Dustin was FREAKING out. The quidditch match was less than a week away and he was supposed to be playing chaser. Chaser? He could barely handle a beater's bat. How was he supposed to be able to score goals? He hadn't even tried out for that position. What was Captain Sir even thinking?

He sat in the common room under the pretense that he would be doing homework, but all he could do was stare at the wall from his chair, eyes glazed over. Scenario after scenario played through his head. What if he had terrible aim? What if he wasn't even strong enough to throw the ball far enough? WHAT IF HIS ARM FELL OFF?