Dreams Are Falling Short

We collected balls from the cupboard in the changing room and set to work, Ron guarding the three tall goalposts, and Harry and I playing Chaser and trying to get the Quaffle past Ron. I went easy on Ron, making sure I didn’t get half the goals I went for. However, I thought that Ron seemed a lot better than he was on his try out; he blocked three-quarters of the goals we attempted to put past him and played better the longer we practised. After a couple of hours we returned to the castle for lunch – during which Hermione made it quite clear she thought we were irresponsible – then returned to the Quidditch pitch for the real training session. All our teammates but Angelina were already in the changing room when we entered.

“All right, Ron?” said George, winking at him.

“Yeah,” said Ron, who had become quieter and quieter all the way down to the pitch.

“Ready to show us all up, Ickle Prefect?” said Fred, emerging tousle-haired from the neck of his Quidditch robes, a slightly malicious grin on his face.

“Shut up,” said Ron, stony-faced, pulling on his own team robes for the first time. They fitted him well considering they had been Oliver Wood’s who was rather broader in the shoulder.

“You guys better lighten up on Ron,” I hissed to the twins, and pulled my own team robes over my head. “He’s actually alright, but I just think he’s nervous when people watch him.”

“You know us, Blondie,” George said.

“We just can’t help ourselves,” Fred added.

“But we’ll try our best for you,” George finished.

“OK, everyone,” said Angelina, entering from the Captain’s office, already changed. “Let’s get to it; Corey and Fred, if you can just ring out the ball crate for us. Oh, and there are a couple of people out there watching but I want you to just ignore them, all right?”

Something in her would-be casual voice made me think I might know who the uninvited spectators were, and sure enough, when we left the changing room for the bright sunlight of the pitch it was to a storm of catcalls and jeers from the Slytherin Quidditch team and assorted hangers-on, who were grouped halfway up the empty stands and whose voices echoed loudly around the stadium.

“What’s that Weasley’s riding?” Malfoy called in his sneering drawl. “Why would anyone put a flying charm on a mouldy old log like that?”

Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy Parkinson guffawed and shrieked with laughter. Ron mounted his broom and kicked off from the ground and Harry and I followed him, watching his ears turn red from behind.

“Ignore him,” I said, accelerating to catch up with Ron, while silently making plans of what I was going to say to Malfoy the next time he insisted on us having ‘bonding time’, “we’ll see who’s laughing after we play them...”

“Exactly the attitude I want, Corey,” said Angelina approvingly, soaring around us with the Quaffle under her arm and slowing to hover on the spot in front of her airborne team. “OK, everyone, we’re going to start with some passes just to warm up, the whole team please –“

“Hey, Johnson, what’s with that hairstyle, anyway?” shrieked Pansy Parkinson from below. “Why would anyone want to look like they’ve got worms coming out of their head?”

Angelina swept her long braided hair out of her face and continued calmly, “Spread out, then, and let’s see what we can do...”

Angelina raised the Quaffle with one hand and threw it hard to me (instinctively, I assumed, as we were both Chasers), and I passed it to Fred, who passed it to George, who passed to Harry, who passed to Ron, who dropped it.

The Slytherins, led by Malfoy, roared and screamed with laughter. Ron, who had pelted towards the ground to catch the Quaffle before it landed, pulled out of the dive untidily, so that he slipped sideways on his broom, and returned to playing height, blushing. I saw Fred and George exchange looks, but uncharacteristically neither of them said anything, hopefully due to the fact that the Slytherins were there and that I had talked to them.

“Pass it on, Ron,” called Angelina, as though nothing had happened.

Ron threw the Quaffle to Alicia (our spare Chaser since I had joined the team), who passed to Harry, who passed to George...

“Hey, Potter, how’s your scar feeling?” called Malfoy. “Sure you don’t need to lie down? It must be, what, a whole week since you were in the hospital wing, that’s a record for you, isn’t it?”

George passed to Angelina; she reverse-passed to me, and acting quickly, for I hadn’t been prepared, caught it in the tips of my fingers and passed it quickly onto Ron, who lunged for it and missed by inches.

“Come on now, Ron,” said Angelina crossly, as he dived for the ground again, chasing the Quaffle. “Pay attention."

It would have been hard to say whether Ron’s face or the Quaffle was a deeper scarlet when he again returned to playing height. Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin team were howling with laughter.

On his third attempt, Ron caught the Quaffle; perhaps out of relief he passed it on so enthusiastically that it soared straight through Katie’s outstretched hands and hit her hard in the face.

“Sorry!” Ron groaned, zooming forwards to see whether he had done any damage.

“Get back in position, she’s fine!” barked Angelina. “But as you’re passing to a team-mate, do try not to knock her off her broom, won’t you? We’ve got Bludgers for that!”

Katie’s nose was bleeding. Down below, the Slytherins were stamping their feet and jeering. Fred and George converged on Katie.

“Here, take this,” Fred told her, handing her something small and purple form out of his pocket, “it’ll clear it up in no time.”

“Fred no that’s –“

“All right,” called Angelina, “Fred, George, go and get your bats and a Bludger. Ron get up to the goalposts. Harry, release the Snitch when I say so. We’re going to aim for Ron’s goal, obviously.”

When Angelina blew her whistle, Harry released the Snitch and Fred and George let fly the Bludger. I started off with the Quaffle and zoomed towards the goal posts with it under my arm. I passed it forcefully to Angelina who threw it at the left goalpost, which Ron blocked it clumsily. We restarted at the other goalposts, making our way across the pitch, while passing to each other and weaving around the Bludger. Every now and then Harry would roll or swerving in and out of the Chasers and Beaters, looking for the Snitch. It was nice to feel the autumn air whipping my face, and the distant yells of the Slytherins so much meaningless roaring in my ears. All too soon the whistle brought me to a halt again.

“Stop – stop – STOP!” screamed Angelina. “Ron – you’re not covering your middle post!”

Ron was hovering in front of the left-hand hoop, leaving the other two completely unprotected.

“Oh... sorry...”

“You keep shifting around while you’re watching the Chasers!” said Angelina, and I held back a witty remark. “Either stay in centre position until you have to move to defend a hoop, or else circle the hoops, but don’t drift vaguely off to one side, that’s how you let in the last three goals!”

“Sorry...” Ron repeated, his red face shining like a beacon against the bright blue sky.

“And Katie, can’t you do something about that nosebleed?”

“It’s just getting worse!” said Katie thickly, attempting to stem the flow with her sleeve.

I glanced around at Fred, who was looking anxious and checking his pockets. Fred pulled out something purple, examine it for a second and then look round at Katie, evidently horror-struck.

“Well, let’s try again,” said Angelina. She was ignoring the Slytherins, who had now set up a chant of “Gryffindor are losers, Gryffindor are losers,” but there was a certain rigidity about her seat on the broom nevertheless.

This time we had been flying for barely three minutes when Angelina’s whistle sounded. Angelina, Fred, George and I were all flying as fast as we could towards Katie. It was plain that Angelina had stopped training just in time; Katie was now chalk white and covered in blood.

“She need the hospital wing.”

“The twins will take her,” I said. “This muppet here gave her a Blood Blisterpod by mistake –“

“Well, there’s no point continuing with no Beaters and a Chaser gone,” said Angelina glumly as Fred and George zoomed off towards the castle supporting Katie between them. “Come on, let’s go and get changed.”

The Slytherins continued to chant as we trailed back into the changing rooms.

-

“Nearly done?” I said, at half part eleven on Sunday, when Hermione and I had finished talking to Ginny.

“No,” said Ron shortly.

“Jupiter’s biggest moon is Ganymede, not Callisto,” she said, pointing over Ron’s shoulder at a line in his Astronomy essay, “and it’s Io that’s got the volcanoes.”

“Thanks,” snarled Ron, scratching out the offending sentences.

“Sorry, I only –“

“Yeah, well, if you’ve just come over here to criticise –“

“Ron –“

“I haven’t got time to listen to a sermon, all right, Hermione, I’m up to my neck in it here –“

“No – look!”

I was pointing to the nearest window. Harry and Ron both looked over. A handsome screech owl was standing on the windowsill, gazing into the room at Ron.

“Isn’t that Hermes?” I said, sounding amazed.

“Blimey, it is!” said Ron quietly, throwing down his quill and getting to his feet. “What’s Percy writing to me for?”

He crossed to the window and opened it; Hermes flew inside, landed on Ron’s essay and held out a leg to which a letter was attached. Ron took the letter off it and the owl departed at once, leaving inky footprint across Ron’s drawing of the moon Io.

“That’s definitely Percy’s handwriting,” I said, as Ron sank back into his chair and stared at the words on the outside of the scroll: Ronald Weasley, Gryffindor House, Hogwarts. He looked up at us, and said, “What d’you reckon?”

“Open it!” said Hermione eagerly, and Harry nodded.

Ron unrolled the scroll and began to read. The further down the parchment his eyes travelled, the more pronounced became his scowl. When he had finished reading, he looked disgusted. He thrust the letter at us, and we all leaned together and read the length letter.

When we were all finished, Harry looked up at Ron.

“Well, if you want to – er – what is it?” – he checked Percy’s letter – “Oh yeah – ‘sever ties’ with me, I swear I won’t get violent.”

“Give it back,” said Ron, holding out his hand. “He is –“ Ron said jerkily, tearing Percy’s letter in half “the world’s –“ he tore it into quarters “biggest –“ he tore it into eighths “git.” He threw the piece into the fire.

“Don’t even worry about him, Ron,” I said, patting his leg. “After all, not all your siblings can be awesome.”

“Come on, we’ve got to get this finished sometime before dawn,” Ron said briskly to Harry, pulling Professor Sinistra’s essay back towards him.

Hermione was looking at Ron with an odd expression on her face.

“Oh, give them here,” she said abruptly.

“What?” said Ron.

“Give them to me, I’ll look through them and correct them,” she said.

“I’ll do one,” I said with a reluctant sigh.

“Are you serious? Ah, Hermione – Corey, you’re both life-savers,” said Ron, “what can I-?”

“What you can say is, ‘We promise we’ll never leave our homework this late again’,” I said, holding out my hand for Harry’s and Hermione hers for Ron, both of us looking amused all the same.

“Thanks a million, you too,” said Harry weakly, passing over his essay and sinking back into his armchair, rubbing his eyes.

It was now past midnight and the common room was deserted but for the four of us and Crookshanks. The only sound was that of mine and Hermione’s quills scratching out sentences here and there on the boys’ essays and the ruffle of pages as we checked various facts in the reference books strewn across the table.

“OK, write that down,” Hermione said to Ron, pushing his essay and a sheet covered in her own writing back to Ron, “then add this conclusion I’ve written for you.”

“Hermione, you are honestly the most wonderful person I’ve ever met,” said Ron weakly, “and if I’m ever rude to you again –“

“- We’ll know you’re back to normal,” I said. “Harry, yours is OK except for this bit at the end, I think you must have misheard Sinistra, Europa’s covered in ice, not mice – Harry?”

Harry had slid off his chair on to his knees and was now crouching on the singed and threadbare hearthrug, gazing into the flames.

“Er – Harry?” said Ron uncertainly. “Why are you down there?”

“Because I’ve just seen Sirius’ head in the fire,” said Harry.

“Sirius’ head?” I repeated. “You mean like when he wanted to talk to you during the Triwizard Tournament? But he wouldn’t do that now, it would be too – Sirius!”

Hermione gasped, gazing at the fire; I dropped my quill and Ron made a weird noise in the back of his throat. There in the middle of the dancing flames sat Sirius’ head, long dark hair falling around his grinning face.