As Saturday the 21st approached Ron became increasingly tense. Harry knew Ron was dying to try out to be Keeper of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. But Ron was despairing over the fact that he had no broom of his own to ride, and so another person would take the position of Keeper, probably for the duration of their time at Hogwarts, and Ron would never even have a chance to try out. Harry knew this without asking, but Ron didn't talk about it anyways. Ron was outspoken on almost every topic, but if it had anything to do with his finances or personal desires, he kept his thoughts to himself.

At last Ron's self-restraint broke down, six days before the Quidditch tryouts. Harry, tired of doing homework for hours on end, went out to the Quidditch pitch during a spare period to practise Seeker moves. Ron accompanied him, but when they reached the pitch Ron's attention was diverted by a class of first-years.

"Harry, look. A flying class!"

Two lines of first-year Gryffindors were learning how to fly on broomsticks. Harry could see the flying instructor, Madam Hooch calling out commands to Marcus McCabe, who looked utterly perplexed.

"These basic skills will come in handy once you all start getting interested in playing Quidditch for your house!" Madam Hooch was shouting at the first-years. "It's the greatest honour to be on the Gryffindor Quidditch team!"

Ron was silent as he listened to her, but once they had arrived on the Quidditch field his willpower crumbled and he grabbed at Harry's arm.

"Harry, I need a broom, and I need it between now and Saturday. I wasn't going to ask you for help, but I'm really desperate. If I don't try out this year I won't ever get on the team at all, I'm sure of it. I need you to help me think of ways to get a broom from somewhere - anywhere at all."

"Don't worry, Ron," Harry said. "We'll find you a broom if we kill ourselves at it. But before we start on that, come on, you can have a go on my Firebolt for now."

For the next week Ron and Harry were enormously busy.

They rummaged through the school broom shed, but found nothing but a few Comets and Shooting Stars.

They started keeping an eye on the floor for money dropped by rich, careless people.

They scoured the Daily Prophet's classifieds and want ads for lost objects attached to rewards, and made inquiries at a Hogsmeade antiques shop on whether any of Ron's old junk was worth anything. It was not.

They brainstormed ways of getting money, but the best idea between them was to rob Gringotts Bank, and the second best idea was to rob Draco Malfoy; and while the idea of ambushing Malfoy and making off with all his money was terribly appealing, neither idea was feasible.

Harry also suggested that they ask Hermione what she thought, but Ron was decidedly against this.

"She doesn't know about brooms or Quidditch," Ron said dismissively. "And anyways I don't want her nagging at me to get a job or something."

Privately Harry thought Hermione would think of much better money-making methods than they could, but he complied with Ron's wishes and did not mention it to Hermione.

Ron also wrote several times to the Weasleys, begging for the money to buy a broom, but the response was an emphatic no.

"It's all over," Ron groaned, when his owl Pig had dropped another note saying "NO!" in his sausages at breakfast on Friday morning. It was the day before the tryouts and their last hope had just sent them a note telling them not to keep wasting Pig's energies on their futile cause.

Harry and Ron toiled glumly through the day. Hermione was too wrapped up in her schoolwork-related dilemmas to notice, and for the most part the teachers assumed their depression was a side-effect of adolescence (which it was, partly). Finally their last class, Defence Against the Dark Arts, ended, but as they were trudging out the door Professor Figg called them back to her desk.

"I want you to tell me, and be perfectly honest: are you planning an elaborate scheme to blow up the Astronomy Tower?"

"No," Ron said dully.

"Could we?" said Harry.

"Well if that's not it," said Professor Figg, "what then has you two pulling such long faces? You hardly cracked a smile when I simultaneously put the Jellylegs Curse and the End-To-End Spell on Longbottom and let him wobble along the ceiling for ten minutes."

"It's Quidditch," said Ron. "I wanted to try out for house team Keeper, but I haven't got a broom."

"That's too bad," Professor Figg said sympathetically. "And you've already tried every way to get one?"

"Nothing's worked," sighed Ron. "I suppose I have to face the fact that I'm never going to get on the team at all while I'm at school here."

"I say," said Professor Figg, looking thoughtfully at Ron. "What would you do for a broom, Weasley?"

"I'd kill for a broom!" Ron said enthusiastically.

"Well, perhaps it wouldn't have to be such drastic action," said Professor Figg, amused.

Ron's face broke out in a wide grin. "You've got a broom! You've got a broom and you're going to give it to me!"

"Not give, rent," corrected Professor Figg. "I will rent out the broom to you, Weasley, in exchange for you taking care of my cats one day a week."

"Your cats?" repeated Ron, and immediately was swarmed by the animals.

"They're getting to be a handful, when I'm trying to grade papers or teach lessons," said Professor Figg. "I would appreciate a day off from them. You could be my cat-sitter."

"The cats aren't not too bad," Harry said to Ron. "It sounds like a good deal - if the broom's decent enough."

"Would you like to see it before you decide?" invited Professor Figg. She Summoned a long, narrow box from her office. Inside the box, wrapped in paper, was a sleek, polished racing broom.

"What brand is this?" asked Ron as Professor Figg lifted the broom from the tissue paper.

"You don't recognize it?" said Professor Figg, and lifted it out of the box. "Hold it and you'll know."

Ron took the broom dubiously, but feeling its weight his eyes almost popped out of his head.

"Harry! It's a Nimbus Feather-Light! I'm actually holding a genuine Feather-Light!"

"What's that?" asked Harry.

"You don't know? Nimbus Racing Broom Company started making them in 1972, but they were discontinued when the company went bankrupt in 1973. Nimbus started up again three years later of course, but the Feather-Light design was too expensive to re-develop. These are really rare! There are probably only about a hundred left in the world."

"They were originally designed for aerobatics, barrel rolls and whatever other aerial stunts," said Professor Figg. "Of course, there wasn't much of that kind of activity back then, since it was considered a bit dangerous. But Quidditch players, especially Keepers, found that the Feather-Light lived up to its name and was almost weightless, so it was ideal for dashing around the pitch."

"A pioneer of the minimalist age," agreed Ron, sounding like a Nimbus advertisement. He turned the broom over and over in his hands, awed.

"Are we agreed?" asked Professor Figg, a half-smile on her face. "You get a broom for the year and I get Thursdays off?"

Ron grinned and shook her hand earnestly. "It's a deal! Thank you so much, Professor."

Professor Figg eyed them. "You'd better win the house league cup again this year. Go on now and practise, I've got work to do. Essays don't mark themselves, you know."

The boys went straight to the Quidditch pitch with the Feather-Light, and Ron was delighted when he tried it out.

"It's fast!" he called as he zipped deftly in circles round Harry. He zoomed all round the pitch, soared through a centre hoop and careened up into the sky. "Fantastic!"

Harry found a Quaffle and Ron practised catching the ball. Harry discovered that Ron was in fact quite talented. He had quick reflexes for catching, and only missed three of Harry's twenty-five shots.

"But of course it's easier when a Seeker's playing Chaser, you haven't got the reflexes or the strength a real Chaser has," Ron said nervously.

"Thanks," Harry said sarcastically.

"No, I didn't mean-"

"I know, I was joking. You'll do fine, Ron. You'll get on the team."

Ron turned his face up to the sun and squinting, smiled wistfully. "I hope so."