Emma Potter; Going to War

46: O.W.Ls

Ron's euphoria at helping Gryffindor scrape the Quidditch Cupwas such that he could not settle to anything next day. All hewanted to do was talk over the match and Me, Harry and Hermione foundit very difficult to find an opening in which to mention Grawp — notthat either of us tried very hard; neither was keen to be the one tobring Ron back to reality in quite such a brutal fashion.

 As it was another fine, warm day, we persuaded him to join them in studyingunder the beech tree on the edge of the lake, where we stood lesschance of being overheard than in the Gryffindor common room. Ron was notparticularly keen on this idea at first; he was thoroughly enjoying being patted on the back by Gryffindors walking past his chair, not tomention the occasional outbursts of "Weasley Is Our King," butagreed after a while that some fresh air might do him good. 

We spread their books out in the shade of the beech tree and satdown while Ron talked us through his first save of the match forwhat felt like the dozenth time. 

"Well, I mean, I'd already let in that one of Davies's, so I wasn't feeling that confident, but I dunno, when Bradley came toward me, just out of nowhere, I thought — you can do this! And I had about a second to decide which way to fly, you know, because he looked like hewas aiming for the right goal hoop — my right, obviously, his left —but I had a funny feeling that he was feinting, and so I took thechance and flew left — his right, I mean — and — well — you sawwhat happened," he concluded modestly, sweeping his hair back quiteunnecessarily so that it looked interestingly windswept and glancingaround to see whether the people nearest to them — a bunch of gossiping third-year Hufflepuffs — had heard him. "And then, whenChambers came at me about five minutes later — what?" Ron said,stopping mid-sentence at the look on Harry's and my own face. "Why are yougrinning?" 

"we're not," said Harry quickly, looking down at his Transfigurationnotes and attempting to straighten his face. The truth was that Ronhad just reminded Harry and me forcibly of another Gryffindor Quidditchplayer who had once sat rumpling his hair under this very tree. "I'mjust glad we won, that's all."

 "Yeah," said Ron slowly, savoring the words, "we won. Did you seethe look on Chang's face when Ginny got the Snitch right out fromunder her nose?" 

"I suppose she cried, did she?" said Harry bitterly. 

"Well, yeah — more out of temper than anything, though . . ."Ron frowned slightly. "But you saw her chuck her broom away whenshe got back to the ground, didn't you?" 

"Er —" said Harry.

 "Well, actually . . . no, Ron," said Hermione with a heavy sigh,putting down her book and looking at him apologetically. "As a matter of fact, the only bit of the match Harry and I saw was Davies's firstgoal." 

Ron's carefully ruffled hair seemed to wilt with disappointment.

 "You didn't watch?" he said faintly, looking from one to the other."You didn't see me make any of those saves? And you--he turned to me-- didn't get Malfoy's reaction for me?"

"Well — no," said Hermione, stretching out a placatory hand toward him. "But Ron, we didn't want to leave — we had to!" 

"Yeah?" said Ron, whose face was growing rather red. "How come?" 

"It was Hagrid," said Harry. "He decided to tell us why he's beencovered in injuries ever since he got back from the giants. He wantedus to go into the forest with him, we had no choice, you know how hegets. . . . Anyway . . ."

 The story was told in five minutes, by the end of which Ron's indignation had been replaced by a look of total incredulity."He brought one back and hid it in the forest?"