Ron stood in the middle of the quidditch pitch, his broom clutched tightly, with a determined set to his broadening shoulders.
It didn't matter that there were at least thirty people here to tryout, most of Slytherin house honestly. He'd been training for this since third year. This was finally his chance to play quidditch with his friends for his house and he didn't plan on mucking it up.
"Good luck Ron," Draco murmured before rushing off to his spot beside Harry. Harry stood in front of the crowd, a look of complete boredom on his face if you didn't notice the manic gleam in his eyes. He had his Firebolt casually propped up against his shoulder and he and Draco immediately began whispering quickly.
"Hey! Listen up!" Harry finally yelled. "Are all of you from Slytherin? Cause I don't think we even have this many fuckin students."
Ron glanced around when he heard a few snorting giggles and four younger girls went sprinting off the field.
Harry's eyes narrowed as he pulled his wand out. "I'm going to say this one time then I'm sending out curses- if you are not in Slytherin and at least a second year, piss off now, yeah?" He twirled his wand and scowled as four more students left the crowd.
"Alright, shut your mouth and listen!" Harry yelled, which he didn't really need to since everyone was hanging on his every word. Which, Ron noticed, people tended to do when Harry was the one talking.
Sometimes Ron thought it might be easy to hate Harry. On the surface, he had it all. He was prefect, quidditch captain, and a great flier. He had a ton of friends, a guardian who was always looking out for him, a godfather who bragged about him all summer long when he'd show up at Grimmauld Place. He already knew what he wanted to do with his life, and would probably achieve every goal he had. The teachers all loved him, he was near the top of their year, and was easily the most popular guy in Hogwarts. Plus, here lately he's even had loads of students following him around and giggling when they looked at him.
Nobody ever looked at Ron and giggled.
But then Ron remembered how Harry saved his sisters life even though he clearly didn't like her. And when Scabbers turned out to be a scummy death eater, what did Harry do? Took him to buy an owl just to cheer him up. He remembered how Harry asked for enough tickets to take their entire gang to the Quidditch Cup. And how Harry asked him to stand guard when he'd went in the Black Lake in fourth year to decipher his clue. Mostly though, he remembered how Harry told Ron that he wasn't worthless and he was one of his best friends.
So Ron loved Harry because Harry might have a lot going for him, enough reason for anyone to be jealous, but Harry didn't care about his fan club, he just cared about his friends.
If Harry had red hair, and hadn't been dating Fred for a year and a half, Ron would even forget that they weren't actual brothers.
And now he would make the team and help Harry get drafted to a professional team by the end of this year. He straightened himself up and squared his shoulders as he listened to Harry's speech.
"Most of our team graduated," Harry said. "I'm seeker, Draco's chaser-"
"He doesn't have to try out?" Someone sneered.
"You're out," Harry said calmly. He waited until the fuming student stormed off before he continued. "So we need two chasers, two beaters, and a keeper. Draco and I could probably win the cup by ourselves, but Snape says we aren't allowed." Harry smirked when a bunch of the students in the crowd, and the ones sitting on the bleachers and shamelessly gazing at Harry, giggled.
Which was daft because Harry wasn't joking. Ron knew that Harry asked Snape what the minimum number of players for a team was.
"So here's how this is going to work: you lot are gonna get in groups by the position you want. Chasers over there, beaters over there, and keepers here. NOW!"
Draco snickered and grinned at Ron when the rest of the students actually jumped and ran to the areas Harry pointed out. Ron tried to move quickly without actually running like some of these prats were doing.
"They're embarrassing themselves," Ron murmured to the bloke beside him. He looked at over at them and barely held in a startled laugh at what they were wearing. The guy had on a green cap, a long knitted scarf wrapped around his face, and a pair of quidditch goggles already on his face. "If you aren't in Slytherin Harry really will curse you," he said, guessing they were probably hiding their identity to stick around longer. But when they didn't respond, Ron just shrugged. No skin of his back. He looked around at his other competition and bit back a groan to see that the chasers were the biggest group. There looked to be an even dozen of them, and four of them had to be sixth and seventh years. Of course, Harry's number one fan, the scrawny second year Trent Bailey, was in the group of chasers. Which was mad, because he looked stubbornly determined even though he wasn't even holding a broom.
Ron just mentally shrugged again, still not his problem he supposed.
Harry quickly counted up the groups of students, five keepers, seven beaters, and an even dozen chasers.
"You, you, and you-" Harry pointed at two beaters and one keeper, "you're out."
"What?" The keeper glared at Harry. "Why??"
"I don't like you, do I?" Harry said lightly. "And I'm not havin' anyone on my team that I don't like."
"That's bull!" The keeper threw his broomstick to the ground. "You don't even know me!"
Everyone went dead silent as Harry slowly stepped up to him, his wand continuously twirling in his hand.
"He's going to be pissed," Ron whispered to the bloke in the scarves next to him.
The two beaters immediately scampered off the field, not wanting to be the next focus of Harry's undivided attention.
"Fourth year, Kilduff, yeah?" Harry asked softly.
Which was actually Harry's most deadly voice. Something Ron thought he got from Snape.
"Yeah." Kilduff said, his voice only shaking a little as Harry was now in his face.
"You remember your first year? You pushed a girl with brown hair on the stairs, called her a 'nasty mudblood'?"
Ron and Draco caught each other's eyes at that. If Harry went out of his way to actually remember someone's name, then there was only one brunette muggleborn that Kilduff could have said that to.
"I- uh- I don't know-" Kilduff stammered.
"Well I do," Harry smiled sharply. "And that 'mudblood' is my best friend. So fuck off before I show everyone what your blood looks like when it's mixed in with the dirt."
Ron thought that Kilduff might have been able to leave the field peacefully as quickly as he started moving, if it weren't for a muttered comment he made as he went. Ron couldn't hear the exact words, but it was obviously an insult of some type.
"Whoops." A lot of people laughed when Harry levitated a bludger to slam straight to the back of Kilduff's head with just a twitch of his pinky.
"Anyone else have anything to say?" Harry asked. "No? Brill. Then I want everyone to take a lap around the field. Keepers first."
The four remaining keepers kicked off immediately and began shooting around the pitch, a couple of them weren't bad, but one of them looked like he'd never flown a day in his life.
"You're out," Harry told the one bloke as soon as they landed. "Beaters next."
Draco whispered something to Harry and pointed at a few of the beaters as they flew, whatever he said Harry agreed with because he nodded.
"You, you, and you-" Harry pointed out three of them, "stay." The other two scowled, but left the field and went to join the continuously growing crowds on the bleachers.
Ron pushed down his nerves at the sight. He really didn't want to get up in the air and choke, embarrassing himself in front of all those people.
"Chasers now," Harry called.
Ron hesitated on the ground, curious what Bailey was going to do without a broom.
"Excuse me Harry," Bailey said politely despite his red cheeks. "I- I don't own a broom."
More than one person snickered, someone even called Bailey an idiot.
"You're out," Harry casually told the student who called Bailey an idiot. "And here-"
To everyone's shock, Harry floated his own broom over to Bailey.
Bailey's eyes looked like they were going to fall out of his head as he looked down at the Firebolt. "I can use yours?" he whispered reverently.
"Don't fuckin wreck it," Harry drawled, not unkindly. "And get in the air."
"Yes sir," Bailey saluted Harry and shot off in the air. Ron shook his head at Draco before he and the bloke with the scarves followed.
Harry picked the oddest people to be nice to.
Ron tried to use the trick that Draco taught him while he flew. He cleared his mind and focused only on the space in front of him. He couldn't hear what seemed like most of the school in the stands, he couldn't see his competition. It was just Ron and the whistling wind in his hair and the scent of the nearby forest.
By the time he'd finished the lap and landed back on the ground, he was beaming.
He was the fourth one to hit the ground, and his Nimbus 190 wasn't even the fanciest broom in his group.
Draco gave him a thumbs up and a lot of Ron's nerves disappeared. Draco was Ron's best friend, and he was an overly honest prat with just as little tact as Ron sometimes had, he wouldn't encourage Ron to tryout if he thought it wouldn't work.
When the others landed, Harry eliminated five of them. Not only did he keep the scrawny little Bailey, but he also told him to hold on to his broom until tryouts were finished.
Probably a bad idea, considering how Bailey looked like he was going to faint with happiness.
Harry considered the four keepers, three beaters, and four chasers.
"You lot-" Harry pointed out the beaters, "-grab a bat and a bludger."
"But there's only two bats?" One of the boys said.
"Then run," Draco drawled.
"Draco get up there with them," Harry said coolly. "First two to hit Draco with a bludger are on the team."
Draco gaped at Harry, but Harry just cocked his head at him and smiled politely until Draco huffed and shot up in the air.
"Is this a trick?" One of them asked slowly. "You really want us to purposefully hit your friend with a bludger?"
"If you want on the team," Harry said. "MOVE!"
Ron carefully stepped over by Harry, curious why Draco was so obviously being punished.
"What'd he do now?" he murmured.
"Called me a jealous prat in front of Snape."
Yeah, that would do it. Ron knew Harry seemed better about Draco and Luna courting, which was just pureblood bullshit for dating, but Harry also never forgave insults without revenge.
Which was why Ron was always very carefully to never insult him. Not even to the others when Harry wasn't around.
The rest of the hopefuls watched as the beaters tried to land a hit on Draco. A hard task, Ron knew good and well from how much they flew together, that it took a good twenty minutes before one of them did.
"You!" Harry blew his whistle and pointed at the bloke who just hit Draco. "Land!"
The boy landed and looked nervous, as if worried that this would end up being a trick after all.
"What's your name?" Harry asked.
"Isaac Bradford," he said. "I'm in third year... I signed on to be your ally on the first night."
"'Kay, Bradford, you're in. Wait off to the side, got it?"
Bradford saluted Harry, apparently taking the cue from Baileys earlier salute, and sprinted off to the side of the field.
"One spot left!" Harry shouted. "Hurry up!"
The two hopefuls in the air stepped up their attempts to hit Draco, and Ron thought Draco was proving why he didn't need to re-tryout by now quickly and effortlessly he dodged the bludgers.
"DONE!" Harry blew his whistle when one of the students finally hit Draco with the bludger, whooping loudly even though Ron was pretty sure he'd just broken Draco's arm.
"What's your name?" Harry asked the kid, ignoring Draco's wince of pain when he landed.
"Declan Oscar, third year."
"Over there-" Harry pointed at where Bradford was.
"C'mere Dray." Draco stepped over by Harry, cradling his broken arm with as much silent dignity as he could. "Heal," Harry murmured, putting his hand right on the swollen break.
Harry tilted his head down to Draco and whispered something the rest of them couldn't hear, but Ron had a decent guess at what it was since Draco paled a few shades as he nodded.
"Alright, you lot," Harry turned away from Draco and faced the four keepers and studied them from head to toe. "You two get up in the goals. If you let three quaffles in then just dismiss yourself, yeah?" The two boys nodded and went straight to the goals. "And you two, if they let in three goals then replace them and same rules."
Ron clutched his broom tightly, this was his chance. His opportunity to be on the team with his best mates and win the house cup. A chance to finally earn a bit of glory on his own merit.
"You guys get up there," Harry told the chaser group. "First two to score five goals are on the team." He gave Ron a small nod, a nod that nobody else got.
Ron summoned a quaffle as he flew up in the air, desperately wanting to be the first to score the five goals.
"COME ON RON!"
Ron grinned like a loon when he heard his friends cheering for him. He used their cheers to motivate him as he scored his first two goals before the other players had even scored one. The scarf-bloke was the next to score, and Ron could admit that he was a good flier, quick and not afraid to take risks.
But nobody wanted it as bad as Ron did.
He scored another goal, on the opposite end this time, and it must have been that kids third goal because he let out an irritated growl before landing and having one of the other keepers replace him.
"BAILEY! LAND!" Harry yelled.
Ron only had a second to give Bailey, who really wasn't a bad flier himself, a sympathetic look before he scored his fourth goal.
One more and he was on the team.
Ron ducked and darted around as quick as he could until he stole the quaffle from the third chaser and scored his fifth goal.
"RON! LAND!"
Ron was on cloud nine when Harry clapped his shoulder briefly with a murmured congrats and their friends all cheered and whistled from the stands.
He'd done it.
He waited with the other teammates, curious about little Bailey still lingering around them, and watched as the last two keepers and chasers fought for the final two positions. Ron kept up his 'happy but not too happy because he totally knew this would happen' face, but he was doing a mad little dance on the inside.
He did it.
It took another thirty minutes where Harry and Draco whispered quickly to one another before Harry finally blew his whistle and landed the lone keeper and the two chasers.
"You're out," he told one of the chasers, keeping the bloke in the scarves. Harry looked toward the keeper, a smart mouth git that Ron always heard bragging about 'important people he knew'. "What's your name?" Harry asked him, making Draco and Ron grin at the blokes obvious annoyance that Harry didn't already know it.
"King," the keeper said pompously. "Reynold King, sixth year. You can call me Ryan though."
"'Kay, King, you're in. And yours?" Harry smirked at the bloke in the scarves, as if he knew something the rest of them didn't.
But Ron forgot all about Harry's smirk when the 'bloke' took the cap, scarf, and goggles off and Daphne Greengrass appeared from beneath them.
"Daphne," she smiled.
And, Merlin, it was like the sun chose that exact moment to bounce off her smile and send sparkles directly in Ron's eyes.
If he'd thought Hermione was cute, and Fleur was gorgeous, it was nothing to how Daphne looked in her quidditch gear, holding her broom and smiling in the middle of the field.
"I told you I wouldn't have cared if you're a girl," Harry said, apparently continuing some conversation the rest of them were unaware of. "You didn't have to come in a disguise. You're a good flier."
"I didn't want to take any risks," Daphne smiled. "It's been over twenty years since Slytherin had a female player."
"Well you're in," Harry said. "Get in line."
"Alright, gather up guys!" Harry blew his whistle again and everyone circled around him.
It took Ron a split-second to remember to move, but then he shook off his thoughts of this girl with pretty pink lips and long shining blonde hair and joined his new team.
"Here's the lineup- I'm captain and seeker. Draco, Ron, and Daphne are chasers. King is keeper. Bradford and Oscar are beaters. Bailey is reserve seeker-"
"Reserve seeker?" King interrupted curiously. "I didn't know it was a spot?"
"I made it a spot," Harry narrowed his eyes slightly. "Then if one of you can't play, I can take your spot and Bailey can take mine."
"Genius," Oscar breathed.
"I know," Harry smirked. He scribbled something on his parchment then seemed to look between Ron and Draco quickly. "And Ron the vice-captain. If I can't make it to practice then he's in charge, yeah?"
Ron's jaw dropped when the others all looked at him.
"Me?" he breathed. "But-" he glanced hesitantly towards Draco. Ron wanted to be vice-captain more than anything, but Draco was his best mate. "Draco's been on the team longer?"
"And you're better with team strategies," Harry said easily. "Unless you don't want it?"
"I do," Ron said hastily. He sent Draco an apologetic look, but Draco didn't look phased in the slightest. He just smiled at Ron in a good-natured way that Ron wasn't sure he would have been able to do if he was in Draco's spot.
"'Kay. Practice is every Tuesday and Thursday at four thirty, Sundays at six. Don't be late," Harry said sternly. "I'm not losing a single game this year. If you can't keep up, you're out."
"Yes sir!" Bailey saluted, triggering the rest of them to salute Harry.
"Oh, damn, hey I almost forgot." Harry's smirk grew as he surveyed his team. "My godfather said he'd buy our team new brooms this year, so everyone's playing our first game on Firebolt 100's."
Ron walked back to the castle with his friends in a complete daze.
"Am I dreaming?" he asked aloud, intending the question for Draco or Blaise.
But it was Daphne who winked at him when she answered in their stead. "If you're dreaming, I'm dreaming." She let out a small giggle as she ran off to catch up with her friends, "Later, Weasley."
By the time Ron made it to lunch, he decided that he was definitely dreaming.
He never wanted to wake up.