Now that he was back at school, the teen was very excited. Not only was he now a fourth year, so no longer the younger part of the school. But he was one step closer to graduating and beig able to decide what he was going to do with his life. This didn't take his mind away from what he wanted from this year. The previous year had been pretty successful. He had gained the most points out of anyone in the school. Which felt like quite the achievement. He gotten perfect grades, everything had gone well. He was happy for such a fact. It was good for him. He was looking forward to what this very year could rbing, but the first thing he had to do was quidditch. It was his third year trying out. Beater, because the teen thought he'd be good for nothing else. He wasn't the most perfect flyer, and at least the beater thing came in handy when he was flying up and down the pitch just watching two sets of balls, and the players, instead of watching the quafle and having to score. Nah, to him there was nothing better for him that the role of being a beater. He also couldn't wait. Hopefully it would be his third year on the team. His third year of helping Gryffindor reach for the top and win. Take home that beautiful cup. He wanted that so bad. he had been getting better and better. It came with practice and the fact that his fear of heights and falling was pretty much all gone was even better. He could fly with new confidence. A lack of fear, just drifting through the air with not a care in the world. He was proud of himself. So proud that over the summer, his father had let him buy a broom. It wasn't new per say, but second hand, but it was better than what he had been using before. It flew better, smoother. He felt so much more at home on it than he had ever done before. Smiling to himself the teen got ready for the day. He wore his sort of practice outfit that he used whenever he went to practice. Which he'd done the previous done. He was pretty much ready in record time. He switched the glasses for the contact lenses, and with a brief brush of his unruly the teen gathered his new broom and left the dorm room. Heading straight for the pitch with only one objective in mind. Absolutely ready for the day.
The pitch had a number of people on it, and for the first time, the teen was actually worried he might not make the team. While he had been on the team for two years, he was sure that his position was just as uncertain as everyone elses was. Only the captain was a sure guy. If it was a guy this year. He didn't know. The old captain had left the school, so this was a new person. As it turned out, it was the seeker of the team, which the teen completely understood the reasoning. He was glad that it was such. The guy was good, and his position helped win games. Many games. He was nervous, but the teen was also fairly confident that he could do well. He was pretty sure of himself. He knew that he had worked hard to be the best, and surely that would mean something to this guy. Finally they were getting started, "Tybalt, trying out once more for a beater" He said to the captain, they were then instructed on what they'd be doing, and with that, the teen jumped on his new broom and flew up into the air with a confidence he had never had. He was pretty sure of himself. Maybe it was just the thought of a new term. He had B, by his side. A girl he was pretty much in love with and this was just good fun. With the beater bat under his arm, he took it in his hand and got started. Flying around the pitch, doing his best to keep his eyes on the bludger and keep it away from the chasers, and other important players. Noticing as one headed straight for the chaser, time for action. Urging his broom on, the teen flew straight to where he needed and right in the nick of time sent the bludger in the opposite direction. He smiled as this happened, relaxing slightly, as he just got into the swing of the game. Hitting a few more bludgers. Some proving more of a challenge than others. Overall, when the play came to an end, he was feeling pretty good about himself. He landed, as always pretty roughly on the ground. If there was one thing that the teen hadn't mastered it was landing, but he got to his feet, brushed himself down and rejoined the group waiting to hear if he made the cut.