Chapter 1 - Injury Time
Ronald Weasley would never admit to anyone that he was secretly a morning person. There just wasn't anything quite like the feeling of an early morning run followed by a steaming hot shower before starting the day. Given his profession, he had a physique to maintain, and it didn't just come naturally. At age twenty-four, he was the current first-choice goalkeeper at Chudley United Football Club, a newly promoted side to the English Premier League.
Ron jogged around the street corner leading towards his Greenwich flat, his sweaty ginger hair falling into his eyes. He pushed the hair aside, wiping away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, before removing his headphones and turning off his morning hype mix. Ron stopped outside a large block of flats overlooking the River Thames and let himself into the building before sprinting up the stairs two at a time, reaching his third-floor flat. Dropping his keys, headphones, and mobile onto the table near the front door, he headed straight into the bathroom. Seconds later, the sound of running water and his singing rang out loudly throughout the flat.
A bundle of tangled, dirty-blonde hair rolled over at the noise emanating from the steaming bathroom and buried itself into the pillows on the bed. A loud groan sounded out from deep within the bed before Ron Weasley's girlfriend, Lavender Brown, threw back the duvet.
"Lav, I'm out of shampoo! Is it alright if I use some of yours?" Ron yelled from within the shower.
"Fine. But only if you promise to stop singing in that awful voice." Lavender replied, climbing out of bed and stretching. She tried to flatten her tangled hair before turning to look for her clothes. "Ron, where are my clothes?" she asked as he walked into the bedroom, towelling his wet hair.
"Oh, I uh—I put them in the top drawer. It was already empty, but I figured you could keep your things in there. You know? For when you stay over." The back of his neck had turned the same shade of red as his hair.
"You're giving me a drawer?" Lavender asked with a raised eyebrow as he nodded. "Thank you, Ron." She leaned towards him and gave him a quick kiss before pulling away.
"So, will you be coming to the game tonight? Quarter-finals, just one game away from Wembley." Ron asked excitedly.
"Oh, honey, you know I can't get time away from the Tate right now." She replied gloomily. "The upcoming catwalk exhibit is my chance to finally make a good impression and get the opportunity to showcase some of my designs." She reached out a hand and traced lines across his freckled chest before capturing his lips once more.
"Is this your way of apologising and making it up to me?—Because I think it's a great compromise." Ron gasped for air as they finally broke apart, a look of awe on his face.
"Maybe—if you have time, and seeing as your clothes are already off—" Lavender began, stepping back towards the bed as Ron eagerly followed.
"I have time—" Ron was about to pounce on her when an obnoxiously loud car horn rang out outside, causing them both to jump apart and scramble around the room.
"Damn. He's early. Must be something important the club wants to discuss before the game tonight. I've got to go—maybe we can continue this later after we win?" Ron gestured between himself and the bed before grabbing his sweatshirt and yanking it on.
"It depends on your performance and whether you put on a show." Lavender bit her lower lip as she watched his shapely bottom bend over to pull on his tracksuit. "The security team usually watches the games on the small TV in the observation rooms, and I'll make time to check in on the score." She tore her eyes away from his backside before retreating into the bathroom.
"It'll make me happy knowing you'll be watching, Lav. Thanks." Ron had to shout into the bathroom as another loud honk emanated from the street outside. Lavender returned to the bedroom with her hair tied into a messy bun and a toothbrush in hand. Ron grabbed his travel bag before pulling her in for a deep kiss.
"I have toothpaste in my mouth." She said as she hastily wiped the excess from around her lips.
"Good luck at the Tate, I know they'll select your work," Ron told her earnestly, "and besides, I quite like the taste of toothpaste."
"You are quite an odd one, Ronald Weasley, but I know you'll do brilliantly today!" She gave him a cheery wave before retreating into the bathroom once more.
Smiling, Ron made his way out of the flat and onto the sunny street outside, where a black-haired and bespectacled man sat in a white Range Rover, glaring at him. Harry Potter—the best friend and agent. The two had met in secondary school and had been inseparable. Harry is engaged to Ron's only sister, Ginny Weasley—who plays professionally for Hollyhead FC Women.
"You're late. Honestly, for a git who supposedly manages all that stuff in the morning, you do seem to be late whenever I have to pick you up." Harry said grumpily.
"Yeah, good to see you too." He replied, opening the boot and placing his travel bag inside. Ron walked to the passenger side and climbed in. He had just fastened his seat belt when Harry leaned over and took a deep sniff of his hair.
"What the fuck—" Ron exclaimed in disgust. "Whatcha do that for?"
"You smell like the inside of a Lush store. I thought maybe you'd finally shagged this morning or something." Harry shrugged before starting the car.
"No. I ran out of shampoo this morning and had to use Lav's. And we were this close before your obnoxious honking ruined the mood." Ron let out a frustrated sigh as they set off. They drove in silence for a few minutes before Ron voiced his thoughts aloud.
"It's been a long three weeks. Sex every three weeks is normal? Right?"
"You haven't shagged in three weeks?" Harry exclaimed, alarmed at the revelation.
"I think it's because I've not asked her to move in. I mean—I gave her a drawer this morning. Baby steps."
"Honestly, Ron, if you took any more baby steps in your relationship, you'd be retired by the time you live together." Harry snorted. "I don't get it. She stays with you almost every night but doesn't have sex with you? If I had to go without sex with Ginny for that long, I think my balls would fall off. Just last night, we tried—"
"Harry! It's my fucking sister you're talking about. Shut it and talk about something else. I don't need to be repulsed before a game like that!" Ron interrupted with a revolted look.
"Sorry. I forget that this kind of best friend talk is off-limits for us." Harry replied with a solemn look on his face. "Business then. Let's talk business. I had a chat with Chairwoman Hooch yesterday, and she agreed." His expression changed to delight as he looked eagerly towards Ron.
"Agreed what?" Ron asked, his curiosity peaking.
"Get Chudley to the semi-finals tonight, and the new contract extension is yours. A massive salary bump and bonus guaranteed on top." He was grinning widely, and Ron let the news wash over him.
"Bloody hell, Harry. Talk about piling on the pressure." Ron groaned, the magnitude of the situation getting to him.
"You'll be fine, trust me. Ninety minutes, and don't let the football in. Everyone will be singing 'Weasley is our King' by the end of the night, and who knows—maybe Lavender will be too." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at Ron, who couldn't help smiling at the thought.
Chudley United versus Wigan Athletic in the FA Cup quarter-final had so far been a nail-biting affair. The weather had taken a turn at half-time, and it was now pouring rain and obscuring his vision in goal. Ron could barely see beyond the halfway line or distinguish his teammates from the opposition. The match had been back and forth, but Chudley United had managed to snatch a one-nil lead in the 67th minute. Ron had displayed a masterclass in goalkeeping, with fingertip saves and reactionary dives to deny the opposition. He barked orders to his defence, lined up his wall, and claimed every ball that floated into his box.
Ron looked up towards the illuminated scoreboard in the corner of the stands to see they were now into the 89th minute of the game, plus whatever the referee added. He glanced out onto the field to check the ball was safely in possession before looking over towards the fourth official. He watched with bated breath as a bright red number three displayed around the ground from the official's board.
Three minutes was all it would take. Hold out for three minutes, and Chudley United would be off to Wembley for their first-ever FA Cup semi-final.
"Coote! Coote! Man on!" Ron barked at his central defender, who almost lost possession in a dangerous position. He only just managed to release the ball to a teammate at the warning from Ron. It was going to be a long three minutes, Ron thought to himself.
Chudley United had come extremely close to sealing victory with a second goal denied by the goalpost. As it bounced away, the opposition midfielder pounced on the loose ball, and Ron now found himself on the receiving end of a blistering counter-attack. Two players now charged up the field towards his goal, and his only line of defence was his right-back, Stevenson.
"Stay with him, take him out wide!—Stay with him!—Stay on your feet, Steve-O—NO!" Ron bellowed as he watched in dismay as his defender lunged recklessly into a tackle and missed. The opposition was now clean through on goal against Ron. The midfielder looked up and dribbled wide to take the ball beyond him, but he stood tall and refused to go down early. Just then, the opposition player looked up, a cunning look on his face. He swiftly passed the ball to his striker, who was now facing an open net. Ron realised that they had tricked him out of position, and he was about to concede an easy goal.
He scrambled to adjust his footing and launched himself towards the direction of the second player. The striker had pulled his leg back and struck the ball towards the bottom left corner of the goal.
There was a cacophony of noise as fans erupted in cheers. Ron Weasley sprang to his feet to let out an almighty roar and beat his chest. He had managed to somehow get a fingertip to the ball and pushed it beyond the goalpost and saved the shot—a miraculous last-ditch save. In unison, the crowd sang the lyrics to 'Weasley is our King'. Ron, however, allowed himself only a moment of celebration and immediately snapped back to focus on the game. He now had a corner to defend, and the clock showed a minute remaining.
"Coote, Steve-O, you stay central and clear whatever comes your way!—Pérez and Taylor, if the ball lands to you, take it up to their corner and hold it!—We need to see this out!" Ron continued to bark out instructions to his teammates as he bobbed up and down on his goal-line as the opposition prepared to take the corner. Ron took one last look at his defence and made sure their positions were correct before the corner swung in.
It was as if time had stood still. Blood thundered through his ears as the rain splashed on his face. Ron watched as the ball looped in towards his box—shifting his feet to adjust accordingly as a tall opposition defender jumped to make a headed connection with the ball mid-flight. He made contact with the ball and aimed for the top right corner. Ron tried to launch himself as high as possible, but his planted foot caught in the muddy field, and he stumbled.
There was a collective gasp of breath from the crowd as Ron felt the ball smack his palm and rebound away, followed by a sickening crack as he collided with the goalpost. His entire frame bounced off the goal as he crumpled in a heap on his back at the goalmouth—his neck taking the brunt of the landing.
He heard the brief blast of a whistle in the cold air and a thunderous boom of cheering and noise. Ron had one last thought before his world faded to black—they had won.