When Ron's quidditch match leaves him the laughing stock of the school, y/n takes matters into her own hands in order to lift his spirits and show him just how amazing he really is.
Warnings: very brief mentions of aggression (when the twins attack Malfoy)
Word Count: 1.6 k
• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •
The House Cup was the talk of the school during quidditch season. Teams trained day in and day out, no matter the weather, in hopes of claiming it as their own. Even when overworked and drenched in rain, everyone sported school spirit.
Despite the beaming sun, players were saved from sweaty uniforms as heavy winds swept the stands. The howling sound was easily drowned out beneath the uproar of students surrounding the pitch. A gust travelled your way as you stood outside the Gryffindor locker room, causing your ruby-knit scarf to float with the breeze.
Cheers echoed from within its walls as Gryffindor spirit filled the air. Luna's lion head roared from the stands as students from all houses chose to side between the traditional Hogwarts rivals.
The wooden door suddenly burst open, encouraging you to step back as crimson robes swept the field. Loud banter was heard from each and every one of them, but Ron remained quiet, eyes tired as he worked to slip each finger into his leather mitts.
You winced as one fell from his grasp, causing him to fall behind as you rushed to help him.
"Oh, Ronniekins. If you can't even put on your gloves, how do you expect to stop the quaffle?" Fred teased, snickering as George soon piped in.
"Yeah, come on, Mr. Prefect. Your girlfriend can't win the game for you, you know?"
You glared at the twins as they toppled over in laughter, being sure to roll your eyes and place a comforting hand on Ron's shoulder. You had seen the way they had treated him the last few weeks, being sure to break down his self-esteem piece by piece. You knew that they were brothers and understood the dynamic between them, but it made no sense as to why they would want to discourage their own Keeper before such a long-awaited match.
You had been to every practice with him, cheering from the stands through thick and thin, and not once had you heard anyone utter one word of reassurance to the boy; leaving him an insecure mess by the time he returned back to you.
"Don't listen to them," you spoke, smiling weakly as you helped him close the buckle of his helmet. His eyes had not once met with yours — a sign that he felt foolish in front of you.
"I've seen you play, Ron," you whispered, taking his hands in yours as you forced him to face you. You were grateful for Angelina's strict captaincy as she yelled fiercely at the twins while ushering them towards the center of the pitch.
"You've been practicing for weeks, dreaming of this moment for years on end! You deserve this more than anyone in the world and I promise you will make your team proud," you praised, stepping closer as you brushed a strand of hair away from his crimson cheeks.
"Hey, Ron. You ready to go?" Angelina piped in, sending the nervous boy a sincere smile. His face went pale before nodding reluctantly, forcing a smile as you left a soft kiss on his cheek. And as he prepared to mount his broom, closing his eyes to pluck all the courage he could muster, your words echoed in his mind.
"I believe in you, Ron."
• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •
Weasley cannot save a thing,
He cannot block a single ring,
That's why Slytherin's all sing:
Weasley is our King.
You gazed anxiously at Ron as he let in another goal, sighing heavily at the look of humiliation written across his features. The taunting song only grew louder as Slytherins became hungry at the idea of beating Gryffindor. In good old Slytherin fashion, they were prepared to win by any means necessary.
Every belittling word caused your fists to clench and your face to flush red with anger. But your eyes remained soft as your boyfriend's frown tugged further and further, not once lifting as it was announced that Gryffindor's legendary seeker had won it for his team.
Your mind went fuzzy as you made your way down the stands, eyes focussed on Ron sulking in the middle of the pitch as his teammates paraded Harry for his outstanding efforts. It took everything in you to refrain from seething at each pesky Slytherin, whose chants continued to mock the Weasley name.
Catching up to your moping redhead, the two of you began to stalk back towards the castle, ignoring the commotion that occurred behind your backs.
"I can't believe them," you muttered, peering behind you as Fred, George and Harry were held back from Malfoy, who continued with his antics. You were glad to see the two finally standing up for their brother, but shuddered when George's fist swung for the Slytherin's jaw.
"It's not true, you know?" you softened, slipping your hand into his as you caught fresh tears welling in his eyes. He avoided your gaze at all costs, clearly embarrassed after the humiliation he endured.
"You can admit it, y/n. I'm no good at Quidditch," he huffed, shaking his head as frustrating thoughts flooded his mind.
"Ron, please don't say tha –"
"But it's true! Did you hear the way they all laughed at me? The way they all cheered when I lost? Even my own bloody brothers know that I can't play," he cried, ripping off his helmet and gloves before reaching to wipe the silver lining from his eyes.
"I know you care, love. But it only hurts more to watch you lie for me."
Your lip trembled as you watched him stomp off into the castle, where a chorus of snickers bounced off the walls. And as you peered down at the scarf wrapped around your neck, you wondered if there was any way for you to prove that he really was a king.
Gryffindor's King.
• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •
Your hair blew back in the evening breeze as you carefully handled your Cleansweep — one you borrowed from the many broom cupboards of Hogwarts.
The pitch was empty as all house teams rested after a long day of competition. It was recently revealed that Fred, George, and Harry had been banned from the sport for the rest of the year — news that the Slytherins were undoubtedly celebrating from within the dungeons.
So, you stood nervously on the pitch as you awkwardly settled on your broom, waiting for the ginger you had hoped would show.
Minutes had passed before a mop of red hair made an appearance on the field; a letter from you in hand as he smiled weakly at the sight of you. You were glad to see that he was not followed by a line of Slytherins, who now wore pins in support of "their king."
"What are you doing here, love?" he chuckled, eyeing the way you stiffly gripped your broom. You had never been the most confident flier – not after a dreadful experience in your first year. The thought alone caused Ron's cheeks to redden; memories of this morning's game momentarily drifting from his mind.
"I'm going to prove it to you," you smiled, eyes going wide as you were lifted off the ground. You couldn't help but sigh when your feet touched land once more.
"What do you mean?" Ron quipped, giggling as you floundered from on top of your broom. A quaffle rested on the grass, along with an extra broom and Keeper mitts.
"You are a great quidditch player, Ron. And I am going to teach you how to believe in yourself."
• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •
You laughed as you were engulfed in a hug. Two brooms lay on the wet grass as light rain drizzled from the sky. Ron's borrowed jumper did very little to protect you from the cold, but you both considered his arms to be a much better source of warmth.
After so many stressful weeks, you were happy to see him smiling again. Between the DA, quidditch practice, and Umbridge's irrational decrees, it had been difficult to truly enjoy each other's company. Even if you had to face one of your biggest fears in order to do so, you were glad that the events from earlier that day no longer served as a lingering reminder.
"You really didn't have to do that, you know? I know how scared you can get," Ron chuckled, referring to the small match you had just played. The win didn't count for much, considering that you could barely get more than 6 feet into the air, but each goal he saved from your feeble attempts still counted for something, he supposed.
"I needed to show you how talented you are," you shrugged, giggling as Ron's nose brushed against yours.
"I'm sorry to break it to you, love, but it's not that hard to beat you in quidditch," he smirked, laughing when you scoffed playfully.
"Seriously, though. Thank you. And I'm sorry for getting so upset earlier. You didn't deserve that," he breathed, resting his chin on your shoulder as he pulled you in for a hug. Loving kisses were left on your cheek, kissing droplets of rain from your fresh skin as he did so.
"Why don't we head back in? We can laugh at Malfoy on our way past the Hospital Wing?" you smirked, shrieking as Ron spun you around before gathering your brooms and taking your hand in his.
"As long as we can tease Fred and George," Ron countered, laughing as you snuggled into his side and began to make your way up the flooded trail to the castle.
"You can do that on your own. I don't feel like waking up with green hair tomorrow," you laughed. "Though, I am excited to see you wipe the smirks off their faces at your next match."
"As long as you're in the stands?" he replied, planting a soft kiss on your awaiting lips as you paused your long journey through the Hogwarts grounds.
"Wouldn't be anywhere else."
And it was true. You were his biggest fan; his number one supporter.
And he couldn't ask for anyone but you.