A/N: Sorry, dear readers, I haven't read Quidditch Through the Ages yet, so I'm not familiar with the rules of the game. Can anyone tell me if a broomless Keeper is still allowed to keep? Anyhoo, on with the story!
A bright light was blinding Ron behind his eyelids. He groaned. It can't be morning already, because then it would be the day of... 'THE BLOODY QUIDDITCH FINAL!' Oh no, oh no, ohnoohnoohno...
He really did try to get out of bed without disturbing Hermione. Unfortunately, he displayed, not the skill that made him a flying daredevil on the Quidditch field, but the clumsiness of a Blast-ended Skrewt with a severe cold. He fell out of her bed, stubbed his big toe on her desk, and hit his head on a corner of her dresser while picking up his wand. Their clothes were scattered everywhere. 'She's probably going to make me come back here after the game to clean up.' 'At least you'll be in here, and who knows? Maybe she'll let you shag her again, eh?' 'Shut up! I've got to leave her a note or something.' 'You don't have time, the game's going to start in TEN BLOODY MINUTES and you're still STARKERS!'
He started putting on his clothes any which way he could. He was probably making too much noise, swearing and hopping around, but she didn't wake up. She must really be exhausted. He grinned, feeling stupidly happy and foolishly proud of himself. He opened the door and took one last look at her before he had to dash back to his room. She really looked like a goddess with her hair fanned across the pillows, and her creamy skin illuminated by the light coming in from the window.
"I'll come back later, I promise. I love you," he whispered before shutting the door.
He met Dobby just outside. "Mister Wheezy! Where is Mister Wheezy been going? Dobby is searching for Mister Wheezy all over Gryffindor Tower! Harry Potter is worrying Mister Wheezy is not sleeping in his room last night. Harry Potter knocked on Mister Wheezy's door for hours! Why is Mister Wheezy coming from Miss Hermione Granger's room? Is..."
"Look, Dobby, sorry to interrupt, but I really have to go. Quidditch final's about to start."
"Dobby knows that, Mister Wheezy. Harry Potter was worrying so much about Mister Wheezy that Dobby went into Mister Wheezy's room to get Mister Wheezy's things. Dobby took Mister Wheezy's Quidditch robes to the locker room. Here is Mister Wheezy's broom. Mister Wheezy must fly to the Quidditch field now."
"Thanks, Dobby. Oh, do me a favor, would you? It's for Hermione."
"For the great Miss Hermione Granger who is helping the elves getting their pay and their days off? What can Dobby do for Miss Hermione Granger, Mister Wheezy, sir?"
"Just bring some breakfast to her room. Bring her lots of toast, with lots of strawberry jam, she loves that. Oh, and some eggs and sausages. And pumpkin juice and some tea. Oh, and make sure there's a warming charm on the food and the tea, and a cooling charm on the pumpkin juice. Got it?"
"Yes, Mister Wheezy. Dobby knows what to do."
"Thanks, Dobby. I owe you a pair of socks for this, maybe even a jumper."
"Oh, Mister Wheezy, sir! Mister Wheezy is so noble, so generous, so..."
"Er, thanks, Dobby. I have to go. Bye!"
He galloped down the stairs. 'Blimey, only five bloody minutes left. I'll never get there on time unless I fly NOW!' He got on his broom and zoomed down to the front doors, praying that neither Filch nor any of the professors were still inside to catch him and give him detention. He made it safely outside and to the locker room with two minutes to spare.
The other team members were giving him queer looks as he zoomed in. Beaters Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas were sniggering.
"Oy, Captain, you look like you had a wild night!"
"Mr. Weasley, I am SHOCKED! Wearing only a shirt, trousers and shoes! No robes, no socks, no tie..."
"No boxers?"
"We really don't want to find out, do we?"
"And him Head Boy! Tsk, tsk..."
"Maybe he's starting a new fashion trend, wearing his shirt inside out like that!"
The whole team was laughing at him. "All right, that's enough, you gits! If you play as hard as you're laughing right now, maybe we'll even win," he growled. He had his uniform on at last, just in time for them to march down to the field.
Under cover of the cheering spectators, Harry turned to Ron. "Where were you last night, Head Boy? Were you by any chance -- er, visiting the Head Girl?" Great. His best friend was sniggering at him, too.
"Well,... you could say that." 'He could also say you were shag--' 'Shut up! This is not the time to think about The Goddess. This is Quidditch time!' 'All right, all right. Testy, horny bugger!' 'I said SHUT UP!'
"So how was it? Were you able to -- er, reconcile your differences?" Harry persisted.
Since when did his best mate turn into a gossiping git? "Well,... you could say that, too." 'Oh, reconcile is much too tame to describe what really happened last night. More like -- enjoyed your differences, fitted them together...' 'WILL YOU BE QUIET?' This was too much. Even part of his own brain was sniggering at him. This was really going to be a long day.
Ginny suddenly appeared at his elbow and whispered, "I'm glad you and Hermione have finally decided to come to your senses. I'm sure you'll make a great couple." 'Damn! Does everyone know what happened last night?' 'Nope, I don't think Durmstrang's on to it yet. Beauxbatons, maybe, but...' 'FOR THE LOVE OF MERLIN, SHUT UP!!' His thoughts were interrupted when Ginny reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "That's for luck. Not that you'll need it, Hermione probably gave you a big fat kiss on the way here. But just to let you know, you're not the biggest prat in the world, not today at least, I think." Ron couldn't help laughing. He reached out, tugged at Ginny's ponytail and stuck his tongue out at her.
His good mood was short-lived. As the Gryffindor team approached the center of the field, the Slytherin team walked towards them from the opposite end. Draco Malfoy was Captain, and his team was the dirtiest bunch of cheaters ever to come out of Salazar's slimy-arse House. Ron could still remember the day he learned Malfoy had made Crabbe and Goyle Beaters. He had laughed fit to burst. But when Slytherin played against Hufflepuff, he couldn't laugh anymore. The two troll-like boys had managed to injure all three Chasers from the opposing team (and one of their own, not that Malfoy cared, however), and had destroyed four brooms, that of Hufflepuff's Chasers' and their Keeper's. To make things worse, Malfoy had somehow got Snape to referee that game, and so they won, 350 to zero.
Ron was thoroughly in a bad mood by the time Madam Hooch was preparing to signal the start of the game. In order for Gryffindor to win both the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup as they had done for the past two years, Gryffindor would have to win against Slytherin by at least two hundred and fifty points. Right. This is really going to be a looong day.
He and Malfoy faced each other, neither one bothering to hide his contempt for the other. They pretended to shake hands, barely slapping each other's palms. After one last glare at Malfoy, Ron turned back to his team. "All right, remember the plan: wipe the field with their arses. Oh, and Harry, listen carefully to the score before going after the Snitch. Once we're a hundred points up, go for it, okay?" Ron mumbled his last-minute instructions.
"Right," Harry and the other team members whispered back.
Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and the players flew into position. As he took his position in front of the hoops, Ron noticed that Madam Pomfrey and a medi-wizard from St. Mungo's were sitting with Dumbledore and the heads of Houses in the staff bench. Ron groaned aloud. Apparently the entire Hogwarts staff was expecting a massacre.
It was part of Ron's technique to watch the opposing team's Captain carefully at intervals, trying to sense their plan of action. In this case, he knew the Slytherin team relied more on muscle than on brains. In fact, he was sure that the only team members with more than two brain cells apiece were Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. This was why he watched Malfoy more carefully than he did any other team Captain. He quickly learned that Malfoy had some rotten scheme up his robes at almost every game, something clever enough to escape the referee's detection. Today would be no different. Ron was willing to bet a hundred Galleons (if he had it) that Malfoy was arranging something despicable with Crabbe and Goyle, judging by the way the three of them were whispering to each other before they flew into position.
When the Quaffle was released, Gryffindor quickly took possession and scored the first goal of the game, courtesy of Ginny. Everyone thought he would forbid Ginny to play for the House team, as he was perceived to be an overprotective prat of a brother. Ha. Little did they know that there was a hole between his overprotectiveness and his obsession for Quidditch that Ginny had slipped through.
Ron blocked the Slytherin Chasers' first attempt to score, and the Quaffle was intercepted by Dennis Creevey. He and his brother Colin made a good tandem, almost as good as the twins were in their anticipation of each other's actions. Dennis and Colin distracted the Slytherin Chasers by tossing the Quaffle back and forth, flying and diving furiously fast. Then, at the last second, Colin passed to Ginny, who scored again. 'Uh-oh, Malfoy's going to be furious about this.' But Malfoy was a little distracted at the moment. He didn't seem to care that his Chasers were being steamrollered; he was intently scanning the field instead. Suddenly, Ron realized that Malfoy was attempting an early capture of the Snitch to foil Gryffindor's attempts to win both Cups. Right. This means War.
Gryffindor had just scored its fourth goal when he spotted a glint of gold ten feet above him, just off to the side of the left hoop. Malfoy had evidently seen it too; he raced towards the Snitch. Harry was positioned on the opposite side of the field, distracted by something he saw there. Even if he flew at his top speed right now, he would never be able to overtake Malfoy. To make matters worse, Zabini was hurtling towards the Gryffindor hoops, attempting to score. Ron had to act fast. It was either let Malfoy catch the Snitch or let Zabini score. He shot up in front of the Snitch. Malfoy, unable to stop his momentum, crashed into Ron. Zabini chucked the Quaffle into the center hoop and scored without opposition. Madam Hooch awarded a penalty to Slytherin. Ron saw Harry flying over to Madam Hooch and gesturing towards the other end of the field.
"Weasley, you bastard, you'll pay for that," growled Malfoy. "In case you don't understand, I don't mean money, as you're probably going to be paying knut by knut till you're a hundred."
'The amazing bouncing ferret, the amazing bouncing ferret,' Ron chanted to himself in an attempt to calm down. The game was too crucial to lose. He would just have to satisfy his violent need to throw Malfoy to a Manticore later.
Just then, Ron heard Madam Hooch award a double penalty to Gryffindor. Harry flew over to him. "What's going on?" Ron asked.
"Goyle tried to trick me by throwing something gold-colored up in the air. Colin found it; pocket-watch casing, polished up so it'll catch the light. Just the size of a Snitch, too," Harry answered.
"Bloody hell! Isn't that enough to disqualify them?" Ron growled.
"Apparently not. So, do we stick to the plan?"
"Yeah."
"Thanks for the save, Ron. I owe you one."
"That you do, Potter. I'm still seeing stars. Who knew Malfoy was such a solid little ferret?"
Harry chuckled, clapped Ron on the back and flew off. Ron blocked Zabini's penalty shot, while Dennis and Ginny made theirs. The score was sixty to ten, Gryffindor in the lead.
From his vantage point, Ron watched as Ginny scored another goal and was awarded a penalty shot because Crabbe grazed her shoulder with his Beater's club. Ron called a time-out, made sure Madam Pomfrey tended to Ginny, and flew around the hoops three times to control his temper. That was IT. Malfoy had to be beaten. Years of animosity between the Weasleys and the Malfoys had come down to this moment.
The game resumed. Dennis took the penalty shot, and the score was eighty to ten. Colin snatched the Quaffle from Slytherin, and promptly made the score ninety to ten. 'Just two more goals,' Ron thought, 'then Harry can go after the Snitch and end this bloody game, and I can be with Hermione.' Unbelievable. That was the first time he'd wished for Quidditch to end soon. 'You're so whipped.' 'Not now, I'm fighting for the honor of Gryffindor here.'
Slytherin took possession of the Quaffle, and Ron steeled himself as five green streaks hurtled towards him. He ducked out of the way just in time to avoid the Bludger Goyle had pelted. Ron's eyes widened as he realized two balls were coming at him at the same time. Instinctively, his foot shot upwards to deflect the oncoming Bludger; simultaneously, he reached downwards to block the Quaffle from going through the left hoop. He felt his fingers wrap around the Quaffle and his heel kick away the Bludger, but he could also feel himself losing his seat on his broom. He clamped his other leg down tightly on the broom handle. He hung upside-down for several seconds, until Seamus pulled him right side up again.
Due to Ron's heroics, the game quickly took a nastier, dirtier turn. It seemed as though a hail of Bludgers was being pelted on the Gryffindors. Ron was convinced Malfoy's strategy was focused on driving him insane, as Ginny was made a target second only to himself. However, he noticed that Crabbe and Goyle would pelt the Bludgers harder towards Ginny. With her smaller mass, any direct hit would probably throw her off her broom at best, or break her bones at worst. Gryffindor had to score two more goals NOW.
A goal by Dennis and a penalty shot made by Ginny upped their lead by a hundred. Suddenly, Harry was off. He had sighted the Snitch. Malfoy followed closely. Soon, they were neck-and-neck, diving, swerving and maneuvering themselves into the best position to intercept the Snitch. All six Chasers were playing keep-away with the Quaffle, struggling for possession. All four Beaters were engaged in a furious Bludger war. This was it.
Ron prepared himself for any attempt on the part of the Slytherins to turn the tide. However, never in a million years would he have expected that a sudden gust of wind would give Crabbe and Goyle the opportunity to aim the Bludgers towards him at an angle that was specifically meant to destroy his broom. For one split second, he felt the sturdy handle of his Silver Arrow break, before he lunged for the center hoop. He hung on by his hands and heaved himself upwards, finding a foothold within the circle. He drew himself up, extending his long limbs in every direction and rapidly regained his balance.
He surveyed the field. Harry was a hand's breadth away from catching the Snitch, with Malfoy an arm's length too far away. The Slytherins pushed Dennis off his broom when Madam Hooch wasn't looking, pitching him into the top row of spectators on the stands. Zabini had taken possession of the Quaffle. This was no time to stop the game. If Slytherin scores a goal, Gryffindor would win the game but lose both Cups. He knew what the look on Zabini's eyes meant: Gryffindor's finished. OH, HELL, NO! Not while he was around! Zabini hovered in front of the central hoop with a smirk that Ron longed to slam into the sand pit just below. Zabini was taunting him, making fake lunges at the left, then the right hoop, then pointing a finger at him and laughing. The other Slytherin Chasers were preventing Colin and Ginny from flying close to Ron to provide assistance.
Tiring of taunting Ron, Zabini lazily chucked the Quaffle towards the right hoop. Ron dove after it and caught it, and continued falling towards the ground. Time seemed to grind to a halt, as he saw Harry catching the Snitch from the corner of his eye, and Colin failing to break his fall.
As he fell to earth, he remembered Neville's story about seeing his life flash before his eyes when he fell off his broom during their first flying lesson in first year. But in Ron's case, his mind flew to what it would be like after he died. He was sure his mum and dad, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ginny, Harry and Hermione would genuinely mourn for him. But the twins, under the guise of inconsolable grief, would volunteer to take care of his tombstone and epitaph, planning all the while to put one over on him even at his own funeral. He shuddered as he envisioned the twins unveiling the tombstone at his memorial service: a ghastly maroon tombstone, the epitaph engraved on it reading--
RONALD ARTHUR WEASLEY
Here lies a man from Ottery St. Catchpole
Who was known far and wide for being an arsehole
He shuddered again, more at those thoughts than at the speed in which the ground was going to slam into his body. If only to prevent that horrifying vision from coming true, Ron decided he would fight to the last drop of his blood to keep from dying.