Author's Note: I see that returning reviewer Occamy was joined last time by
first-timers Morgan Le Faye and Sam. Welcome, and I hope you enjoy your
brief stay. (Did I mention the story is only 6 chapters long?) The big
match is about to begin, Cho has returned the magical microphone to Lee
Jordan, so settle in and get ready for some action.
By the way, you ARE sitting in the Gryffindor section, aren't you? You wouldn't dare root for Slytherin -- would you?
***
"You alright, Ron?"
Ron was only vaguely aware of the voice speaking in his ear. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up into the deep brown eyes of Gryffindor Quidditch Captain Angelina Johnson.
"It's okay to be nervous," Angelina smiled. "I was a bloody wreck before my first game."
"Yeah," Ron muttered. "But your first game wasn't for the Quidditch Cup -- and the House Championship."
Angelina rubbed Ron's neck reassuringly as Fred and George charged up from behind, each holding a broom in one hand and a Beater's club in the other.
"Now remember, Ron," Fred said, "you don't have to worry about how many goals we're up or down. The points are so close that it all comes down to who catches the Snitch. Even if we're a hundred points behind, it won't matter so long as you get the Snitch."
"A hundred points behind?" Katie Bell grinned crookedly. "You have a lot of faith in your team, don't you?"
"Just takin' the pressure off Ron, Katie, luv," George spoke for his twin. "We know we've got the three best Chasers at Hogwarts."
"And the prettiest," Fred added.
"Sell it to Professor Sprout for compost," Alicia Spinnet said, swatting Fred's backside with her broom.
"Right," Angelina said, her eyes on her watch. "One minute and counting. Let's go."
Rising from the bench in the Gryffindor locker room, Ron followed the rest of the team to the archway beyond which lay the Quidditch field. Seconds later, Madam Hooch's whistle sounded, and the seven red-robed figures kicked off and soared out over the field to tumultuous applause.
As was typically the case, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were rooting for Gryffindor -- or, to be more precise, against Slytherin. Scarlet-and-gold banners covered three-fourths of the stands, overwhelming the modest patch of green and silver marking the Slytherin supporters. It was virtually impossible to separate the true Gryffindors from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff -- although the former might necessarily be cheering just a bit louder than the latter, as they had a genuine stake in the outcome.
It was for that reason that Ron could not take Fred's advice to heart. The total points might make no difference for Gryffindor, but it could make all the difference in the world to Ravenclaw. After Cho had worked so hard to make Ron into what he hoped was a passable Seeker, he owed it to her to do his best to win the game decisively for Gryffindor, thus assuring second place for Ravenclaw.
As the Gryffindor team spread out across the field, Ron soared high to take a position far above the general excitement. His concerns as regards Ravenclaw notwithstanding, it was best that he distance himself from the activities of the six Chasers and two Keepers (though he would be wise to devote at least a portion of his attention to the Beaters). He could not help but notice the incessant blurs of scarlet-gold and green-silver criss-crossing below him as both sides strove to put the Quaffle through the appropriate goal hoops. But the colors he needed to focus on were the black of the Bludgers and, most importantly, the Golden Snitch.
"Careful with that broomstick, Weasley," drawled a cold voice off to Ron's right. "If you damage it, your father'll have to sell your house to pay for it. Although, even then, that still might not be enough for the down payment."
Drawing on the self-control he had honed during his months with Hermione, Ron ignored Malfoy's taunts -- which, to his delight, seemed to incense the Slytherin Seeker far more than any verbal retort. Malfoy appeared on the verge of an even more scathing diatribe when, without a hint of warning, Ron lunged forward onto the handle of his broomstick and dived. Malfoy, his pale face going chalk-white with horror, pointed his Nimbus 2001 at the tail of Ron's broom and shot after him like a bullet.
Even with a head start on a superior broomstick, Ron was being pressed relentlessly by Malfoy, who, all bluster aside, was undoubtedly a very good flier. At first the two hurtling broomsticks went unnoticed by those below, who were immersed in a heated contest of epic proportions. It was not until a Gryffindor goal brought a lull in the excitement that Lee Jordan caught sight of the desperately diving Seekers and jerked his head up excitedly, his hand clutching his enchanted megaphone in a stranglehold.
"Katie Bell passes to Angelina Johnson -- watch out, Angelina! -- that was close, just dodged that Bludger -- and SHE SCORES! The Gryffindor team is --
"MERLIN'S BUM! Gryffindor Seeker Ron Weasley is diving, with Slytherin Seeker Draco Malfoy on his tail! They're both going for the Snitch! Weasley's Firebolt is in the lead, but Malfoy's Nimbus 2001 is gaining. It's going to be --
"I DON'T BELIEVE IT!"
Lee had leaped up onto his chair, and his free hand was stabbing at the air as his dreadlocks danced around his shoulders like wind chimes in a hurricane. He was momentarily speechless, but that was irrelevant, as every eye in the stadium had witnessed first-hand the most incredible sight any of them had ever seen in a Hogwarts Quidditch game. As Ron and Malfoy had sped downward at lightning speed, Ron had abruptly jerked back on his broom handle and shot into the sky as if propelled by the explosive discharge of a Blast-Ended Skrewt. But a stunned Malfoy had been unable to pull out of his dive, and he plowed headlong into the ground, where he now lay motionless in a crumpled heap of green-and-silver robes and disrupted earth.
"It's INCREDIBLE!" Lee was shouting now, his voice returned in full force. Even shouting with all his might through his megaphone, he was only just able to be heard over the roar of the crowd. "Ron Weasley has just executed a textbook-perfect Wronski Feint! The Slytherin Seeker is down! The time-out whistle has sounded, and Madam Pomfrey is rushing onto the field. The Slytherin Captain is complaining to Madam Hooch that Seeker Weasley's move was illegal, but to no avail. The Wronski Feint, while difficult and potentially dangerous, is recognized by the Department of Magical Games and Sports as a legal move in either professional or amateur venues. Give it up, you slimy git! You haven't got a leg to stand on! And neither, it seems, does Draco Malfoy, who is now being taken off the field on a stretcher. The Slytherin reserve Seeker is now flying onto the field. Ladies and gentlemen, suddenly it's a whole new game!"
As soon as Malfoy's stretcher was safely away, Madam Hooch blew her whistle and the game resumed as before -- though not quite. It was now a battle to be determined solely by reserve Seekers. But Ron's momentary elation evaporated as he watched the Slytherin reserve -- a Fourth Year whom he did not know -- streak into the sky to take up his position. If anything, this substitute was a better flier than Malfoy, whose position on the team, nearly everyone knew, had been secured through the donation of the team's fine broomsticks by his father. Ron had revenged himself on Malfoy, and sweet though that had been, the game -- despite Lee Jordan's enthusiastic assertion -- was far from over.
The pace of the game changed now. While the action below became more heated, even violent, an unnatural calm pervaded the high sky patrolled by the two Seekers. Fifteen minutes passed. Thirty. Forty-five. Like tandem vultures circling a battlefield, Ron and his counterpart swept the skies with eye and broom, watching and waiting.
With only his thoughts for company now, Ron began to fall into his old pattern of self-doubt. 'Harry would have caught the Snitch by now,' he reprimanded himself. Despair began to gnaw at him. Cuffing himself mentally, he endeavored to shrug it off. He had neither the time nor the luxury to nurse his ego in this manner. The Quidditch Cup and the House Championship hung in the balance. He might win through, and he might not. But, by Merlin, he would not be the instrument of his own defeat. Harry and Cho had both placed their confidence in him, and he was determined to prove worthy of that confidence, win or lose.
Suddenly Ron's reverie shattered like a mirror splintered by a pitched stone. The Slytherin Seeker was rocketing toward the near corner of the stadium, his green robes whipping in the backwash of his dive. This was no feint. He had seen the Snitch. Even as he nosed his Firebolt into a desperate dive, Ron saw the glimmer of gold hovering just above the grass, hundreds of feet below.
The Slytherin Seeker had dived first, but Ron was closer. But though his Firebolt was undoubtedly faster than the Slytherin's broomstick, gravity was the great equalizer. Ron flattened against his broom handle, urging his "steed" on to its limits. He knew he could overcome the other's lead in mere moments. But were there enough moments left?
Some unnamed instinct warned Ron. He rolled just in time to see the black streak of a Bludger cross his path at an angle. Having missed Ron, the Bludger was now heading straight for the Slytherin Seeker. The green-robed figure swerved deftly to avert a head-on impact. But in so doing, he had unavoidably altered his trajectory. True to Ron's appraisal, the Slytherin reserve's skill required but an instant to return him to his original course. But that instant proved to be all Ron needed.
"YES!" Lee Jordan shouted into his magical megaphone. "Weasley has the Snitch! The game is over! Gryffindor wins, 210 points to 80! Gryffindor wins the Cup!"
It was pandemonium in the stadium. Ron was mobbed by his teammates, who nearly crushed him as their combined weight forced them all to the ground in a seething, laughing mass. People were pouring onto the field to congratulate him, and he staggered to his feet, holding Harry's Firebolt protectively out of harm's way. As hands clapped him on shoulder and back, a short, bushy-haired figure leaped up and kissed him on both cheeks. Ron grinned into Hermione's face as he held her fiercely with one arm, her feet dangling a foot above the ground.
"Hands off my girlfriend, you prat!" laughed a voice just behind Hermione. Ron's mouth fell open.
"Harry? What in the bloody hell are YOU doing here?"
"Watching you win the Cup for Gryffindor, of course," Harry said as he pulled Hermione into his arms and caught up Ron's lifeless hand in a congratulatory handshake.
"B-but," Ron stammered, "when did you get back?"
"I never went," Harry laughed. "The Aurors pulled a surprise raid this morning. A captured spy talked -- under the persuasion of Veritaserum, of course -- and we caught the lot of them. Dumbledore told me in his office this morning."
Ron's head was spinning. "Then why didn't you come and play Seeker? Why did you let me go out there and risk making an arse of myself?"
"Well," Harry said, "I could say it's because I haven't trained for a month and I was too far behind to catch up. In fact, if anyone asks later, I think I'll stick with that." He laughed, hugging Hermione playfully, before assuming a more serious demeanor. "But the real reason is -- I didn't need to. I knew I could count on you to catch the Snitch. We all knew it. I told Angelina, and she agreed with me. You earned your place on the team. And if there was any doubt before, you just erased it, didn't you?
"But I WAS wrong about one thing. We didn't turn you into another Charlie."
"Too right," came a familiar voice from behind Harry. "I never could get that ruddy Wronski Feint down right."
"Charlie?" Ron gasped. Then his eyes popped as he saw a veritable sea of red hair milling around behind the dragon-wrangling Weasley. "Mum? Dad?"
Ron's legs nearly failed him. His entire family was there, including Bill and, to his utter amazement, Percy.
"What d'you reckon, Fred?" said George, who had sidled up with his twin on Ron's left. "Mum and Dad never came to see us play."
"Yeah," Fred said, his voice mirroring the tone of mock-hurt assumed by George. "I guess, in this family, only Seekers count for anything."
Molly Weasley elbowed her way past her children, all of whom towered over her, and spread her arms to embrace her youngest son. She endeavored to kiss him, which proved difficult, as she was quite as short as Hermione but not nearly so agile. Instead, she grabbed two fistfuls of scarlet robes and jerked his face down to where she could plant a kiss on his cheek, eliciting laughter from all quarters.
Extricating himself from his mother, Ron said, "Fred, George -- whichever of you hit that Bludger -- "
"George hit it," Fred said.
"Did I?" George said, his eyes going round as if in surprise. "I thought you hit it, Fred. Well, no one else can tell us apart, so why should we be expected to."
"Seriously," Ron said. "I never could have caught the Snitch otherwise."
"Teamwork," George said. "All in a day's work for the Brothers Weasley."
"Right," Fred said. "Sorry I had to hit it at you. It was the only way to get the other bloke. But I knew when I hit it that you could duck it, just like in practice."
"You didn't hit it," George said. "I did."
"Oh," Fred grinned. "Right."
"Shut up, the both of you," Bill now put in. "I want to know how Ron pulled off that perfect Wronski Feint."
"You and me both," said Charlie.
Smiling warmly, Ron said, "I had a good coach."
"Love to meet him," Charlie said, his own glory days as Gryffindor's star Seeker clearly awakening from their enforced slumber.
"You'll get your chance," Ron said with a nod. "Here she comes."
Cho was now making her way through the crowd toward Ron, her face positively glowing. As Ron eased a short distance from his mother, Cho leaped into the air and threw her arms around his neck.
"You did it, Ron! You did it!"
"We did it," Ron said, his ears going pink as Bill, Charlie and his father all grinned and his mother surveyed Cho appraisingly.
"You were magnificent," Cho said, her voice growing oddly strained. "Cedric himself couldn't have done better. It was -- it was almost as if -- "
Cho's voice broke. Her magnetic almond eyes widened, and Ron felt a gentle shudder pass through her small figure. As his arms released her, she backed away slowly until she was swallowed into the mass of milling students surrounding Ron like a murmuring sea. Ron's eyes remained on the spot where Cho had disappeared for only a moment before Fred and George swept over him and hoisted him onto their shoulders. Ron was just able to toss Harry his broom before he felt himself being carried toward the stands, where Dumbledore waited to present the Quidditch Cup to the victorious Gryffindors.
The Hogwarts Headmaster was beaming as if he himself had just caught the Snitch. Ron wondered for the first time if Dumbledore had played Quidditch when he was a student at Hogwarts. He would have to remember to have Harry inquire after that some time. But that would suffice for another day. On this day, Ron's mind was already full enough.
Dumbledore smiled down on the Gryffindor team, but it was on Ron that his gaze seemed most intent. His long silver hair and beard shining in the sun, Dumbledore spread his arms welcomingly. Before him stood the silver Quidditch Cup, upon which, Ron now saw, the names of the Gryffindor team, identified by position, glinted in the sun. Whereas there were ordinarily seven names graven on the Championship Cup, this time there were eight. The position of Seeker was represented twice: Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley.
As Dumbledore made his speech, his every word accompanied by rousing cheers, Ron knew this should be the greatest day of his life. It was everything he could have hoped for, and more. It was his vision in the Mirror of Erised come true. And yet -- Ron could not explain it -- something was missing. There was an empty feeling inside him which all the glory and triumph was powerless to mitigate. He smiled broadly as he stood before Dumbledore and shook the Headmaster's hand. But that smile was only a mask, albeit a convincing one. A glance around him revealed no hint on any of his friends' faces that they suspected the truth.
There was one alone who might have seen. But she was not there. She was now walking across the Hogwarts grounds toward the castle, her head sunk on her bosom and her eyes fighting back tears. She did not stop walking until she reached the deserted Ravenclaw common room, where she dropped heavily into a chair by the fire and, at last, let the tears come.
***
Author's Note: Remember the "secret move" Ron practiced at the end of Chapter 3? Surely you all realized that he was practicing the Wronski Feint?
Well, Ron is finally the best at something. But there's more to life than Quidditch (although you'd have a job convincing Oliver Wood of that), and Ron still has a few issues to sort out. Join us next time for a few "Second" Thoughts. See you then.
By the way, you ARE sitting in the Gryffindor section, aren't you? You wouldn't dare root for Slytherin -- would you?
"You alright, Ron?"
Ron was only vaguely aware of the voice speaking in his ear. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up into the deep brown eyes of Gryffindor Quidditch Captain Angelina Johnson.
"It's okay to be nervous," Angelina smiled. "I was a bloody wreck before my first game."
"Yeah," Ron muttered. "But your first game wasn't for the Quidditch Cup -- and the House Championship."
Angelina rubbed Ron's neck reassuringly as Fred and George charged up from behind, each holding a broom in one hand and a Beater's club in the other.
"Now remember, Ron," Fred said, "you don't have to worry about how many goals we're up or down. The points are so close that it all comes down to who catches the Snitch. Even if we're a hundred points behind, it won't matter so long as you get the Snitch."
"A hundred points behind?" Katie Bell grinned crookedly. "You have a lot of faith in your team, don't you?"
"Just takin' the pressure off Ron, Katie, luv," George spoke for his twin. "We know we've got the three best Chasers at Hogwarts."
"And the prettiest," Fred added.
"Sell it to Professor Sprout for compost," Alicia Spinnet said, swatting Fred's backside with her broom.
"Right," Angelina said, her eyes on her watch. "One minute and counting. Let's go."
Rising from the bench in the Gryffindor locker room, Ron followed the rest of the team to the archway beyond which lay the Quidditch field. Seconds later, Madam Hooch's whistle sounded, and the seven red-robed figures kicked off and soared out over the field to tumultuous applause.
As was typically the case, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were rooting for Gryffindor -- or, to be more precise, against Slytherin. Scarlet-and-gold banners covered three-fourths of the stands, overwhelming the modest patch of green and silver marking the Slytherin supporters. It was virtually impossible to separate the true Gryffindors from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff -- although the former might necessarily be cheering just a bit louder than the latter, as they had a genuine stake in the outcome.
It was for that reason that Ron could not take Fred's advice to heart. The total points might make no difference for Gryffindor, but it could make all the difference in the world to Ravenclaw. After Cho had worked so hard to make Ron into what he hoped was a passable Seeker, he owed it to her to do his best to win the game decisively for Gryffindor, thus assuring second place for Ravenclaw.
As the Gryffindor team spread out across the field, Ron soared high to take a position far above the general excitement. His concerns as regards Ravenclaw notwithstanding, it was best that he distance himself from the activities of the six Chasers and two Keepers (though he would be wise to devote at least a portion of his attention to the Beaters). He could not help but notice the incessant blurs of scarlet-gold and green-silver criss-crossing below him as both sides strove to put the Quaffle through the appropriate goal hoops. But the colors he needed to focus on were the black of the Bludgers and, most importantly, the Golden Snitch.
"Careful with that broomstick, Weasley," drawled a cold voice off to Ron's right. "If you damage it, your father'll have to sell your house to pay for it. Although, even then, that still might not be enough for the down payment."
Drawing on the self-control he had honed during his months with Hermione, Ron ignored Malfoy's taunts -- which, to his delight, seemed to incense the Slytherin Seeker far more than any verbal retort. Malfoy appeared on the verge of an even more scathing diatribe when, without a hint of warning, Ron lunged forward onto the handle of his broomstick and dived. Malfoy, his pale face going chalk-white with horror, pointed his Nimbus 2001 at the tail of Ron's broom and shot after him like a bullet.
Even with a head start on a superior broomstick, Ron was being pressed relentlessly by Malfoy, who, all bluster aside, was undoubtedly a very good flier. At first the two hurtling broomsticks went unnoticed by those below, who were immersed in a heated contest of epic proportions. It was not until a Gryffindor goal brought a lull in the excitement that Lee Jordan caught sight of the desperately diving Seekers and jerked his head up excitedly, his hand clutching his enchanted megaphone in a stranglehold.
"Katie Bell passes to Angelina Johnson -- watch out, Angelina! -- that was close, just dodged that Bludger -- and SHE SCORES! The Gryffindor team is --
"MERLIN'S BUM! Gryffindor Seeker Ron Weasley is diving, with Slytherin Seeker Draco Malfoy on his tail! They're both going for the Snitch! Weasley's Firebolt is in the lead, but Malfoy's Nimbus 2001 is gaining. It's going to be --
"I DON'T BELIEVE IT!"
Lee had leaped up onto his chair, and his free hand was stabbing at the air as his dreadlocks danced around his shoulders like wind chimes in a hurricane. He was momentarily speechless, but that was irrelevant, as every eye in the stadium had witnessed first-hand the most incredible sight any of them had ever seen in a Hogwarts Quidditch game. As Ron and Malfoy had sped downward at lightning speed, Ron had abruptly jerked back on his broom handle and shot into the sky as if propelled by the explosive discharge of a Blast-Ended Skrewt. But a stunned Malfoy had been unable to pull out of his dive, and he plowed headlong into the ground, where he now lay motionless in a crumpled heap of green-and-silver robes and disrupted earth.
"It's INCREDIBLE!" Lee was shouting now, his voice returned in full force. Even shouting with all his might through his megaphone, he was only just able to be heard over the roar of the crowd. "Ron Weasley has just executed a textbook-perfect Wronski Feint! The Slytherin Seeker is down! The time-out whistle has sounded, and Madam Pomfrey is rushing onto the field. The Slytherin Captain is complaining to Madam Hooch that Seeker Weasley's move was illegal, but to no avail. The Wronski Feint, while difficult and potentially dangerous, is recognized by the Department of Magical Games and Sports as a legal move in either professional or amateur venues. Give it up, you slimy git! You haven't got a leg to stand on! And neither, it seems, does Draco Malfoy, who is now being taken off the field on a stretcher. The Slytherin reserve Seeker is now flying onto the field. Ladies and gentlemen, suddenly it's a whole new game!"
As soon as Malfoy's stretcher was safely away, Madam Hooch blew her whistle and the game resumed as before -- though not quite. It was now a battle to be determined solely by reserve Seekers. But Ron's momentary elation evaporated as he watched the Slytherin reserve -- a Fourth Year whom he did not know -- streak into the sky to take up his position. If anything, this substitute was a better flier than Malfoy, whose position on the team, nearly everyone knew, had been secured through the donation of the team's fine broomsticks by his father. Ron had revenged himself on Malfoy, and sweet though that had been, the game -- despite Lee Jordan's enthusiastic assertion -- was far from over.
The pace of the game changed now. While the action below became more heated, even violent, an unnatural calm pervaded the high sky patrolled by the two Seekers. Fifteen minutes passed. Thirty. Forty-five. Like tandem vultures circling a battlefield, Ron and his counterpart swept the skies with eye and broom, watching and waiting.
With only his thoughts for company now, Ron began to fall into his old pattern of self-doubt. 'Harry would have caught the Snitch by now,' he reprimanded himself. Despair began to gnaw at him. Cuffing himself mentally, he endeavored to shrug it off. He had neither the time nor the luxury to nurse his ego in this manner. The Quidditch Cup and the House Championship hung in the balance. He might win through, and he might not. But, by Merlin, he would not be the instrument of his own defeat. Harry and Cho had both placed their confidence in him, and he was determined to prove worthy of that confidence, win or lose.
Suddenly Ron's reverie shattered like a mirror splintered by a pitched stone. The Slytherin Seeker was rocketing toward the near corner of the stadium, his green robes whipping in the backwash of his dive. This was no feint. He had seen the Snitch. Even as he nosed his Firebolt into a desperate dive, Ron saw the glimmer of gold hovering just above the grass, hundreds of feet below.
The Slytherin Seeker had dived first, but Ron was closer. But though his Firebolt was undoubtedly faster than the Slytherin's broomstick, gravity was the great equalizer. Ron flattened against his broom handle, urging his "steed" on to its limits. He knew he could overcome the other's lead in mere moments. But were there enough moments left?
Some unnamed instinct warned Ron. He rolled just in time to see the black streak of a Bludger cross his path at an angle. Having missed Ron, the Bludger was now heading straight for the Slytherin Seeker. The green-robed figure swerved deftly to avert a head-on impact. But in so doing, he had unavoidably altered his trajectory. True to Ron's appraisal, the Slytherin reserve's skill required but an instant to return him to his original course. But that instant proved to be all Ron needed.
"YES!" Lee Jordan shouted into his magical megaphone. "Weasley has the Snitch! The game is over! Gryffindor wins, 210 points to 80! Gryffindor wins the Cup!"
It was pandemonium in the stadium. Ron was mobbed by his teammates, who nearly crushed him as their combined weight forced them all to the ground in a seething, laughing mass. People were pouring onto the field to congratulate him, and he staggered to his feet, holding Harry's Firebolt protectively out of harm's way. As hands clapped him on shoulder and back, a short, bushy-haired figure leaped up and kissed him on both cheeks. Ron grinned into Hermione's face as he held her fiercely with one arm, her feet dangling a foot above the ground.
"Hands off my girlfriend, you prat!" laughed a voice just behind Hermione. Ron's mouth fell open.
"Harry? What in the bloody hell are YOU doing here?"
"Watching you win the Cup for Gryffindor, of course," Harry said as he pulled Hermione into his arms and caught up Ron's lifeless hand in a congratulatory handshake.
"B-but," Ron stammered, "when did you get back?"
"I never went," Harry laughed. "The Aurors pulled a surprise raid this morning. A captured spy talked -- under the persuasion of Veritaserum, of course -- and we caught the lot of them. Dumbledore told me in his office this morning."
Ron's head was spinning. "Then why didn't you come and play Seeker? Why did you let me go out there and risk making an arse of myself?"
"Well," Harry said, "I could say it's because I haven't trained for a month and I was too far behind to catch up. In fact, if anyone asks later, I think I'll stick with that." He laughed, hugging Hermione playfully, before assuming a more serious demeanor. "But the real reason is -- I didn't need to. I knew I could count on you to catch the Snitch. We all knew it. I told Angelina, and she agreed with me. You earned your place on the team. And if there was any doubt before, you just erased it, didn't you?
"But I WAS wrong about one thing. We didn't turn you into another Charlie."
"Too right," came a familiar voice from behind Harry. "I never could get that ruddy Wronski Feint down right."
"Charlie?" Ron gasped. Then his eyes popped as he saw a veritable sea of red hair milling around behind the dragon-wrangling Weasley. "Mum? Dad?"
Ron's legs nearly failed him. His entire family was there, including Bill and, to his utter amazement, Percy.
"What d'you reckon, Fred?" said George, who had sidled up with his twin on Ron's left. "Mum and Dad never came to see us play."
"Yeah," Fred said, his voice mirroring the tone of mock-hurt assumed by George. "I guess, in this family, only Seekers count for anything."
Molly Weasley elbowed her way past her children, all of whom towered over her, and spread her arms to embrace her youngest son. She endeavored to kiss him, which proved difficult, as she was quite as short as Hermione but not nearly so agile. Instead, she grabbed two fistfuls of scarlet robes and jerked his face down to where she could plant a kiss on his cheek, eliciting laughter from all quarters.
Extricating himself from his mother, Ron said, "Fred, George -- whichever of you hit that Bludger -- "
"George hit it," Fred said.
"Did I?" George said, his eyes going round as if in surprise. "I thought you hit it, Fred. Well, no one else can tell us apart, so why should we be expected to."
"Seriously," Ron said. "I never could have caught the Snitch otherwise."
"Teamwork," George said. "All in a day's work for the Brothers Weasley."
"Right," Fred said. "Sorry I had to hit it at you. It was the only way to get the other bloke. But I knew when I hit it that you could duck it, just like in practice."
"You didn't hit it," George said. "I did."
"Oh," Fred grinned. "Right."
"Shut up, the both of you," Bill now put in. "I want to know how Ron pulled off that perfect Wronski Feint."
"You and me both," said Charlie.
Smiling warmly, Ron said, "I had a good coach."
"Love to meet him," Charlie said, his own glory days as Gryffindor's star Seeker clearly awakening from their enforced slumber.
"You'll get your chance," Ron said with a nod. "Here she comes."
Cho was now making her way through the crowd toward Ron, her face positively glowing. As Ron eased a short distance from his mother, Cho leaped into the air and threw her arms around his neck.
"You did it, Ron! You did it!"
"We did it," Ron said, his ears going pink as Bill, Charlie and his father all grinned and his mother surveyed Cho appraisingly.
"You were magnificent," Cho said, her voice growing oddly strained. "Cedric himself couldn't have done better. It was -- it was almost as if -- "
Cho's voice broke. Her magnetic almond eyes widened, and Ron felt a gentle shudder pass through her small figure. As his arms released her, she backed away slowly until she was swallowed into the mass of milling students surrounding Ron like a murmuring sea. Ron's eyes remained on the spot where Cho had disappeared for only a moment before Fred and George swept over him and hoisted him onto their shoulders. Ron was just able to toss Harry his broom before he felt himself being carried toward the stands, where Dumbledore waited to present the Quidditch Cup to the victorious Gryffindors.
The Hogwarts Headmaster was beaming as if he himself had just caught the Snitch. Ron wondered for the first time if Dumbledore had played Quidditch when he was a student at Hogwarts. He would have to remember to have Harry inquire after that some time. But that would suffice for another day. On this day, Ron's mind was already full enough.
Dumbledore smiled down on the Gryffindor team, but it was on Ron that his gaze seemed most intent. His long silver hair and beard shining in the sun, Dumbledore spread his arms welcomingly. Before him stood the silver Quidditch Cup, upon which, Ron now saw, the names of the Gryffindor team, identified by position, glinted in the sun. Whereas there were ordinarily seven names graven on the Championship Cup, this time there were eight. The position of Seeker was represented twice: Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley.
As Dumbledore made his speech, his every word accompanied by rousing cheers, Ron knew this should be the greatest day of his life. It was everything he could have hoped for, and more. It was his vision in the Mirror of Erised come true. And yet -- Ron could not explain it -- something was missing. There was an empty feeling inside him which all the glory and triumph was powerless to mitigate. He smiled broadly as he stood before Dumbledore and shook the Headmaster's hand. But that smile was only a mask, albeit a convincing one. A glance around him revealed no hint on any of his friends' faces that they suspected the truth.
There was one alone who might have seen. But she was not there. She was now walking across the Hogwarts grounds toward the castle, her head sunk on her bosom and her eyes fighting back tears. She did not stop walking until she reached the deserted Ravenclaw common room, where she dropped heavily into a chair by the fire and, at last, let the tears come.
Author's Note: Remember the "secret move" Ron practiced at the end of Chapter 3? Surely you all realized that he was practicing the Wronski Feint?
Well, Ron is finally the best at something. But there's more to life than Quidditch (although you'd have a job convincing Oliver Wood of that), and Ron still has a few issues to sort out. Join us next time for a few "Second" Thoughts. See you then.