Anne was up and stationed at the base of Gryffindor Tower a full hour before breakfast to meet Ned. He'd offered her his broom for tryouts and she'd nearly knocked him off his bench in the Great Hall when he told her. Something familiar was exactly what she needed today. She knew not to get her hopes too high, knew it was rare for a first year to make the team and, with how Sorting went, she wasn't interested in more surprises, thanks.

Lunch seemed to last three years and Anne gave up after a bit of juice and bread. She just wanted to be in the air, that's what she always wanted. She'd arrived to the Pitch in time to watch others arrive and to measure the players around her. She'd done her homework, knew the current team as well as she did the professional rosters and even managed to smile at Abney without asking a million questions about how he outflew a professional seeker this summer. For better or worse, these were her people now and she would earn her place.

Awaiting instruction, Anne was bouncing, broom in hand. While she hated waiting, it was worth watching a few people go first. Anne mounted her broom with a grin and kicked off with gusto. She was grinning before her toes cleared the ground. She knew how to do this. She would do this. Catching her balance as she transferred the quaffle from her left to right hand, that was always harder, Anne was all smiles as she attacked the course. 

She cleared the first three hoops with no problems, but the fourth she took too aggressively. Compensating quickly, she pulled the quaffle in to her center, readjusting. She hadn't lost her grip, but she was certainly closer to the the boundary than Ned would have liked when they practiced in the summer. It was fine; she had this! Leaning forward on her broom, balance reclaimed, Anne flattened out to gain a bit more speed. No one wanted a slow chaser.

Quaffle firmly in hand, Anne veered just off center, hoping to confuse the keeper, before throwing her whole weight behind the toss.

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