Always- a Hinny / Romione fanfic

Chapter Eight: Quidditch tryouts

* Ginny's P.O.V *

I sat on the bleachers, twiddling my thumbs, Vanessa on one side of me, Ron on the other. I deliberately sat between them, as Ron had asked. Everyone who wanted to try out for the team was sitting with us, all waiting on Harry to show up.

If must've been at least a half an hour before Harry staggered onto the pitch, carrying the box of the four balls under his arm. As he set them down, I whispered slyly in his ear.

"Thanks for being late you great prat."

He waved me off with a grin on his face and stepped back, addressing everyone.

"Okay so, here is how today is going to work. We will first split into groups of seven and fly around the pitch, just to see if you can even handle a broom. Then everyone will take turns weaving in and out of the goal posts, to test your maneuvering. Then we will test out the chasers. I'll be the keeper, or at least try to be," there was a small amount of giggles, "for the chaser tryout. Once I've picked the chasers, we will try out the beaters, and lastly the keeper. Easy enough to understand?"

Everyone nodded.

"Now when you're not trying out, just sit here, unless I need you, like I'll need my chasers to try out the keeper."

He shifted his footing.

"Now, just because you've made the team in previous years does not guarantee you a spot on the team this year. Is that clear."

Everyone nodded, and I gave him a little playful salute. At his words, I noticed Ron squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. I patted his shoulder.

***

It was time for the chaser tryouts. There were only eight people trying out for chaser this year, Myself and Vanessa; a heavy set blonde boy; a small brunette third year; two twin girls, a burly fifth year boy with a buzz cut, and a tiny second year who looked like one little shove would knock him to the ground.

I was surprised, usually there's at least twenty people trying out for Chaser. But I wasn't complaining, it meant less competition

I grinned at Harry as I mounted my broom. He zoomed off to the goal posts and tossed me the quaffle.

"First," he instructed, shouting across the pitch. "Spread out and pass it in a line, then the last person come up to shoot. Then move down one in line until I see everyone's non-pressure shots."

Gees, he was taking it much more seriously than when he was in sixth year.

I sped up to where the person who shot it goes. I wanted to be either the first to shoot, or the last.

The second year boy couldn't catch the ball, he dropped it and had to go speeding down to get it before it hit the ground.

The twins weren't paying attention, and the quaffle hit one of them in the forehead.

So far, everyone else performed smoothly.

I thought I had a pretty good chance of making the team.

Of course, I was Harry's girlfriend, but I made him promise, holding my wand up to his throat, that he would not in any way, shape or form give me special treatment. He was supposed to judge me as though I was any other person.

When the quaffle came my way, I caught it easily, braked, and twisted to face Harry, whose jaw was set.

After giving Harry the quickest of all winks, I feigned right, and as he lunged, tossed the quaffle in the left hoop.

All the chasers, and the others cheered.

I noticed there were people in the stands, Hermione among them. She waved, and I pumped my fist in the air.

***

After we all had shot, passed, raced, done pressure shots, dodged, and many more drills, Harry picked his three chasers.

Vanessa, who was surprisingly very good, had a really good aim and dodged very well.

The brunette third year- Emma, I thought I heard her friends call her- could shoot hard, accurate and fast from outside the scoring area, despite her size. The only problem was that her glasses fell off at least twice.

And the last chaser was me.

I didn't want to be too proud, but I thought I had performed well.

I sincerely hoped that this year the cup would have our names on it

***

I mounted my broom, ready to try out the keeper. At least ten people were trying out, and though none of them looked as old as Ron, none of them looked as nervous.

Although, Ron had won the house cup for us two years in a row, and performed the last two years admirably, he was a nasty shade of green.

Oh boy. He needs to get his nerves under control.

None of the other keepers saved all of their goals. Us three girls gave difficult shots in my opinion. I shot as I would in a game, with a spin on the quaffle. I thought of giving Ron easy shots, but instantly refused myself. Not only was it unfair to the others, it's unfair to Ron. He can save much more goals than he thinks. It's all in his head.

I hope that if I give him harder shots, he'll stop moping around like the great big, self-sorry prat he is and start appreciating the talent he has

***

The first save Ron had was easy. Vanessa lobbed it softly at him. Totally deliberate. I heard a chorus of boos from the other keepers below.

Emma gave a difficult feign, that Ron nearly missed. He just nicked it desperately with his toe, and the quaffle banged on the goalpost and sped towards the earth. He was 2 for 2.

I set my jaw, the quaffle under my arm.

Oh, God, please let Ron save this

Come on Ron!

I gripped the small leather ball on the tips of my fingers and tossed it as hard as I could through the center hoop.

Ron smacked it away with his hand, but it was so low to the hoop that he smashed the side of his face into the metal post. I groaned, shaking my head.

Sometimes, he was so stupid. What a thick prat.

Nevertheless, he saved three out of three goals.

Vanessa threw him another easy shot, that of playing catch. Another chorus of boos erupted from the crowd.

This was his final save. If he saved it, he was keeper. If not, he had to go into more trials. I hoped he didn't, the sun was going down.

Emma sped towards him. I noticed how she gripped the quaffle, and I knew she was putting a spin on it. I crossed my fingers.

She threw it straight, line-drive, so hard and fast I could barely see it. It smacked Ron so hard in the forehead that you could hear it echo across the pitch. He nearly fell off his broom, head lolling off his shoulders for a moment.

As soon as he touched the ground, Hermione ran at him, full-sprint and threw her arms around his neck. Emma dismounted and ran towards him, apologizing over and over again

"Really," Harry said over her loud voice, "you have a good arm, we need that, trust me, Ron'll be fine, he's had worse blows-"

Ron's eyes were sliding in and out of focus.

"Oh my- do you think he has a concussion?" Asked Hermione shrilly.

"Well that idiot girl almost killed him," said Vanessa, shooting Emma a dirty look. She glared right back. Dang, that little girl had guts. If looks could kill, both girls would be dead.

"Shut up Vanessa, she had a great shot-" it was the first rude thing I'd said to her.

"Shut up you two!" Yelled Harry, slinging an arm around Ron. "Just help me get him to the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey can put him right."

"We should hurry," Hermione quivered nervously, looking at the sky, "I don't know what time it is, but the sun is almost down, we could get in trouble."

So we set off.

Despite Ron's injury, I was happy with how the day had went.