Puddlemere United
or
Chudley Canons?

Mist encapsulated the luscious expanses of foliage across the Quidditch pitches, rapturing the songbirds who seized the crack of dawn. Tendrils of sunshine filtered through grey skies, extending golden kisses to the dewdrops that washed over the earth, ceasing in waves beyond the Black Lake.

As his drooping eyelids struggling to adjust the sun's majesty, Ronald Weasley realised that waking up early was a bad idea. He let out a yawn, then glanced at his new broomstick, his tired vision unwilling to behold the sun's artwork upon the canvas of clouds. Letting his lungs revel in the fresh breeze for a while, he stretched his arms. It was a fine moment to catch up on another wink of slumber.

And a far more remarkable set-up to fly, and feel free, for a change.

Ron would have changed the course of his footsteps, directing them back to his dorm room if a foreign azure spark didn't fragment the serene landscape. As far as he knew, the sun didn't emanate a blue that blue? Even Filch was sleeping at this early hour, as he had noticed on the Marauders' Map.

His hand reached to his pocket, fingers curling around his wand. Voldemort couldn't possibly be marching the grounds, could he be? Was this a sign of security breach — a Death Eater invasion? He stepped towards the sparks gingerly, regretting not bringing the map with him.

If this was indeed the work of Death Eaters, could they have infilitrated the castle? Attacked Harry — no, he was being ridiculous.

Before he could brace himself to cast a spell, however, a rouge ball sped out of the fog, almost knocking him over.

Voldemort wouldn't be playing Quidditch in the grounds.

Following the quaffle was a boy riding a tattered Nimbus — the only detail he had caught over the blurred interference of the atmosphere. Awed, he watched the boy as he chased the ball around the pitch, somersaulting as if he was controlling the winds before looping the largest Quidditch ball through one of the hoops. His landing was smooth, enthralling even, and the ginger found himself gaping at the Chaser until he had noticed him.

"Blimey, you scared the bloody hell out of me!" Ron exclaimed, as he found the other boy's eyes on him, immediately recognising him as a Hufflepuff — Andre Carrero; one of the few boys in his year he had barely interacted with.

"¡Cielos!" The boy yelled, startled. "What are you doing down there?"

"Birdwatching." 

André's gaze fell to the broom Ron was holding. "Ah, do you intend to follow the flying birds?"

"I followed spiders once," said Ron.

"Flying spiders? On a broom?"

The visual made his throat run dry.

 "I had no clue you could play so well," said Ron, attempting to change the subject to something that didn't involve insects. "Almost a shame the Gryffindor team doesn't have you."

"I don't believe I play well, really," replied he, fidgeting with the handle of his broom. "But I'm trying for the team this year, and I am quite rusty, so I figured out I'd get as much practice as I can."

"Rusty? Malfoy's rusty. You are pretty good. Look, mate, this is how these try-outs go — the whole house turns up for them, half of them can barely fly, and a large fraction can't tell a quaffle and a bludger apart. Won't lie, it gets a bit tough amongst the top few, but that's where practice helps one, right?" 

Andre replied with an nod, poking the Quaffle in his hand with a distracted gaze. Ron's eyes dropped at the ball for a moment, widened, and stared back up at the Hufflepuff.

"You are a bloody Chaser, aren't you?" asked the freckled boy. "I am trying for Keeper. A nasty menace it is, enchanting Quaffles and Bludgers to practice. Well, my brothers are on the team too, Beaters, you must know, but I didn't ask them to practice with me because they'd tease me if they ever found out that I am planning to try," he rambled on, as Andre centered his attention on his words. "Got a new broomstick too, a gift from Mum, since I became prefect, but I am still skeptical about my abilities to make it to the team. Means a lot to me, you know, that feeling—"

"—of being one with the air, slicing through the wind, it's a whole new feeling," completed Andre.

"Refreshing," added Ron.

"Like finally breaking free," André tossed his quaffle into the air.

"Like finally breaking free," repeated Ron, stifling another sudden yawn as his gaze landed on a nest of warbling birds. "Oi, mate, you are a Chaser!" The Gryffindor said after a pause, albeit quite enthusiastically this time. "A chaser."

"I'm aware."

"No, you're not understanding. We could practice together, a lot, lot better than just enchanting Quaffles. What do you think? I reckon it'd be brilliant!"

"It perhaps would be," agreed André, "but I don't want to be troubling you or—"

"Drop the formality, Carrero, it's no trouble at all!" Ron draped his arm around André's shoulder, missing the dusty hue of crimson that rushed to the brunet's cheeks. "Hell, that's going to make it so much more easier for us," he took the Quaffle from the boy's grip, making it bounce against the ground twice. The sunlight was now dancing on the waves of the Great Lake in glimmers of tangerine, watching the grass drift awake in frolic, away from the moon's lullaby. "What do you say, eh?" Ron nudged the boy, throwing the Quaffle up, "We practice together, and we make it to our teams together!"

The boy didn't reply, rubbing the back of his neck as he pondered over the Weasley's offer.

"Come on, it's going to be epic," Ron stirred him off his reverie, already weaving practice strategies.

Andre watched the Quaffle ascend into the floating cumulus overhead, then knelt to free the bludgers out of his Quidditch practice kit. "You are right. It sounds like a plan," he smiled. "Thank you for coming up with this and counting me in."

"It's nothing!" Ron replied, mounting his broomstick. "Let's see how many goals you can score, and how many of them I can save without falling asleep."

"Well, you don't look well-rested, so I'd say the odds of you falling asleep are quite a lot."

"To be fair, I didn't get a lot of sleep last night. But, let's just say, Quidditch beats tiredness better than Hermione's coffee. Come on mate, you've got to catch that Quaffle before it flies further away."

"You are on," The Hufflepuff accepted, taking hold of his own Nimbus 2000, and moments later, both of them were soaring through the air. André scored two — Ron saved one — another two scored — three saved in a row — one scored — one saved — and they went on, and on, until the sun had started blazing a bit too harshly, and Ron had declared that he was hungry.

After grabbing breakfast from the Great Hall, they had started again, Ron excusing himself from Harry and Hermione by faking detention. They flew for another two hours, switching to discussing tactics when they needed a break — one of the discussions turning into a heated debate involving the Chudley Canons and the Puddlemere United, one which would perhaps not have ended if Andre's younger sister, a bubbly Hufflepuff hadn't intervened.

"I took your old third-year Potions notebook," she told André, "I mean you can't blame me, honestly, I looked for you everywhere but you weren't around so I took the liberty of copying off your essay on Sleeping Draughts. I still don't know why Snape had to assign us another essay this week. I wanted to try out the new recipe from Witch Weekly this weekend, but, no, I am stuck analysing stupid Potions!"

"No, it's fine," replied André, giving her hair a light ruffle as she settled by his side. "You can always take any of my books and notes, especially Potions — Snape's teaching is rubbish."

"So, what have you been up to? Quidditch," she scrunched her nose in distaste.

"Yeah," André looked at Ron. "Just practicing a bit."

"A bit?" Ron intervened, "You have been practicing just a bit and Toadrina has been teaching us advanced spells," he rolled his eyes.

"She's not a toad, sire. My dorm-mate happens to have a toad, and they have brains." Felicia said, scanning the ginger, and then back to her brother. "I see you have made a new — ¡Espera! ¿Es tu novio? " 

André placed his hand on her mouth. "Acabo de conocerlo. ¡Es un amigo — Como tú y Isla!"

"Yo no miro a Isla así," said Felicia, pulling his hand away. 

"¡Cierra la boca! Si entendió eso, tienes problemas."

The girl scanned Ron's face again. "Él no tiene ni idea."

Ron couldn't follow the siblings' conversation, but he knew two things for sure.

1. They were talking about him.

2. André Carrero had quite an alluring voice, it was astonishing that he wasn't part of Flitwick's choir.   

She extended her hand to Ron, "Hello, Mr. Quidditch Fanatic, I am Felicia Carrero, and even though I despise Quidditch, I find your company tolerable — that's the highest compliment you're getting from me."

"Be nice, Feli."

Ron shook her hand, "Hello, Felicia, even though you despise Quidditch, I see you love food, so I won't hold it against you."

"Of course, cakes and pies are heaven!" She exclaimed. "You've got to try some of my cookies the next time we meet! The butterscotch ones, remember, André? And the chocolate chip ones, I've got the whole batch we made over summer."

"How could I forget something that scrumptious?" The Hufflepuff smiled, tapping his sister's nose.

Ron's eyes stayed on him, his lips mirroring his smile. Letting out a deep breath, he glanced at his wristwatch, then poked the shoulder of the boy next to him. "Hey, I should head back to the castle before someone comes looking for me too. And you, you should get some rest, you did amazing today."

"We did amazing today. I am looking forward to our next practice session."

"Me too! I will reread the Chudley's Chronicles so we can practice more of  their strategies."

"And I, all editions of the Puddlemere's Tactics!" André exclaimed whilst his feet trailed away.

As he walked back to the Gryffindor Tower, for the first time that year Ron Weasley felt that he had a chance of getting on to his house's Quidditch Team.

A/N : I don't excel at Spanish, so if any of you spot any translation inconsistencies, please do inform me <33 Sending love!