Let's paint a scenario: you grind away at League of Legends until you finally hit level 30. After countless grueling matches, you claw your way out of Silver and just barely reach Gold. Brimming with pride, you start bragging to your friends about the brutal climb from Bronze to Silver, and the transformation from Silver to Gold.
Then suddenly, someone nearby chimes in with admiration in their eyes and says to your friend:
"So this is where the great Challenger player hangs out! I was lucky enough to witness one of your epic highlight reels, you absolutely dominated that match!"
At that moment... how badly would your soul shatter?
Well, right now, the Weasley twins found themselves in exactly that kind of hilariously awkward situation.
Thankfully, their dear older brother quickly rescued them from this "stuck-between-a-rock-and-a-hard-place" moment, because guess who scored the top two rankings in the Beater tryouts?
Yep. Fred and George.
"Good luck out there. I'm rooting for you two." Allen smiled and gave them two big thumbs up, though he kept the thumbs apart. Bringing them together would've made the whole vibe weirdly dramatic.
The twins nodded and stepped forward onto the field. Gone were the grins and mischief they usually wore. They knew exactly what kind of person their older brother was. If they dared to joke around now, he wouldn't hesitate to boot them off the field before they even got a chance to try out.
Luckily for them, their performance was solid, even by Allen's standards.
But things went downhill after that. The next candidate in line got knocked clean off his broom by a stray Bludger and crashed to the ground, howling in pain.
The tryouts were immediately paused. Everyone rushed toward the poor guy lying in the grass. Thankfully, it wasn't anything too serious, just a dislocated shoulder, not a full-blown fracture. Still, the pain was apparently unbearable.
"Good news, just a dislocation," said Oliver Wood, who was closest, nodding to the others.
"Are you kidding me? Get me to the infirmary, AAAAAGH!" the injured boy screamed like a pig being slaughtered.
Snap. Wood popped the shoulder back into place with a crisp, audible crack.
Injuries on the pitch were normal. Minor ones like this? Every seasoned player could deal with them.
"Oh, sorry! I forgot the numbing charm," Wood apologized. But the twinkle of mischievous satisfaction in his eyes didn't escape Allen.
Clearly, as a future Quidditch captain utterly obsessed with the game, Wood had no patience for showboaters who interrupted the tryouts without the skills to back it up.
Allen was all for it. Sure, he could've used a painless healing charm, or even levitated the guy with his current level of magic. But why should he?
Even the nearby Gryffindors weren't exactly sympathetic.
"That idiot Richie again… always bragging about how he didn't make the House team last year because of a stomach bug. Well, look at him now!"
Gryffindors took Quidditch tryouts very seriously. Otherwise, why else would so many of them have shown up to watch?
Don't underestimate the House teams, either. Many of these student players were effectively the reserve pool for the national squad. With Hogwarts being the only wizarding school in Britain, national teams had no choice but to recruit from here.
No wonder the Houses went crazy over Quidditch matches. Some of these students were future stars, some might even go on to play for their country. Just imagine a parent someday pointing out a player during an international match and saying:
"See that guy up there?"
The kid nods, eyes shining with admiration.
Then the parent says, trying to sound casual,
"Heh, don't idolize me or anything, but when that guy joined our House team, I was a seventh-year. Actually showed him around on his first day, so yeah, no big deal…"
This, by the way, is also why no one complains that Quidditch captains are treated on par with prefects, even though prefects are part of the official Hogwarts Student Council for all of Britain's magical schools.
Back to the twins, Allen could tell they felt a bit awkward since the guy who wiped out just so happened to be someone they often talked about as a "big shot." But judging by the look in their eyes, they were clearly feeling much more relaxed now.
After a long afternoon, Gryffindor finally finalized their lineup. But Allen had serious doubts about their chances at winning the House Cup this year.
He wasn't even factoring in Hufflepuff's squad, who had been training like maniacs under a certain secret plan. Just looking at the Gryffindor team alone, they had problems.
Too many new players.
That's never a good thing. Apart from a flashy, overly aggressive Seeker who clearly didn't gel with the team, most of the others struggled with coordination. The new recruits were like unpolished cogs thrown into a finely tuned machine.
Not that Allen was complaining. As a Hufflepuff, his loyalty naturally lay with his own House. The weaker the competition, the better.
"Allen!" Charlie called out hoarsely from across the field, waving. "And Fred, George, you both did great!"
He paused for a moment, realizing that might've sounded a bit off, but couldn't quite find the words to fix it.
"Anyway, today turned out pretty well, don't you think? How about we go celebrate with some food?" he asked with a sly wink.
Allen knew what that wink meant, there'd be contraband involved. Most likely... a round of butterbeer.
The group of six laid out a picnic blanket on a quiet grassy patch and began unpacking the feast Charlie had brought in a small basket. And just as promised, the drinks flowed freely.
Hold on. Six people?
Allen suddenly noticed something was off.
In addition to Annie, who had rushed over after finishing an extra Potions class for Slytherins, there was someone else. Angelina.
Apparently, the ever-subtle Angelina had quietly integrated herself into the group without anyone realizing. Bravo, girl. You win.
Fred's secret "grooming plan" had been hijacked, and Allen could only raise his glass in resignation.
Watching Fred and George excitedly celebrating with their big brother, oblivious to the scheme in motion, and Charlie, who remained none the wiser, Allen downed a full mug of butterbeer.
Good luck, Fred. You're going to need it.
Charlie, for his part, looked absolutely thrilled. And no wonder, he had taught the twins how to fly. Seeing them become the top two Beaters in the tryouts made him feel like a proud farmer watching his crops ripen before harvest.
Sadly, Allen had to play the role of mood-killer.
Casually, in the middle of their chat, he asked:
"By the way... I haven't seen Percy around lately. Where's he been?"
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