'You ready?' Tracey asked, shouldering her Comet Two Sixty.

'As I'll ever be,' Evanna said, copying Tracey's pose with her own Nimbus Two Thousand, though the effect was not so grand. Tracey was half a head taller, making Evanna look like a first-year next to her.

'Oh, get over yourselves,' came Daphne's voice, collected as always. She stuck a dark tousled head out from behind the green curtains of her four-poster. 'There's still breakfast to go, and you're neither of you dressed.'

'Yes, but it's Quidditch, Daph!' Tracey could not conceal her excitement. Daphne only yawned.

'Save it for the pitch, would you?'

Fifteen minutes later, the three of them trooped down to the Great Hall in high spirits – it was the first weekend of the term, after all. There were things to eat and places to wander; Hermione waved from the Gryffindor table and Draco Malfoy, far from bragging about his chances on the Quidditch pitch that morning, was clutching his goblet of pumpkin juice and holding his stomach, looking very green. Pansy Parkinson was rubbing his back and whispering in his ear. Evanna pointed Draco's predicament out to Tracey, who winced – in sympathy or distaste, Evanna could not tell.

'Looks too ill to try out today, doesn't he?' murmured Fred Weasley in her ear.

She spun around to see the Weasley twins on either side of her. One look at their faces told her the truth.

'I suppose you had something to do with it?' she said suspiciously.

Tracey looked shocked. 'Doesn't that count as tampering?'

'Well, not technically,' said George. 'Unsporting, maybe ...'

'But since he's not on the team yet and he's been a bragging git all week, I think we're justified,' said Fred.

'Just don't tell him,' said George, nodding over at Draco.

'No fear!' said Tracey, with feeling.

'So, no excuses not to try out, Evanna,' said Fred.

'Are they joking?' spluttered Evanna, once Fred and George, looking pleased with themselves, had returned to their table. 'This is ridiculous! First Madam Hooch, then you, then Aunt Petunia, and now them … Anyone would think I'm conspiring against the laws of the universe and need to be told to toe the line.'

'Well, as I said, this is Quidditch we're talking about …'

Daphne snorted, her eyes firmly fixed on her sausages. Evanna felt a warm glow in the pit of her stomach; it did not matter, after all, whether or not either of them got a place on the Quidditch team; the important thing was that they were having fun, that they were friends. Two years ago she could not have boasted of such a luxury.

Tracey took a sip of pumpkin juice, twisted her head to look at Daphne's watch and almost spit out her drink.

'You won't be late,' said Daphne absently.

'But we won't be early, either! Cat, we'd better get a move on …'

Evanna hesitated, drumming her knuckles on the table.

'Daph, d'you want to watch?'

'I'll meet you there.' Daphne waved a piece of toast at them. 'Have fun, good luck, and all that jazz.'

'Cat, come on, we're going to be late!'

Ten minutes later, the two of them emerged onto the Quidditch pitch, breathless, but with Comet and Nimbus in hand. Contrary to Tracey's worries, they were not late; a number of Slytherins with broomsticks were milling around, and Daphne and Hermione appeared in the stands soon after (Hermione had brought a book with her), but the practice did not begin until Marcus Flint, an enormous seventh-year who clearly hadn't been picked for captain on account of his looks, blew a whistle sharply to get everybody's attention.

'All right, you lot,' he bellowed. 'I want some decent brooms from you. Nothing lower than a Comet One Eighty, Cleansweep Six or Nimbus Seventeen Hundred. If you've got something lower, like those ancient Cleansweep Fives those Weasleys drag around, then you're out of the running. Clear off.'

About five people walked off towards the stands, but no one grumbled. It was only too clear Flint knew what he was doing.

'The rest of you, get on your brooms and do five laps around the pitch, then we'll get to the other stuff. Go on, move it!'

There was a mass disorganisation as everybody scrambled to get on their brooms and kick off the ground. Evanna and Tracey exchanged excited smiles and followed suit. It was glorious to be back on a broom again – Evanna hadn't realised how much she'd missed regular Flying lessons, even after countless matches of three-a-side Quidditch at The Burrow. She resisted the urge to do a few loop-the-loops out of sheer exhilaration and instead sped faster and faster until she was near the front of the pack, the wind whipping her hair into her eyes every time she made a turn.

After that initial exercise, Flint divided the hopefuls by position (Chasers, Beaters, Keepers and Seekers) and got down to business. Everything revolved around three – three tries to get the Quaffle past the Keeper, three goes at hitting Bludgers towards other players, three attempts at blocking shots from Chasers, three snatches for the Snitch.

Seeker did not seem to be a popular position in Slytherin – other than themselves, there was only a sulky fourth-year boy who barely spoke a word and was often slow in his turns. Evanna and Tracey shared looks – maybe there was a chance after all.

Their first trial was a three-way search for the Snitch – to gauge how they played against others, according to Flint. The Seeker tryouts were the last to commence; in addition to the original hopefuls and the previous year's team, a number of Slytherin students had made their way down from the Great Hall after breakfast and were sitting in the stands, meaning that close to fifty people were watching as Evanna, Tracey and the fourth-year boy kicked off the ground and began their relentless search.

The sun was rising in the sky; Evanna felt its warmth on her neck. It was easy to feel drowsy, circling slowly in the midmorning air, but she forced herself to concentrate. Several times earlier, Tracey had caught her eye and winked, but neither of them faltered.

And then Evanna spotted it, fluttering gently near the middle of the pitch. All the 'Quidditch is stupid' opinions that she had held in her first year disappeared once and for all as she sped onwards the elusive speck of gold – her hair streaking behind her, the wind whistling in her ears.

She was too late. Tracey was already far ahead, coming from the other side, the fourth-year boy fast on her heels. With a burst of energy, Evanna shot closer, reaching, reaching …

Inches from the Snitch, Tracey looked up suddenly, her wide blue eyes meeting Evanna's green ones – and fumbled. The instant her hand slipped, something seemed to awaken inside her, and she made a second, more accurate grab. Next moment, the prize glittered from between her fingers. Back again was the old confidence – there had only been a second of stark vulnerability, but Evanna had seen it.

Shaken and bewildered, she did not perform as well as she could have in the second round – again, Tracey got a head start, and it was either luck or malice that caused the fourth-year boy to fly directly in Tracey's line of vision, forcing her to lose track of what she was searching for. But within five minutes, the Snitch was again secured in Tracey's grasp, and Evanna, somewhat regretfully (for she was getting a little fond of Quidditch), resigned herself to defeat. And then …

'Potter, Davis, you're up,' barked Flint – apparently, he was still sticking to the rule of three, and who was Evanna to argue?

For the third time, she and Tracey mounted their brooms as the fourth-year boy skulked away, looking distinctly relieved. Maybe he hadn't been taking part out of his own volition after all.

But this time was different – they were no longer two second-years in black school robes flying over the Quidditch pitch; this was a Hogwarts Quidditch match, and Evanna was the Slytherin Seeker, but Tracey was the opponent, a rival for the gold, one who must be outflown, lest the match be lost and all hope of winning the Cup disappear with it.

At last Evanna spied what she was looking for – a golden gleam near the base of one of the scoring hoops. And Tracey hadn't seen it. She leant forwards, urging her Nimbus ahead – quick on the uptake, Tracey dived after her.

There was no denying that Tracey was an excellent flyer, with reflexes just that much more honed than Evanna's own, but the added speed of the fairly new Nimbus Two Thousand was exactly the bonus Evanna needed. She pulled ahead of Tracey and kept the lead, triumphantly snatched the Golden Snitch out of mid-air and finally pulled the handle of her broom sharply upwards to avoid colliding with the ground. Tracey landed smoothly next to her, and scattered applause could be heard from the stands.

The whistle blew. The tryouts were over. Tracey had beaten Evanna two to one, if going by score alone – of course, the final decision was up to Flint.

While the stands slowly emptied – the entertaining part of the tryouts over – Flint blew his whistle to get their attention and began announcing the results, one by one. Several players were continuing from last year, smirking with satisfaction and cracking their knuckles when they were chosen.

Tracey was watching Evanna with a strange look in her eyes, but Evanna kept her own on Flint. His gaze flicked from her shiny new Nimbus Two Thousand to Tracey's neatly polished, but obviously well-used Comet Two Sixty, and he appeared to come to a decision.

'Potter, you're Seeker,' he barked, and Evanna was filled with confusion and joy, only to be crushed by guilt at his next words: 'Davis, you're reserve.'

And it was over, just like that.

The final team was with Flint as the Captain, of course, as well as a Chaser, Graham Montague and Adrian Pucey as the other two Chasers, Derrick and Bole as Beaters, Miles Bletchley as Keeper and Evanna as the Seeker. This meant that Evanna was the only girl on the team, but she was barely listening as Flint outlined practice schedules (shooting dirty looks at Hermione, still in the stands, all the while). All her joy at obtaining a place on the Quidditch team had evaporated. It had been Tracey, after all, who had invited Evanna, practically begged her to come, only to be overlooked in favour of the faster broom.

Daphne and Hermione met Evanna and Tracey on the way off the pitch.

'We heard,' said Hermione breathlessly; despite having no love lost for Quidditch, she was keenly interested in the results of the tryouts for the sake of her friends. 'Well done! Seeker and reserve sounds fabulous. I'm sure you'll have fun. The captain must think you're good – they don't often have reserves, you know …'

Daphne, however, seemed to spy something unsaid in Tracey's face, for she slung an arm around the blonde girl's shoulders and whispered something in her ear. Tracey looked startled, but nodded hesitantly. Evanna wished she had her Invisibility Cloak with her at that very moment.

After a few hushed mutual confidences, Daphne fell back to talk to Hermione and Evanna took this as an opportunity to prepare herself to say to Tracey what had been on her mind since Flint had announced the results of the tryouts.

'Well,' said Tracey, apparently determined to look anywhere but straight at Evanna. 'Congratulations.'

'Thanks,' muttered Evanna. Her hands were suddenly too full of broomstick. She thrust the Nimbus behind her, but succeeded only in feeling ridiculous. 'Trace, about what happened back there …'

Tracey inclined her head slightly.

'I just … well, what I mean to say is: if you want Seeker, you can have it. I only came along because you asked me to, honestly. You know as well as I do that Flint was being unfair. A Nimbus broom is just a broom ... it's the flying that counts in the end, and you've been flying for years.'

'Drop it, will you?'

'But –'

'I don't care about the sodding brooms. It's the flying that counts, like you said. Anyone with eyes could see who the better player was, and it wasn't me. You saw that fumble, didn't you?'

'Trace ...'

'Cat,' said Tracey firmly, 'forget it. I'd rather lose a place on the team than lose a friend.' She gave a small smile, and Evanna let out a long breath. 'And anyway, there's always next year.'

'You're sure?'

Tracey smiled. 'You're a very wonderful person, Cat Potter. You deserve it.'

Evanna didn't know what to say to that.

Draco Malfoy had recovered sufficiently from his mysterious affliction by the time the four of them arrived in the Great Hall for lunch, for they could hear him loudly complaining from the other end of the Slytherin table about how he'd been short-changed somehow ('Maybe it was the house-elves; my father always says that they're nothing but trouble'). Daphne walked by in a dignified manner without acknowledging his presence; Tracey couldn't resist a smile, but Evanna felt a twinge of guilt. Sure, he wasn't a nice person, and stood to be taken down a peg or two, but it seemed a shame that anybody, even Draco Malfoy, should miss out on a blissful Saturday morning spent on the Quidditch pitch because of two meddlesome Gryffindor fourth-years.