Draco gripped his broomstick tightly as he stood in the locker room beside Oscar and Isaac.
It was the single most idiotic idea Ron had ever had - Draco agreed to it immediately.
Ron stood before the three of them then, his blue eyes wet, but his shoulders squared.
"I don't have any great words to say," Ron told them, "but I will say this: nobody loved quidditch more than Trent. Nobody wanted Slytherin to win more than Trent. McGonagall planned on cancelling the game, writing off the cup for the year. I talked her out of it. Because do you know who would have hated that? Trent."
Draco and the other two nodded fiercely.
"So we're going to march out there, we're going to keep our chins high, and we're going to fucking win. Not for us, not for Slytherin, but for the bloody boy who loved this game more than all of us."
Ron looked them over solemnly, making brief eye contact with each of them.
"Is it going to be easy? Hell no. We don't have our seeker, we're down a chaser, and we don't have a keeper. But we will win," Ron swore. He held his broom up in the air as a single tear finally broke free from the edge of his left eye.
"For Trent Bailey!" Ron yelled hoarsely.
Draco and the two beaters thrust their brooms in the air.
"FOR TRENT BAILEY!"
The four of them marched on to the field, and, for the first time in Draco's history of playing quidditch, they did it to thunderous applause and stomping cheers.
Luna's soft voice reached Draco's ears from the announcers box while they neared the grim faced Hufflepuff's.
"If you're wondering why Slytherin's team is so small- it's because there are three missing players," she said in her simple and honest way. "Harry Potter, the Slytherin seeker, is recovering from an incident where he risked his life to save his friends from Timmy, who many of you may know as Voldemort. Blaise Zabini, the Slytherin chaser, is in the hospital recovering from a nearly fatal attack. And Trent-" Luna's voice quivered and Draco wished he could hold her tightly and lie and say that everything would be okay, "Trent Bailey, the Slytherin keeper, gave his life up in exchange for someone he cared about. Please, before the captains shake hands, please be silent for a moment in honor of the bravest student to ever enter Hogwarts."
It was another mark of respect for Trent, the mad boy who tried to singlehandedly kill Timmy with a handgun, that not a single student made a sound for a solid two minutes.
"Thank you," Luna said. "Ron Weasley, the new Slytherin captain, has asked me to tell you all that this game is dedicated to Trent Bailey. Trent, if you're watching us from the great beyond, we love you, our sweet PJ."
Draco's eyes were welling up at Luna's soft statement. He wasn't the only one either; Madam Hooch wiped her eyes off with her robe sleeve as did Ron and Oscar.
"On your whistle," Luna called down to Madam Hooch.
"Captains, shake hands," Hooch called to the teams.
Ron stepped forward and politely shook the Hufflepuff captain's hand.
"On my whistle," Hooch called.
The players all mounted their brooms and Draco swore to the sky that he didn't care how many players they were missing-
He damn sure wouldn't let PJ down.
"GO!"
The four Slytherin boys immediately flew high in the air, and...
And the Hufflepuff players flew to the center of the field, hovering maybe ten feet in the air, and didn't move.
"What are they doing?" Oscar murmured.
Draco studied the Hufflepuff's with their jaws set stubbornly and their eyes soft and sad and felt something he rarely did at Hogwarts-
He felt accepted. He felt like Trent had accomplished the impossible; Trent had driven the other houses to finally find something respectable about Slytherin.
"They're letting us win?" Isaac guessed.
"No." Draco shook his head and shared a look of understanding with Ron. "They're letting Trent win."
The four boys nodded at the Hufflepuff's respectfully.
"Do we faff about a bit or just whoever finds the snitch grabs it?" Oscar asked in a low grunt.
"Whoever finds it grabs it," Ron said in an equally low voice, husky and thick with misery from his own mad and brilliant idea. "Let's get this over with."
Draco rose up high in the sky, carefully dodging the bludgers and went on the prowl for the snitch while Luna began telling tales about Trent to the solemn spectators.
"Trent was a talented charms student, but he said that defense was his favorite class. I think it was because Professor Black was his favorite professor."
It might have been Draco's imagination, but he thought he heard a wail of misery come from the teachers box.
"Trent loved being a Slytherin, but he said the hat considered him for Hufflepuff because of his strong sense of loyalty."
Ron waved, catching Draco's attention, and pointed toward the Hufflepuff goalposts. Draco flew there half-heartedly while he listened to Luna.
"Trent was a muggleborn, which a lot of people seem to think made him weak in some way, but Trent was brilliant and wonderful and if you didn't get to know him- then it's you that I feel sorry for."
Draco used to think that muggleborns were inferior. How could they ever be as powerful as people with pure magic flowing in their veins? Sure, Granger was smart, but that didn't make her powerful.
But then little Trent went and shot the Dark Lord and Draco had to admit finally, fully, that it didn't matter if his parents were both shitty muggles, Trent was just as powerful as any pureblood that Draco knew.
Probably more.
Draco would never have had the kind of powerful daring to order a house-elf to bring him back to the Dark Lord's hideout and shoot him in the chest.
Trent was a legend.
Just like Harry's mum had been and still was.
Muggleborns were mad, but not inferior.
"Trent was our best friend, our little brother," Luna said as Ron and Draco cornered the snitch between them. "One time I asked Trent what the best day of his life was and he said it was the day he rode a jet ski with his brother, who he idolized."
Draco leaned forward and reached for the snitch at the same time as Ron, and when his fingers closed around the golden ball, he didn't feel victorious at all, he felt hollow.
He didn't think he'd play quidditch next year.
It wasn't the same without Harry and Trent.
"Congratulations, boys," McGonagall said with a sad smile when the four Slytherin's trooped up to the teachers box with slumped shoulders and teary eyes to the thunderous applause from the entire school. "I have never been so proud before," McGonagall said. She handed Ron the quidditch house cup before turning around and blowing her nose in a handkerchief.
Ron and Draco held the cup up between them with tears streaming shamelessly down their faces.
"This is for you, Trent," Ron said, his hoarse whisper carrying clearly through the field. "We love you."
Draco and Ron made the solo trip to Hogsmeade that night, walking right out the gates without caring at all for their rule breaking, to put the cup on Trent's grave.
It made Draco feel equally sad and happy to see that his grave was covered in flowers and gifts from the townsfolk of Hogsmeade who had seen him as a hero long before his own friends did.
"This is for you," Draco said tightly. He carefully propped the cup right up beside the tombstone and was grateful for Ron's reassuring arm over his shoulders. "We'll miss you, PJ."
In Memory of Trent Isaac Bailey:
Son. Brother. Hero.
July 10, 1983 — April 11, 1997