In the Melancholy Moonlight

Chapter CXLI: About Quidditch

LUCY:

As soon as Harry's hand closed around the Snitch, I slipped through the crowd and headed down to the changing tent as soon as possible. Ron had already come and gone, though, so I darted outside and looked around. If it hadn't been three days to the full moon, I might have missed

Ron and I had been walking in silence for only about thirty seconds when I heard something behind us. I turned around to see a Golden Snitch, the one from the game, most likely, fluttering along behind us. I snatched it from the air, and the wings stilled in my hand.

"Reckon Harry's alright?" I asked. It seemed odd for him to let the Snitch go. There was nothing inherently wrong with doing so, it just seemed... odd.

"I'm sure he is." Ron's voice was little more than a strained croak. "Hero of the game and all, since I—"

"You did just fine."

He huffed. "'Just fine.' That's far too kind."

"No, it's not, it's true."

"Well, then you're far too kind."

"Quidditch is — well, was — my life, Ron. I know Quidditch. You did just fine."

"I let in every single Quaffle that got close."

"So did Oliver Wood in his first game as a Puddlemere reserve."

Ron blinked. A tiny, tiny crack in his stony expression.

"He's been writing me since August. He has a younger brother in Hufflepuff, same year as Cedric, so he knew. He let in all seventeen goals in his first match."

"Seventeen?" Ron repeated, clearly surprised.

"Seventeen. They lost the match, even though they caught the Snitch because apparently their Chasers choked too. Look, I know you've been comparing yourself to Oli this whole time, feeling like you'll never match up, but not even the great Oliver Wood is immune to getting nervous and choking. And you didn't choke, Ron, four goals is a lot less than seventeen."

"This is Hogwarts Quidditch, though, Oliver's playing professionally now."

"I can ask him about his first Hogwarts match, if you want."

"But what if it went better than mine?"

"I wouldn't tell you, I'd just say he couldn't remember."

He snorted quietly, a small smile flickering across his face for a moment before disappearing.

"My point is," I continued. "You don't have to compare yourself to whatever idea of Oliver Wood you have in your mind. He's not perfect, and neither are you. You're two wildly different people, anyway. For example, I've never heard you cuss someone out in a Scottish accent so thick we had to ask for a transcription of what was said."

Ron smiled again for a moment. "Who was he cussing out?"

"I'll give you one guess. Well, two guesses."

"The twins?"

"Who else?"

Ron's smile faltered and disappeared.

I pursed my lips. "You don't have to compare yourself to your brothers, either."

"Why not? Everyone else does."

"I don't."

"Everyone aside from you, then."

"Hermione doesn't."

"I doubt that."

"Harry certainly doesn't."

"How can you be so sure?"