Toil and Trouble Chapter 18 : Unseen hands - Part 2 of 3 (A Harry Potter fanfiction)
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September 1, 1994. Platform 9&3/4
Hermione Granger and Justin Finch-Fletchley arrived at the Platform, accompanied, as always, by a Ministry employee. This year, Andrea Bones had come to pick them up.
The familiar chaos greeted her at once.
Steam curled from the scarlet engine. Voices echoed. Parents fussed. Owls hooted indignantly. But something was different this year.
There were more children gathered near the Ministry cordon. Many more. Hermione’s gaze moved over them, wide-eyed boys and girls clutching parents’ hands, some in clothes that screamed first day of school, others already half-dressed in robes they weren’t quite used to wearing yet.
"Lots of first years this year", Justin commented offhandedly.
"Yes... there are" Hermione replied quietly. She noticed one of the boys holding a magical camera and taking pictures of everything he saw.
Andrea guided them toward Arthur Weasley, who stood near a small folding table, checking names off a parchment roll. He looked tired, but focused. Protective, as always.
“Hermione Granger, and Justin Finch-Fletchley,” Andrea said crisply.
Arthur looked up at once and smiled. “Ah! Hermione dear. And Justin. Good to see you again.”
Hermione inclined her head politely. “Hello, Mr Weasley."
"Good morning, sir", Justin said formally.
Andrea Bones made a quick note and moved on.
Arthur cleared his throat and turned slightly, addressing the cluster of first years gathered before him. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried.
“Before we get everyone settled,” he said, “there’s something I would like to say. Especially to our first-time students.”
Hermione paused a few steps away, listening.
“You belong here,” Arthur continued, eyes moving deliberately from child to child. “Every one of you. It doesn’t matter where you were born, or whether magic runs in your family. If you’ve been invited to Hogwarts, it’s because you are a witch or a wizard. That’s all there is to it.”
A few of the students straightened. Hermione reckoned some of them were wondering how they'd be treated at Hogwarts. Just as she had been exactly a year earlier.
“You have just as much right to this world as anyone else who steps onto this platform,” Arthur said firmly. “Never let anyone tell you otherwise. Not now. Not ever.”
Warmth spread through Hermione’s chest, familiar and steady. Arthur’s gaze flicked to her, just for a moment. She met it and gave a small, respectful nod. He returned it with a quiet smile before turning back to his list.
Hermione adjusted the strap of her bag and moved toward the train, heart lightened.
Some things, she thought, were worth remembering.
Hermione spotted Ron weaving through the crowd a moment later, red hair unmistakable even amid the steam and noise.
“Hermione!” he called, face breaking into a grin.
“Ron,” she replied warmly. "So good to see you."
He took her trunk handle without asking and steered her toward the train. “Mum’s over there. She’s in full fussing mode.”
Sure enough, Molly Weasley stood near the carriage steps, hands on Ginny’s shoulders, issuing rapid instructions.
“...and do write home, and mind your temper. But don’t let anyone push you around, and study properly....”
“Yes, Mum,” Ginny said, standing very straight in her Hogwarts robes, chin lifted with unmistakable pride.
Hermione caught her eye and grinned.
Ginny grinned back, glowing.
A sudden peal of laughter erupted nearby.
Hermione turned just in time to see Harry doubled over, clutching his sides, laughing helplessly. A small, swirling ball of greyish smoke bobbed around his head, releasing tiny sparks that burst into ticklish bursts whenever someone brushed against it.
"Oh hi Hermione!" Harry managed to say, mid-laughter.
Fred and George were watching with identical expressions of delight.
“Works perfectly,” Fred said.
“Enhanced tactile charm,” George added. "Worth every Knut."
The smoke ball drifted toward another student who was simoly passing by. The poor lad squeaked and dissolved into giggles. Laughter rippled outward.
“Fred! George!” Molly started sharply.
Before she could continue, Percy stepped forward, face flushed with irritation. “Honestly,” he snapped, “do you have to behave like complete idiots in public? I’ll be in the running for House Captain this year, and you’re embarrassing me.”
The twins looked at him. Then, in perfect unison, they rolled their eyes.
“Tragic,” Fred murmured.
“Utterly tragic,” George agreed.
The smoke ball vanished with a pop just as Molly turned back around. One by one, they boarded the train.
Inside the corridor, Parvati and Padma Patil spotted Hermione immediately.
“Hermione!” they exclaimed, pulling her into a double hug.
“It’s good to see you,” Hermione said, smiling.
They noticed Ginny hovering just behind her. “Oh... hello!” Padma said brightly.
“This is Ginny. She's Ron's sister,” Hermione said. “Ginny, Parvati and Padma.”
Ginny smiled sweetly, “Hello.”
“Sit with us?” Parvati asked.
“I will,” Hermione said, glancing down the carriage toward Harry, “but I need to talk to Harry about something. I’ll see you at school?”
“Of course,” Padma said easily. "See you!"
Hermione and Ginny then moved off down the train, heart light as the whistle blew and the Hogwarts Express began to stir.
The two girls caught up with Remus, Harry and Ron as they were about to step into a carriage, when a soft, airy voice spoke behind them.
“Hello, Ginny.”
They turned and saw a small girl with pale blonde hair standing a few feet away, her expression calm and dreamy. Silver-grey eyes took everything in as though seeing more than what was visible.
“Luna!” Ginny exclaimed.
She hurried forward and wrapped her arms around the girl in a quick, enthusiastic hug. Luna returned it serenely.
“Hermione,” Ginny said, “this is Luna Lovegood. We're friends. Luna, this is the Hermione Granger."
"Hello, Luna", said Hermione as she extended her hand at the younger girl, "Nice to meet you."
"Very nice to meet you too Hermione Granger.", said Luna with wide eyes and a serene smile, "Ginny talks about you a lot. As do Ron and Harry. They say you're very clever and kind."
"Oh... that's nice of them.." Hermione said somewhat awkwardly.
Harry smiled. “Hi, Luna.”
Ron nodded. “Alright, Luna.”
Remus inclined his head politely. “Miss Lovegood. How is your father?”
Luna tilted her head slightly, considering. “He’s very well, thank you, sir,” she said calmly. “Though the Nargles have been stealing his quills again.”
Hermione blinked.
“Nargles?” she repeated quietly as she glanced at Harry, eyebrows lifting in question.
Harry only shrugged.
Ginny turned back to them. “I think I’ll sit with Luna,” she said. “We haven’t talked properly in ages.”
“Of course,” Remus said easily. “Go on.”
Ginny smiled, gave Hermione a quick wave, and followed Luna down the corridor.
Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Remus stepped into their carriage together, the door sliding shut behind them as the train hummed with motion.
Harry waited until the corridor noise faded, until Ginny’s laughter drifted away with Luna’s soft voice.
“I’m actually glad she went with Luna,” he said quietly. “I didn’t really want to talk about this in front of her.”
Hermione looked at him sharply. “Talk about what, Harry?” She shifted closer. “Ron mentioned in his letter that there was something you wanted to tell me.”
Harry took a breath.
“On the night of Lughnasadh,” he said, “after we got back from the Burrow… there was someone waiting in my room.”
Hermione frowned. “Someone?”
“A house-elf,” Harry said. “I’d never seen him before. His said his name was Dobby.”
“Oh? What did he want?”
Harry’s jaw tightened. “He told me I mustn’t return to Hogwarts this year. He said something terrible was going to happen at the castle.”
Hermione cast a glance at Ron. From h8s expression she could tell that he'd already been told all of this.
Harry continued. “He wouldn’t explain what would happen, or how he knew. Just kept saying he’d be punished if he told me more. He had a lot of bruises on his arms and his face. He begged me not to go back. And then left.”
Silence settled over the carriage.
"That sounds awful", Hermione said quietly, "the poor fellow"
Harry shook his head. “He was terrified.... I wish I could have helped him. But he just… disappeared.”
Harry added that he had already told Sirius and Remus.
Remus, who was seated across from them in the carriage, nodded. “We don’t know of any House-elf by the name of Dobby,” he said quietly. “Which means he’s likely bound to someone we don’t know well.”
Hermione looked at him sharply. “Bound?”
Remus hesitated. Colour rose faintly in his cheeks. “Yes, Hermione", he said, a little awkwardly. “House-elves are… owned. They’re the property of wizarding families.”
Hermione stared at him, clearly taken aback.
Owned.
“That’s slavery,” Hermione said flatly. Then, after a beat, “Is anyone trying to free them?”
Ron laughed, a short, incredulous sound. “Free them? Hermione, house-elves like being owned. They’ve been serving wizarding families for centuries.”
Hermione stared at him. “That doesn’t make it right. People once said the same thing about all sorts of atrocities.”
Ron frowned. “You’re being ridiculous. Elves aren’t like people. They’re different. They want to serve. Take that elf Harry mentioned — sneaking out to warn him? That’s loyalty.”
“That’s fear,” Hermione shot back. “He was bruised, Ron. You don’t get bruises from loyalty. That poor elf was probably abused."
"Well... maybe", Ron added hastily, "that one wizarding family is awful to their elf. But the others don't want to be free."
"That's preposterous Ron.", Hermione nearly shouted, "Slavery is wrong, even if the slave owner isn't always cruel."
Ron’s ears went pink. “You don’t understand how things work here, Hermione. You can’t just waltz in and decide everything’s wrong because it doesn’t fit Muggle ideas.”
“And you can’t justify cruelty just because it’s tradition,” Hermione snapped. “If someone is owned, punished, and forbidden from speaking freely, that is slavery. Calling it something else doesn’t change it.”
Ron crossed his arms. “You’re acting like wizards are monsters.”
“I’m saying this is monstrous,” Hermione replied, her voice tight. “And the fact that everyone just accepts it makes it worse.”
Silence fell in the carriage, thick and uncomfortable.
Harry shifted in his seat, looking between them. Remus watched Hermione with a thoughtful expression.
Ron looked away first, jaw clenched.
Hermione sat rigidly, hands balled in her lap. Furious, not just at Ron, but at a world that could normalise something so deeply wrong.
She turned to Harry. “Harry?”
He hesitated. “I...I don’t really know much about Elves,” he said awkwardly. “The only one I’ve ever met is Kreacher. And he seems happy to serve.”
Hermione’s jaw tightened. She knew Harry agreed with her. She knew it. He was from the Muggle world, he'd have to know that slavery was unacceptable. But he wouldn’t say it. Not out loud. Not against Ron. Never against Ron.
“You do agree, Harry,” she said, hurt creeping into her voice. “You just don’t want to say it.”
Harry looked away, clearly uncomfortable.
That hurt more than she expected.
Before either of them could speak again, Remus interjected calmly.
“No one,” he said, “has ever asked House Elves what they want.”
They all looked at him.
“For all we know, they aren't allowed to ask for freedom. Or even good treatment. Wizarding society treats certain beings poorly,” Remus continued. “Some magical creatures, like werewolves such as myself, live with prejudice every day."
He looked at the boys and added, "It’s all right to admit that our world isn’t perfect.”
Hermione felt a rush of gratitude and looked at him.
Ron stared at the floor. Harry looked faintly ashamed.
The train rattled on, carrying them toward Hogwarts.
They arrived at Hogwarts as the sky was in the midst of turning orange.
Down by the water, Hagrid was already herding the first years toward the boats, his great silhouette unmistakable even at a distance.
Hermione spotted Ginny immediately, her red hair vivid against her black robes. Ginny looked up, saw them, and waved enthusiastically. Hermione, Harry and Ron waved back, smiling.
The castle rose ahead of them, ancient and immense, its windows glowing warmly in the gathering dusk. No matter how many times she saw it, the sight still made something settle in her chest. A sense of arrival, of inevitability.
Being second years, they were directed toward the wooden carriages that seemed to pull themselves. The doors closed softly.
As the carriage lurched forward and rolled up the winding path toward the castle, Hermione glanced back once more at the lake, at the bobbing lanterns and the small figures of the first years setting off across the water.
Ginny’s boat drifted farther away.
Ahead, Hogwarts waited.
September 1, 1994. The Great Hall, Hogwarts
Hermione slipped away from Harry and Ron at the entrance to the Great Hall, after promising to see them for lunch the next day. Turning left toward the Slytherin tables while they headed for Gryffindor.
She reached the second year table and took her usual seat at the far end, deliberately distant from the clustered knots of Slytherins who had already begun whispering among themselves. It suited her. She preferred the margin, a place where she could observe without being observed too closely.
Pansy Parkinson sneered at the as she passed by. It appeared her scars from last year had faded.
Draco Malfoy looked up. His eyes met Hermione’s for the briefest moment. He had grown over the summer - taller, broader in the shoulders. Whatever expression crossed his face vanished almost immediately as he looked away, jaw tightening.
Hermione exhaled softly and turned her attention back to the centre of the Hall.
The Sorting Ceremony had begun.
One by one, the first-years were called forward, their names echoing off enchanted stone. The first year tables of the four Houses filled gradually.
Hermione watched with detached interest, occasionally reaching for the small trays of floating appetisers that drifted past. She absently noted which Houses were filling fastest, which students looked nervous, which stood straighter after their placement.
A year ago, she had been sitting where they were now. She remembered the tight knot in her stomach as the Hat slipped over her curls. The way the Slytherin table had gone unnervingly quiet when her name was called. The looks she'd recieved. Sharp, appraising, openly disdainful. That sense of being measured and found wanting before she had even spoken a word.
It may have mattered to her that night, though she'd told herself that it didn't. Now, she simply watched.
The whispers no longer reached her. The glances slid off her like rain. She had learned that belonging did not always come from acceptance. Sometimes it came from endurance. Besides, she'd already been accepted by those who mattered to her.
Hermione popped a honeyed nut into her mouth and returned her attention to the Sorting, calm, composed, and very much unmoved.
The process went on for hours, just as it had last year.
A name was called that immediately drew Hermione’s attention.
“Ginny Weasley!”
Before the Hat had even finished shouting “GRYFFINDOR!”, Ron and Harry were on their feet as they clapped, Fred and George whooped loudly from the fourth year table. Hermione smiled as she spotted Ginny’s flushed, triumphant face.
A little later...
“Luna Lovegood!”
The blonde girl with the dreamy smile stepped forward serenely, as though she were being invited to tea rather than Sorted.
The Hat was placed on her head and in a few seconds, it announced, “RAVENCLAW!”
Hermione blinked.
Ravenclaw?
She watched Luna drift toward the blue and bronze tables, already gazing at the enchanted ceiling as if she’d forgotten where she was. Hermione frowned faintly. Intelligence, she thought, surely required focus. Still, the Hat never made mistakes… Supposedly.
The Sorting went on. And on.
Hermione shifted slightly in her seat as the hours wore by. She reached for another appetiser, watching the ceremony with calm detachment.
Much later, Professor McGonagall called out another name that caused many of the Purebloods on her table to pause their chatter and pay attention.
“Theodore Nott.”
A tall, thin boy with dark curls stepped forward. He sat rigidly on the stool, shoulders squared.
“SLYTHERIN!,” the Hat declared.
Theodore Nott rose and made his way toward the Slytherin first year table. As he passed, Draco Malfoy gave him the barest nod - precise, controlled. Theo returned it in kind before sitting down.
Hermione observed the exchange carefully.
Not friendly. Formal. Transactional. Probably not friends, she decided.
She leaned back slightly, the murmurs of the Hall washing over her as the Sorting continued, the future quietly arranging itself beneath the enchanted ceiling.
After the Sorting concluded, Dumbledore rose from his seat, the Great Hall gradually quieting beneath his calm presence.
“Before we begin our feast,” he said, “we have a very special guest with us this evening. Please allow me to introduce Edmund Ashworth,” Dumbledore continued, “scholar, philanthropist, and founder of the Havenfield Home for Squibs.”
A murmur rippled through the Hall.
Dumbledore went on.
“Mr Ashworth earned his NEWTS from this very institution twenty-two years earlier, graduating with the highest of honours. He is here tonight as part of his initiative known as The Heart’s Road. Over the past year, he has travelled across Wizarding Britain and Europe, visiting communities most deeply affected by the war. His work centres on reconciliation, compassion, and the art of forgiveness.”
Dumbledore inclined his head toward the dais. “This evening, he has graciously agreed to share that message with the students of Hogwarts.”
The Headmaster stepped aside.
Hermione straightened slightly on the Slytherin table when Dumbledore spoke the name Edmund Ashworth. She had read so much about him.
A Muggle-born who had not only survived the war years but emerged afterward as a scholar, a reformer, a man whose name carried real weight in both academic and philanthropic circles.
That alone was rare.
What made it rarer still was that Ashworth had done it without blood purity, political alliances, or inherited wealth to shield him. He had done it by being undeniably brilliant, unfailingly ethical, and most controversially, by insisting that compassion was not weakness.
Hermione saw Malfoy grinning maliciously at his followers, surely saying something disrespectful about the Muggle-born scholar.
Of course he would react this way. She remembered the things he'd said about the Heart's Road Initiative last year.
Hermione decided she didn't care. Someone she admired was going to speak and she was going to pay attention to every word.
Edmond Ashworth, a small man, in his early forties, mounted the dais. He was unassuming in appearance. Neatly dressed, hair already greying at the temples, but he carried himself with quiet composure. He paused for a moment, surveying the Hall, his gaze lingering briefly on each of the four House banners before he spoke.
“My thanks to you, Headmaster Dumbledore,” he said quietly. “And my gratitude to Hogwarts. An institution that shaped me, challenged me, and gave me an education for which I have never stopped being grateful. I stood where you sit now twenty-two years ago, awaiting my NEWTs, full of hope and fear in equal measure.”
A faint, wistful smile crossed his face.
“I come to you tonight not as a scholar, nor as a philanthropist, but as a man who has lived through war, and through what comes after war.”
His voice grew firmer.
“In recent months, tensions between Muggle-born witches and wizards and the wider magical community have once again begun to harden. We have seen words turn cruel. We have seen suspicion replace trust. And, most painfully, we have seen violence return - most recently in the town of Thornemere Hollow"
A murmur rippled through the Hall.
“I have walked through towns where the stones still remember screams,” Ashworth continued. “I have spoken to Squibs cast aside by their own blood, to Muggle-borns who were told they did not belong, to pure-blood families who lost sons and daughters to a war that promised glory and delivered only graves.”
He paused, letting the weight of it settle.
“We tell ourselves that we remember the war so that it will never happen again. But remembrance without reflection becomes resentment. And resentment, left to fester, becomes hatred.”
His gaze swept the students.
“You are the generation that will decide whether wizarding Europe continues to bleed from old wounds, or whether we finally choose to heal. Healing does not mean forgetting the dead. It does not mean pretending the past did not happen. It means refusing to let pain become an inheritance.”
His voice softened.
“Forgiveness is not weakness. It is courage of the highest order. And peace is not built by those who shout the loudest, but by those who are willing to listen, to question, and to see one another as fully human, or fully magical, rather than as labels.”
He inclined his head slightly.
“Hogwarts has always stood as a symbol of unity. Four Houses, one school. Many origins, one future. I ask you to carry that truth beyond these walls. Choose curiosity over fear. Choose compassion over pride. Choose the long, difficult road of the heart..."
At the teachers’ table, Remus Lupin sat very still. As Ashworth spoke, memories pressed in unbidden. Screams tearing through the night, the smell of smoke and blood, entire towns burning while the sky glowed an unnatural red. Faces rose and vanished again, too fast to hold, too painful to linger on.
He kept his expression composed through sheer habit, kept a firm rein on his emotions.
"...and perhaps then,” Ashworth continued, “the next generation will inherit a world quieter than the one we were given.”
The applause pulled Remus back to the present. Some of it was enthusiastic, some hesitant, some merely polite. Ashworth bowed once, before shaking hands with Dumbledore and McGonagall.
September 1, 1994. Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts
Ginny sat cross-legged on her bed after her dormmates Amanda Greenfield and Josephine Cunningham had gone to sleep. The curtains around her bed were drawn, the dormitory quiet around her. Her trunk lay half-unpacked at her feet, but she’d forgotten about it entirely.
The diary, her new friend, rested on her knees.
She dipped her quill in ink and wrote eagerly.
Dear Tom, I got Sorted today. Gryffindor!
The words vanished almost at once, before fresh ink bloomed across the page.
I knew you would, You’re brave, Ginny. I could feel it in you.
Ginny’s chest warmed. She grinned, cheeks flushing, and bent closer.
Hogwarts is wonderful. The castle is enormous and the food is amazing and everyone clapped when my name was called. I’ve never felt so… important.
The reply came - smooth, confident.
You are important, Ginny, You always have been. Gryffindor was lucky to have you.
She hugged the diary briefly to her chest before writing again, the words tumbling out faster now.
When I grow up, I’m going to be very successful. I’m going to make so much money that Mum and Dad will never have to worry about bills again. Never. I hate that they worry.
There was a pause this time, just long enough for her to notice. Then the ink appeared.
That’s a noble wish, Ginny. Wanting to protect the people you love shows how strong you are.
More words followed, elegant and reassuring.
You have ambition, Ginny. Talent too. I can already tell. People like you don’t stay small forever.
Ginny smiled to herself, heart full, fingers tightening around the diary’s cover.
She wrote about Peeves, the poltergeist. How he’d swooped down shrieking as they entered Gryffindor Tower, knocking hats askew and cackling madly. She wrote about laughing and screaming and clutching her trunk as if it might save her.
Tom replied with dry amusement.
Poltergeists are rarely impressive creatures, and fear loses its power once you learned to laugh at it.
She went on, her handwriting growing more animated as she described the House Captain Selection Ceremony, held in the House Common Hall. How a massive lion of living fire had leapt into existence, pacing slowly around the sixth and seventh year Prefects, before choosing one.
She told him it had been Richard White, a seventh year Prefect. That Percy had looked terribly disappointed when the lion passed him by. She admitted she hoped Percy would be Captain next year. And then added, with a little grin, that she also worried how much more insufferable it would make him.
Tom’s reply was light, teasing without cruelty.
Ambition often reveals itself in interesting ways. Leadership can sharpen people, or soften them, depending on what lay beneath.
Ginny wrote that five junior Prefects had been chosen too. That Parvati Patil, whom she’d only met once before, was now a Prefect. She wondered, almost shyly, whether she might ever be chosen herself when she reached fourth year.
The answer came without hesitation.
Of course you will. You have the makings of someone others will look up to.
Ginny felt a pleasant warmth spread through her chest. She told Tom Riddle she couldn’t wait for classes to begin the next day. Spells, potions, flying lessons and everything that came with being a witch at Hogwarts. Then, after a moment, she wrote goodnight.
Sweet dreams, Ginny. And remember, you can tell me anything you want
September 12, 1994. Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch
The Gryffindor Junior Quidditch tryouts were held on a bright afternoon. The stands were empty, but the pitch was alive with nervous energy as second-years, among others, gathered with brooms and hopeful expressions.
Harry stood beside Ron, Dean, and Seamus, tightening his grip on his broomstick. Katie Bell paced nearby, stretching her shoulders, her expression focused. There were three vacant positions this year. Seeker, Chaser, and Keeper. The players who had held them last season had been promoted to fifth year and were no longer juniors.
Madam Hooch blew her whistle sharply.
“Chasers first!"
Katie mounted her broom with smooth confidence and kicked off hard. From the first pass, it was clear she was exceptional. She flew low and fast, weaving between the practice hoops with ease, her turns tight and controlled. She caught and released the Quaffle at full speed, barely slowing as she scored again and again. Among the twelve Gryffindors who tried for the spot, she was clearly the best.
Parvati Patil, already a Chaser on the Junior team, flew alongside her during one drill, matching her pace. When Katie landed, slightly breathless but grinning, Parvati hugged her mid-field.
“Welcome to the team,” she said brightly, as soon as Madam Hooch announced that they had their new Chaser.
Katie laughed, flushed with pride.
Next came the Keeper trials.
Dean, Ron, and Seamus all lined up before the hoops. One by one, they took turns defending against a barrage of shots from older students. Dean was quick but hesitated under pressure. Seamus had good reflexes but overcommitted, leaving gaps. Ron blocked several shots, his timing improving as the trial went on, but he missed two critical saves in a row.
In the end, it was a tall third-year boy, Cornac Mclaggen, who impressed the most. He was steady, consistent, and calm. Madam Hooch nodded once and wrote his name down.
“Keeper,” she announced.
Ron swallowed, forcing a nod as he stepped back.
Finally, it was time to choose the Seeker.
Harry took off the moment the whistle sounded. The Snitch was released, flashing gold as it darted away. Harry leaned forward instinctively, his broom, the Nimbus 2001 he'd recieved for his birthday, responding as if it were an extension of his body. He accelerated sharply, cutting through the air with precision.
He twisted, rolled, and dove, narrowly missing the Snitch once, then corrected instantly, pulling into a sharp climb. Gasps echoed faintly from the sidelines as he banked hard and shot forward, fingers closing around the Snitch mid-turn.
He landed moments later, breathless but steady. Madam Hooch looked at him for a long moment.
“Seeker,” she said simply.
Harry felt a rush of relief and excitement surge through him.
As the remaining students gathered, Madam Hooch addressed them again.
“We also require two reserve players.”
She named Seamus first, then a fourth-year boy. Both stepped forward, surprised and pleased.
Ron waited. His name was not called.
He stared at the ground, shoulders stiff, disappointment settling heavily in his chest. Not even a reserve. He nodded when Harry glanced at him, managing a weak smile, but his hands were clenched tight around his broom.
The team began to disperse, celebrations breaking out among those selected. Harry hesitated, torn between his own triumph and Ron’s silence, as the wind swept across the pitch and the empty stands loomed overhead.