If You Love Her (Ron Weasley)

Six.

Tensions in the castle, and in Gryffindor Tower, had been on the rise all week long, and it was starting to take a toll on me in a bad way.

I had always been an anxious person, not that I particularly liked people to know. It was something I'd been diagnosed with as a kid, and I'd worked hard to move past when I went to school, but every so often it crept back in.

Seamus was still ranting about corruption and lies whenever anyone would listen, and his conspiracy theories were weighing me down, to be honest.

I could barely stand to be in his company by the first Friday of term, and so when I saw the poster on the wall of the Common Room stating that Quidditch tryouts were going to take place that evening, I was eager to go down to the Quidditch field and spend some time with my own thoughts.

"Detention?!" I jumped out of my skin as I sat in the stands of the Quidditch pitch, the Gryffindor captain, Angelina Johnson, addressing her candidates not too far from my position. 

The weather was warm, and I was grateful I had chosen just a t-shirt and shorts, maybe my summer tan wouldn't fade just yet. I say summer tan, I am ginger, and Irish. I had gained a few new freckles here and there, but that was better than being beetroot red, so we have to take the small wins.

"He lost his rag with Umbridge," Ron explained, looking quite sheepish as Angelina's harsh gaze snapped towards him. 

"You are fucking kidding me!" She was evidently extremely upset about what had happened, and I couldn't help but agree with her. I was a big fan of the Quidditch team we had at Hogwarts, unashamedly so. It was one of my biggest passions, and Seamus and Neville often teased me for it. 

"He did say to tell you that he was sorry," Ron's face was so red, I could see it practically glowing from where he was sitting. I remember this being the day I realised, he just blushes a lot, for any reason, really. 

"He'll be fucking sorry when I get hold of his 'sorry' arse! Right, anybody trying out for seeker, you'll have to come back when Potter can bother his arse to prioritise his team," Several young Gryffindor's sulked, before flying back towards the changing rooms. There was no point in them even bothering to try out, other than for a reserve, because nobody could possibly be better than Harry Potter at Quidditch. It was one of his three natural gifts, being sarcastic, causing and attracting trouble, and flying. 

There weren't many new faces attending the tryouts, but Ron Weasley was a surprising addition, one I hadn't expected to see there. He was nervous, even an idiot could tell. Even I could tell. I had never known him to express an interest in actually playing Quidditch, he was always in the stands, cheering Harry on. Then again, as I've said, I didn't know the boy. It might have been a lifelong dream, for all I knew. 

Over an hour had passed, and virtually nothing had changed between the team Oliver Wood had selected two years prior, before the Triwizard Tournament, and the team Angelina had selected thus far. There was only one position left to select, and that was the new Keeper.

Oliver had been a cracking Keeper, biased as I was. But, he had graduated, and therefore it was time to move on to a new era. The candidates, however, weren't awfully promising. I felt awful for thinking it, but they weren't exactly oozing the confidence one would appreciate in the Keeper of their Quidditch team. 

Ron Weasley looked like he was going to vomit, and Cormac McLaggen didn't look like he was about to fair much better, he was scrawny and he looked like he could faint and fall off his broom. Of course, Cormac didn't remain the shy, anxious boy I saw that day for long, but at that point in time, it was difficult to see who was going to inspire any confidence.