Ron Weasley hunched over his broomstick trying to force his mind to focus on his team's training. But apart from shouting such instructions as "Creevey, keep your eye on the bloody thing!" or "Dean, Quidditch is not football, use your hands!", the flame haired captain's heart wasn't in it. Finally, with a sigh of resignation, Ron stopped trying to block the flow of thoughts and simply let his mind wander.

What the hell is going on with Harry? He smiled a little bleakly as he remembered all the great laughs and adventures he had once shared with his best friend. Once, they had failed examinations together, received detentions from Snape together, played Quidditch together and until recently fought side by side in the ongoing war against the Dark Side.

But that's all changed. Hagrid's gone and so has the Harry Potter I used to know.

In place of the thoughtful, honest and adventurous Boy Who Lived, a withdrawn shell of that boy now existed, one who distanced himself from all who cared in the struggle against his own inner demons. Once the star Seeker of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, now barely able to control his broom.

Ron's thoughts turned to Hermione. Smart, loyal, beautiful Hermione. I used to be jealous of them. Why did Harry get everything, even the girl? I guess I just got over it in the end, they were so happy and so damn right for each other.

Ron's eyebrows knit in frustration. But that's all screwed up too. Can't he see he's tearing her apart?

He didn't know Hermione anymore. She was so timid and secretive. Ron knew that she tried to be the same old Mione and she managed to fool everyone...except him. Ron could see the fear in her deadened eyes, those eyes that were once the part of her he loved most, radiating confidence, intelligence and a passion for life. The tears he had been swallowing for so long all came flooding out then, a tide of misery, confusion and pain.

Ron had no idea how long he sat there, drifting, the cold oak handle of his Firebolt Series II in sharp contrast with the warm tears spilling down his cheeks. The memory of how he obtained his broomstick caused his internal ocean to overflow once more. It had been at Christmas, the five months since that day seemed like a lifetime to Ron.

He had, only two weeks prior to Christmas, discovered that he had been chosen as the Gryffindor Quidditch team's new captain. He and Harry had spent many bitingly cold afternoons braving the weather and taking turns on Harry's Firebolt, each practising their relative Seeker and Chaser skills.

On Christmas morning, Harry had received a long, suspicious-looking package at the end of his bed. Before ripping the paper from the object, Harry snatched the attached slip of parchment, which was penned in an elegant orange script. He read,

"The sincerest of Christmas greetings to Mr Harry Potter,

We extend our thanks for your assistance in advertising purposes earlier this year and we hope that you will accept this token of our appreciation.

Signed,

Mr Ludovic Bagman

Recently Elected Chairman of the Chudley Cannons Quidditch Association"

Ron raised his eyebrow in a questioning manner until he remembered that earlier in the Quidditch season, Harry had grudgingly agreed to bear the Chudley Cannons insignia on his Firebolt for the duration of a few games. Ron had been more than a little peeved that Harry and not him had been recognised by (in Ron's opinion) the greatest team of all time.

But any irritation was erased from his mind as he watched Harry unwrap...first a tail of totally symmetrical twigs (individually polished), then the base of an almost blindingly gleaming black handle, and then the icing on the cake appeared: the golden hand-etched label that read 'Firebolt: Series II'.

Harry sat back on his heels, stunned. Ron's mouth opened and shut, rather like a goldfish. Then Harry seemed to come to his senses and he picked up the broomstick reverently. Something akin to regret flashed over his face, but only for a moment. He handed it to Ron, who stared up at him stupidly.

"Take it," Harry urged. "It's yours. Merry Christmas."

Ron feebly tried to push it away and he spluttered something like, "No, can't, yours, thanks, no..."

Harry picked up is wand and pointed it threateningly at Ron.

"Listen. A great Quidditch captain needs a great broom. Just take the bloody thing before I change my mind. I don't want to have to hex you on Christmas Day."

Ron gaped at Harry, then his face broke into a wide grin. He reached over and ruffled Harry's hair. "Thanks a lot mate, I owe you one. Mind you, don't expect repayment for the next hundred years!"

Laughing, they finished unwrapping the rest of their presents. Gathering the miscellaneous objects and light-heartedly arguing about whose 'Weasley jumper' was the ugliest, they raced down the stairs to the common room, where they almost collided with Hermione. Shouts of "Merry Christmas!" and shrieks of laughter as Harry swept Hermione off her feet and swung her around echoed through the Gryffindor tower.

They had little reason to laugh after that joyful day. The day after Christmas, Dumbledore summoned the three of them, and the small number of the Order that had remained at Hogwarts for Christmas, to his office and informed them all with great regret that Voldemort was on the warpath. Everyone in the room knew immediately what that meant. They would continue to train hard, but more intensely, with a greater sense of urgency: soon, there would be battle, and they would all have to fight.

Just a month later, Dumbledore assembled them all again in the Great Hall. He announced that Voldemort had transferred his hordes of Death Eaters to a field in the Scottish lowlands, and if they were allowed to progress much further, Hogsmeade would be endangered. There were a few gasps, but as Dumbledore looked down on his Order, he saw a sea of determined faces and an immense sense of pride flooded through him. However, with the pride came a tinge of shame that, through loyalty to him, these young people were prepared to die, and undeniably, some would.

Albus Dumbledore pushed his emotions aside. Countless years of experience and leadership showed in every line of his face as he Apparated his students and soldiers to the field. Ron recalled the first in a series of battles clearly. There were numerous losses to both sides. All the students and teachers in Hogwarts mourned the loss of Professor McGonagall, Padma Patil, Justin Finch-Fletchy and Blaise Zabini (one of the very few Slytherins in the Order).

Terry Boot lost his wand arm and Ginny Weasley was blinded in her right eye. It still brought a lump to Ron's throat when he thought of his brave baby sister, who was a student of high achievement, struggling to read and write for weeks after the battle. However, they all had to pick themselves up and continue their lives and their training as best they could. The world depended on them, whether it knew it or not.

A tap on the shoulder startled Ron out of his troubled reverie.

"Ron, you okay? Just had to let you know that Madam Hooch wants to see you," Lavender Brown said quietly before skimming away on her old Cleansweep.

Ron took a couple of deep breaths and scrubbed at his eyes with the edge of his Quidditch robes. He landed a little roughly on the turf of the Quidditch pitch and slowly made his way back to the castle.

*