their shared love of the sport, and she'd often imagined herself soaring through the air, dodging Bludgers alongside him.

"What do you mean, 'secret weapon'?" she asked, her voice a mix of confusion and excitement.

Oliver winked. "Let's just say I've seen you catch that snitch in the park. Madam Hooch needs to see that."

Lennon blushed, feeling a mix of flattery and nervousness. She had been practicing, but the thought of playing in front of everyone at Hogwarts was daunting. Before she could respond, Mrs. Weasley's shrill voice called for everyone to board the train. The siblings exchanged goodbye hugs, and Lennon stepped onto the platform with a renewed sense of purpose.

Oliver shares rumors of Hogwarts' Quidditch team's intense preparation for a potential Quidditch Cup victory, hinting that Lennon could be a valuable asset with her exceptional flying skills. Lennon feels a mix of excitement and nervousness at the prospect of joining the team, remembering her casual snitch-catching sessions with Oliver.

As the train pulled out of the station, she found an empty compartment and took a seat by the window, watching as the scenery outside transformed from muggy London to the rolling green hills of the countryside. The anticipation grew stronger with each chug of the engine, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of homecoming. The smell of the train's leather seats and the sound of the wheels against the tracks were comforting reminders of a world she missed dearly.

The door slid open, and a gust of cold wind sent a shiver down her spine. A group of first years tumbled in, wide-eyed and clutching their wands like lifelines. Lennon couldn't help but smile at their excitement, remembering her own first trip. The smallest, a shy-looking boy with thick glasses, took a seat across from her, and she offered a kind smile.

"Hey, are you okay?" she asked. The boy looked up, surprised. "It's okay if you're nervous, everyone is their first time."

He managed a smile. "Thanks, I'm Harry."

"Nice to meet you, Harry," Lennon said, her voice warm and welcoming. "I'm Lennon."

The train lurched forward, and Harry gripped the edge of the seat. Lennon laughed gently. "You get used to it."

They chatted about the year ahead, and Lennon shared tales of her past Hogwarts adventures. Harry's eyes grew wider with each story, and he bombarded her with questions about the school, the classes, and the magical creatures that roamed the grounds.

Lennon finds an empty compartment and reflects on the comforting familiarity of the Hogwarts Express. A shy first-year boy named Harry joins her, and she reassures him about the excitement of starting school. They chat about the year ahead, and Lennon shares her experiences from previous years, sparking Harry's curiosity about Hogwarts life.

"So, what's your favorite position in Quidditch?" Harry asked, his curiosity unflagging.

"I'm more of a seeker, myself," Lennon said, her eyes lighting up at the mention of the sport. "There's nothing quite like the feeling of catching that snitch. It's like everything else fades away, and it's just you and the ball."

The conversation flowed easily, and Lennon found herself lost in the excitement of sharing her love for Quidditch with someone who understood it. Harry was eager to learn, and she enjoyed explaining the nuances of the game.

As they approached the towering spires of Hogwarts, Lennon felt the familiar tug of nostalgia. She knew the castle like the back of her hand, but it never failed to amaze her. The first-years gaped as the school came into view, and she couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride for being part of such a storied institution.

Once they'd disembarked the train and crossed the lake, the students were herded into the Great Hall for the Sorting Hat ceremony. Lennon watched Harry with a protective gaze, remembering her own nerves when she'd been in his position. When the Hat finally called out "Gryffindor," the hall erupted in cheers, and she felt a swell of happiness for him. The Weasleys had also been sorted into Gryffindor, and she knew he'd be in good hands.

Harry inquires about Lennon's Quidditch preferences, and she expresses her passion for the seeker position. As they reach Hogwarts, Lennon shares her nostalgia with Harry and feels pride for the school. During the Sorting Hat ceremony, she experiences happiness when Harry is placed in Gryffindor, knowing he'll be with friends like the Weasleys.

Lennon, feeling excited yet anxious, brings her brother to Platform 9¾ to catch the Hogwarts Express, where she reunites with Oliver Wood, who suggests she might join the Quidditch team. The conversation turns to the intense training ahead and Lennon's potential. They find a compartment and are soon joined by a nervous Harry, who Lennon befriends and assures. They discuss Quidditch and Hogwarts life, and she shares her past and passion for the seeker position. Upon reaching the school, Lennon feels a sense of homecoming and is thrilled when Harry is sorted into Gryffindor.

After the feast, she found Oliver in the Gryffindor common room, surrounded by his teammates. They were all discussing strategies and practicing spells to improve their game. Lennon hovered on the outskirts, not wanting to interrupt, but her thoughts kept drifting back to his earlier words.

Oliver noticed her and waved her over. "McCauley, come join us!" He introduced her to the team, who greeted her with nods and smiles. Lennon felt a rush of pride as he explained her flying abilities to them, and she couldn't help but wonder if she truly could be their secret weapon.

"So, when do the tryouts start?" she asked, her voice tentative.

Oliver slapped her on the back, sending a jolt of warmth through her. "We're holding them this weekend. Think you're up for it?"

Lennon nodded, her stomach a knot of excitement and nerves. "Yeah, I'll be there."

The days leading up to the Quidditch tryouts were a blur of classes and secret practice sessions. Lennon had borrowed a broom from the school's storeroom and snuck out to the grounds every night, pushing herself to new heights. She could feel her skills improving, her reflexes sharpening. In her mind's eye, she saw herself racing after the snitch, the wind whipping her hair into a frenzy as she dodged the opposing team's bludgers.

SUMMARY^1: Lennon observes Oliver and his Quidditch teammates in the common room, feeling both pride and curiosity. When asked about tryouts, she confirms her participation with a mix of excitement and nervousness. The days before the tryouts are spent in secret practice sessions, during which she sharpens her skills and visualizes potential success.

The weekend finally arrived, and with it, the tryouts. The Gryffindor team was already on the pitch, their brooms poised in the air, when she arrived, breathless from the run across the castle grounds. Madam Hooch, the Quidditch coach, eyed her speculatively as she approached. The other players whispered among themselves, clearly curious about the girl Oliver had been talking up.

Lennon took a deep breath and swung her leg over the broom, feeling its familiar warmth beneath her. She took off, soaring through the air with a grace that had the other students watching in awe. The first-years stared open-mouthed as she weaved around the hoops and snatched the snitch from the air in a single fluid motion.

Madam Hooch's expression softened into a smile. "McCauley, I see you've been practicing," she said, her tone hinting at approval.

"Just a bit," Lennon replied, her cheeks warming as she descended to the ground. The other team members hovered closer, their curiosity piqued.

"You're on," Madam Hooch said, tossing her the Quaffle. "Let's see what you've got."

Lennon caught the Quaffle with ease and took off, feeling the wind rush past her as she shot towards the hoops. The team watched her intently, their expressions a mix of skepticism and curiosity. She knew she had to prove herself, not just to them but to herself. With each pass she made, each time she dodged a bludger thrown by Oliver, she felt her confidence soaring.

The anticipated Quidditch tryouts occur, with Lennon arriving to find the team waiting. She impresses Madam Hooch and the team with her snitch-catching abilities, earning a chance to prove herself further by playing with the Quaffle. Despite initial skepticism, her skills and confidence grow as she practices with the Gryffindor team members.

The tryouts were grueling, pushing her to her limits, but Lennon didn't let it show. Sweat beaded on her forehead and her muscles screamed for a break, but she refused to give in. Her eyes remained fixed on the snitch, the tiny, fluttering golden ball that would determine the outcome of the match.

The other players had noticed her natural talent, and the tension grew as she became a clear contender for the Seeker position. They threw themselves into the game with renewed vigor, eager to prove their own worth. Bludgers flew, players shouted, and the crowd of students gathered to watch grew larger with each passing minute.

Lennon's eyes never left the snitch. She could feel its pull, a magnetic force that grew stronger with each beat of her heart. The other players' strategies played out below her, but she remained focused on her prize. Her body moved almost of its own accord, dodging and weaving through the air, the broomstick an extension of herself.

The crowd below grew louder, their cheers and gasps urging her on. A bludger shot towards her, but she swerved sharply, feeling the heat of it graze her cheek as it zoomed past. The snitch was just a few feet away now, and she could see the glint of victory in Oliver's eyes as he flew alongside her.

With a sudden burst of speed, she shot towards the snitch, her arm outstretched. Her heart thundered in her chest as she felt the vibrations of the little bird in her fingertips. Time seemed to slow down as she made contact, and she yanked her hand back, the snitch firmly in her grasp. The crowd erupted into a roar of applause, and she looked around, disbelieving.

Oliver grinned widely and slapped her on the back. "Welcome to the team, Seeker," he said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. The other players offered her handshakes and pats on the back, their initial skepticism replaced by respect. Madam Hooch nodded curtly, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"Impressive, Miss McCauley," she said. "You've earned your spot."

The rest of the team hovered around Lennon, congratulating her, their faces a mix of admiration and wariness. She couldn't believe it. She was now a member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Her dreams felt surreal, like they were playing out in a book she'd once read.

As they made their way back to the castle, the reality of what she'd just done started to set in. She'd be playing alongside her heroes, the ones she'd watched from the stands for three Years. The weight of her new responsibility made her shoulders tighten. Could she really live up to the hype?

Oliver was quick to reassure her. "You've got this, Lennon. Trust me, you're going to be amazing." His words were like a balm to her nerves, and she found herself smiling in response. They talked more about the upcoming season, and she couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. Maybe this was her chance to not only represent her house but to prove herself in a world she'd always felt she didn't quite belong in.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of practice, homework, and whispers about the new Gryffindor Seeker. The team's camaraderie grew stronger with each training session, and Lennon felt a sense of belonging she hadn't experienced before. The other students looked at her differently now—there was a newfound respect in their eyes.

But with great power comes great responsibility, and Lennon knew she had to work harder than ever to live up to the expectations. She threw herself into training, pushing her limits and learning from the more experienced players. Madam Hooch was a tough coach, but she saw potential in Lennon that no one else had recognized before.

"You've got natural instincts," she'd say, her eyes sharp as she watched Lennon's every move. "But instincts can only take you so far. You need strategy, precision, and a bit of showmanship if you're going to lead us to victory."

Lennon nodded, her determination unwavering. Each practice session was more intense than the last, with Madam Hooch pushing her to anticipate the snitch's movements, to read the other players like an open book. It was exhausting, but the thrill of the sport kept her going.

During one particularly grueling practice, a bludger shot by her at breakneck speed. Lennon reacted on instinct, dropping the Quaffle to dodge the heavy ball. It was a rookie mistake, and she knew it. The team's chaser, a fifth-year named Katie, let out a frustrated shout. "Focus, McCauley!"

Lennon's cheeks burned with embarrassment. She hovered in the air, panting, and watched as Katie snatched up the Quaffle she'd dropped. It stung, but she knew Katie was right. She couldn't afford to let her guard down, not if she wanted to help them win the Cup. She took a deep breath and dove back into the game, her eyes locked on the snitch once more.

The weeks passed, and the first Quidditch match of the season grew closer. The air at Hogwarts was charged with excitement and nerves. The Slytherins, their main rivals, had an equally formidable team this year, and the tension between the houses was palpable. Lennon found herself lying awake at night, running through plays in her mind, her heart racing with the anticipation of the upcoming match.

The team's unity grew stronger as they faced each challenge together. The older players took her under their wing, sharing tips and tricks they'd learned over the years. Lennon's friendship with Harry grew as well, and she often found solace in his company during the intense practice sessions. He had a way of making her feel seen and understood, especially when the pressure felt overwhelming.

The night before the first match, Lennon sat in the Gryffindor common room, her eyes glued to the pages of a Quidditch strategy book. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the faces of her sleeping friends. Harry looked up from his book, his glasses askew. "You okay?" he asked, his voice quiet in the stillness.

"Yeah," she replied, though her voice lacked conviction. "Just nerves, I guess."

"You'll be amazing," Harry assured her, closing his book. "You've got more heart than anyone on that pitch."

Oliver, who'd been quietly listening from his seat by the fireplace, leaned over. "Exactly what I've been telling her," he said, a teasing glint in his eye.

"Thanks, you two," Lennon said, a small smile playing on her lips. "I just hope I don't let you guys down."

Oliver clapped her on the shoulder. "You won't. You're going to be the best thing that's happened to Gryffindor Quidditch in years." His confidence was infectious, and she felt a spark of excitement ignite in her chest.

The morning of the match dawned bright and cold. Lennon could feel the energy pulsing through the castle, the anticipation thick in the air. She put on her Quidditch robes with trembling hands, the crimson and gold fabric feeling heavier than ever before. The team gathered in the common room, each player's eyes reflecting a mix of excitement and nerves. Madam Hooch gave a rousing speech that sent a shiver down Lennon's spine.

"Remember, teamwork is key," she said, her eyes scanning each of their faces. "You're not just playing for yourselves, but for Gryffindor. Now, let's go show Slytherin what we're made of."

The team marched out of the common room, brooms in hand, their footsteps echoing through the corridors. As they approached the stadium, the sound of the crowd grew deafening. The stands were a sea of colored robes, with the Slytherin fans hissing and jeering as the Gryffindors passed by. Lennon took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart.

When the teams took to the pitch, the stadium erupted in a cacophony of cheers and jeers. The Slytherin seeker, a sneering boy named Mattheo Riddle, sneered at her from his broom. Lennon gripped her broom tighter, ignoring the knot in her stomach. The headmaster's whistle pierced the air, and the game began.

The Gryffindor chasers took off, pursuing the Quaffle with ferocity. Lennon hovered at the edge of the action, eyes darting between the snitch and the chaos unfolding below. The bludgers whizzed by, thrown with malicious intent by the opposing beaters, but she remained focused. Oliver's voice echoed in her ears: "Wait for the perfect moment."

The match was fast and brutal. Players clashed in mid-air, brooms colliding with bone-jarring cracks. Lennon's heart raced, her knuckles white on the broom handle. She watched the snitch flit and dart, playing a game of cat and mouse with the seekers from both teams. The sun was high in the sky when she finally saw her chance. The snitch made a daring dive towards the Gryffindor goalposts, and she took off after it.

Her broom sliced through the cold air as she chased the snitch. She could hear the thunderous applause and the roars of the crowd below, but all she focused on was the little golden speck in the distance. The Slytherin seeker, Mattheo, was close on its tail, his smug expression taunting her. But Lennon had something he didn't—a fiery determination to win.

Her heart pounded as she gained on the snitch, her eyes never leaving its erratic flight pattern. The Gryffindor supporters screamed her name, their voices a distant rumble beneath the rush of blood in her ears. The wind whipped her hair back as she leaned lower over her broom, the world around her narrowing to just her and her target.

Mattheo's broom was a dark shadow in her periphery, his malicious grin a constant reminder of what was at stake. Lennon gritted her teeth, pushing herself faster. The snitch darted between the goal posts, and she knew she had one chance—just one—to make the catch. With a burst of speed she'd never felt before, she shot after it, her hand reaching out into the void.

Her fingers brushed the snitch's cool surface, and for a split second, she felt the sweet victory. But then, a heavy force slammed into her side, sending her tumbling through the air. She lost her grip on the broom, the world spinning as she plummeted towards the unforgiving ground. Mattheo had clipped her, his broom a blur as he zoomed away, laughing.

The crowd's cheers turned to gasps, and Lennon's heart stopped for a beat. The snitch fell with her, spiraling in a lazy arc towards the pitch. Time seemed to stand still as she fell, her mind racing with the thought of failure. But then, a hand shot out of nowhere and grabbed the snitch. Oliver. He'd seen her fall and had swooped in to save the day.

Lennon hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of her. The world swam around her, and for a moment, she couldn't tell which way was up. She heard the sound of the crowd's uproar, the roar of the Gryffindor fans' jubilation mixing with the Slytherins' outrage. Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet, her body aching but her spirits not quite broken.

Her eyes found Oliver, who hovered in the air, snitch in hand, a grin spreading across his face. "You did it," he called out, the excitement in his voice cutting through the din.

Madam Hooch's whistle pierced the air, and she announced, "Gryffindor wins!" The stands erupted in a tumult of cheers and applause, the Gryffindor fans jumping to their feet, scarves waving in a sea of red and gold. Lennon felt a surge of pride, despite her fall. She'd played her part, and her team had come through.

As the players touched down, Madam Hooch marched towards the Slytherin team, her expression stern. She singled out Mattheo, her eyes narrowing. "That was a dirty move, Riddle," she said, her voice cutting through the noise. "Clipping is not only against the rules, but it's also incredibly dangerous. You're lucky she wasn't seriously hurt."

Mattheo shrugged, his smugness not entirely wiped from his face. "It was just a bit of fun, Madam," he said, his tone laced with a sneer.

Madam Hooch's expression grew colder than the winter's chill. "There's no room for 'fun' in Quidditch that endangers others," she replied, her voice sharp as a whip. She turned to Snape, who'd emerged from the shadows of the Slytherin stands, his face unreadable. "I trust you'll have a word with your seeker, Professor?"

Snape's eyes flicked to Mattheo, and the boy had the good sense to look chastised. "Indeed," he said, his voice low and threatening.

Lennon watched the exchange, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her side ached where Mattheo had hit her, but she forced herself to stand tall, not wanting to show any weakness. The rest of the Gryffindor team gathered around her, their expressions a mix of relief and anger. Oliver slapped her on the back. "Good game, Lennon," he said, his eyes gleaming with pride.

The walk back to the castle was a blur of cheers and congratulations. Lennon's thoughts were a jumble of emotions—elation at the victory, frustration at her fall, and a burning desire to prove herself to the Slytherin team and the school. As they entered the Gryffindor common room, the house erupted into a cacophony of cheers and applause. She felt a rush of belonging, a warmth that filled her chest and brought tears to her eyes.

The team gathered around the roaring fireplace, their cheers muffled by the thick stone walls. Oliver handed her a cup of hot butterbeer, his expression a mix of relief and excitement. "You okay?" he asked, his voice sincere.

Lennon took a sip, the warm liquid soothing her throat. "Yeah, just a bit shaken up." She managed a grin, the adrenaline slowly wearing off.

"That was some catch, though," said Alicia, the team's Chaser, slapping Oliver on the back. "Couldn't have done it without you two."

Lennon nodded, still feeling the rush of the game. "Thanks, Alicia."

The evening passed in a whirlwind of celebration and camaraderie. Harry was beaming from the sidelines, his enthusiasm for the game and her victory contagious. As the party wound down, she found herself sitting next to him, the warmth of the fireplace chasing away the chill from the outdoors.

"You were amazing out there," Harry said, his eyes alight with excitement.

Lennon laughed, feeling the warmth of his praise. "Couldn't have done it without you guys," she said, looking around at the rest of the team. Fred and George Weasley, twin pranksters and beaters for the team, nodded in agreement, grinning mischievously. Ron, their younger brother

gave her an enthusiastic thumbs up.

The twins had been surprisingly supportive during her time on the team, often offering her advice and encouragement. Despite their reputation for trouble-making, they took their roles on the Quidditch team seriously, and their skill with their bats was unmatched. They'd kept the bludgers at bay for most of the game, allowing Lennon to focus on the snitch.

Ron, the youngest of the Weasleys, was quieter than his brothers, but his pride was clear. His cheeks were flushed with excitement, and his eyes gleamed with hero-worship. He leaned in closer. "You really showed 'em, Lennon," he said, his voice earnest.

Fred and George, not to be outdone, offered her a round of applause. "To Gryffindor's newest star," George said, raising his butterbeer.

"Hear, hear!" echoed Ron, clinking his mug against hers. The twins' faces were alight with mischief, a hint of pride shining through their usual jovial expressions.

Lennon felt her cheeks grow warm under their gaze. She took a sip of the frothy liquid, feeling the sweet warmth spread through her body. "Thanks, guys," she said, her voice still shaky from the match.

"No need to thank us," Oliver said, his eyes gleaming. "You're a natural. I knew it the moment I saw you fly."

The conversation continued, a mix of strategies for upcoming matches and tales of past Quidditch glories. Lennon felt a part of something bigger than herself, a legacy that she was now a part of. Her nerves from the day had subsided into a warm buzz of excitement.

As the fire crackled and the celebrations grew quieter, she couldn't shake the feeling that the Slytherin seeker's unsporting move was a sign of things to come. There was something about Mattheo Riddle that set her on edge, something beyond his smug grin and dirty tactics. He had a look in his eye, a coldness that seemed to reach into her very soul.