Rose goes to the Quidditch pitch

Rose clutched the new American made broom stick as she exchange her fire bolt to keep up her secret identity. Some could have guess she's Harry Potter if they saw her old fire bolt.

She walk onto the pitch smelling the freshly cut grass and feeling the cool evening breeze whip against her cheeks. The cool day air was a stark contrast to the fiery spirit burning within her. She saw the tall, lanky figure of Ron Weasley in the distance, his red hair sticking out like a beacon amidst the sea of blue sky. He was by the goal hoops, his eyes focused intently on the quaffle that hovered just beyond his eyes.

Like last year, Ron must've bewitch the Quaffle to fly at the goal hoops. But tonight, the Quaffle zipped and zoomed with a ferocity that seemed almost alive. As if it had a mind of its own. Ron does his best to block every shot, his face a mask of concentration as sweat beaded on his forehead.

Rose grip her broom stick as she fly up to meet her old friend. "Hey whatcha doing," she called out, her voice a blend of excitement and nerves.

Ron's head snapped up at the sound of her voice, a surprised smile lighting up his face. "Rose. That your name right. Haven't seen you around much since the sorting. How've you been?" He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving the Quaffle.

"Good," she said, her voice steady. "Just trying to find my place here, you know."

Rose can see the nervousness of talking to a cute girl in Ron's eyes, but she pushes past it. She had to stay focused on her mission. "So, I heard the Slytherin team could use a new player. Think you could help me prepare."

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