Chaser

A/N: Hello Loves! This is a Lumos!universe one-shot that I uploaded on AO3 several months back, and I'm adding it here for anyone who's interested in reading a bit more on Angelina and Fred.

Please let me know if you'd like more of Fred/Angelina, as Angelina Johnson is incredible, and I love her.

"Team" by Noah Cyrus pairs well with this little fic. <3

I'm off to finally enjoy a pumpkin muffin (my reward for finishing this one-shot) and to work on the next Lumos chapter (which will be uploaded on schedule). In the meantime, please stay safe and warm!

For now, grab your tea and maybe a scone, wrap that blanket around your shoulders, and let's dive in.

---

When she was a very little girl, Angelina Johnson's mother taught her to throw. To feel the connection between her hand and the Quaffle, to reel back without losing balance. To train her eye on the spot she wanted it to go. After that, it was a matter of extension, putting all of her power and magic into the release, and watching it arch through the hoop.

Her mother was the best chaser on the Holyhead Harpies, and Angelina would follow in her footsteps.

Angelina Johnson was very good at throwing—the best, maybe.

#

September 1990

The Quidditch pitch was orange in the light of the afternoon sun, and Angelina adjusted the straps on her wrist guards once again, double checking.

Not a single mistake would stand in the way of her position on the team—especially not faulty equipment. She inhaled the crisp smell of wind and grass. It was a good day for Quidditch.

She tilted her chin, surveying the other participants. A couple of sixth-years were probably her most fierce competition—Thomas Frobisher and Samuel Peakes. They seemed be shooting for the same position she was, tossing a Quaffle back and forth to warm up.

There were only four spots—two chaser positions and two beater positions. She'd prefer chaser, but she'd leap at the chance for any of the slots.

Unfortunately, the field was crowded with hopefuls.

Charlie Weasley stood at the front of the group, watching the players. Oliver Wood was poised at his side—a decent keeper, when he could keep a lid on his temper.

Something jostled her, and she whirled. Fred and George Weasley zipped past, laughing on their brooms. She tightened her fist around her broomstick.

They probably figured they were guaranteed a spot on the team, with their brother as captain. She swallowed back her anger.

She was good enough to beat anyone on this field, but family ties ran deeper than that. One of them swept past again, and her robe whipped in the wind wake from his broom tale.

"Oi!" she shouted. The boy turned, mid-laugh, surveying her. "Watch where you're going, Weasley." He landed with a thunk, a cocky smile splashed across his features.

"I know exactly where I'm going, Johnson," he said, grinning and dismounting, striding up to her. He got close, enough for her to see the freckles sprinkled over his nose. His grin grew wider, sparking with something like excitement as he noticed the Quaffle under her arm. "You brought your own? Glad to see someone else here is taking this seriously."

"A Weasley twin? Taking anything seriously? Please," Angelina said, rolling her eyes. He crossed his arms, but his grin didn't fade.

"You ought to know, Johnson, George and I are the best beaters to come to Hogwarts in years," Fred said. He paused, staring out over the field, then added: "Good luck out there. It'd be fun to have you on the team with us."