Ron looked up and grinned as Harry yelled in excitement at the players swooping past. His friend had been really poorly all summer, but Ron was relieved that Snape had let his Ward come to the Quidditch match with the Weasley's. Harry wasn't allowed to camp out with them of course, and Snape had insisted on attending to keep an eye on his Ward, but all in all things couldn't be much better.
Ron had never been so frightened in his life when he'd woken in the hospital wing and found Hermione clutching his hand and sobbing in heart break. Harry hadn't been there, and Ron had panicked. It had taken Hermione shouting in his ear to calm him down and listen to her tear laden tale. Harry had run into the forest to save Sirius Black from the swarming Dementors. Snape had gone with him, and they'd both been followed by the Headmaster. Apparently the Headmaster had arrived as the Dementors had started attacking Harry and Snape, and hadn't been able to hold them off fully. Harry had apparently cast a Patronus so strong it had driven every single Dementor back to Azkaban, howling all the way.
Harry had collapsed and been brought back to the hospital wing, along with Black. Snape had paced beside Harry's bed for a bit, then their friend had woken up. According to Hermione, Harry had been insane with fear, screaming and striking out with his magic and his fists at anyone who came too close. Then he'd started convulsing, having some sort of fit right there on the bed while Madam Pomfrey had tried to stabilise him. In the end, Snape had managed to pin Harry to the bed and had proceeded to stare at their best friend 'really hard, Ron, like he was trying to read his mind or something'. Harry had stopped freaking out, but the moment Snape had let go the convulsions had started again.
Harry had been taken into a private ward at once, leaving Hermione to sit with Ron and imagine the worst. They didn't know if their friend had survived until Madam Pomfrey came to check on his leg. She'd potioned Hermione and put her to bed next to Ron when their best friend started weeping again.
They hadn't seen Harry before leaving school, which Ron had resented greatly. By the time they'd got to Platform 9 and ¾ the newspapers had been full of Sirius Black's arrest and the appearance of Peter Pettigrew. Ron's former pet had been trialled and sentenced in the space of a week, and Black was in St Mungo's with the mind healers, who were still trying to put him back together after over a decade of torment.
The redhead pushed those thoughts aside, yelling with Harry as Krum swept past the box, feinting through the other players in a complex manoeuvre. In the corner of his eye he could see Snape, a thin black streak that was watching them carefully as they enjoyed the match.
Snape would have to be treated with more respect next year. He was still an evil bat, but he'd taken good care of Harry, even if his friend was a bit on the pale and thin side. It had been weeks before Harry had been strong enough to write to Ron, and his letters had been brief, shaky affairs. Ron's mum had wanted the dark haired teen where she could feed him up and keep an eye on him, but Snape wasn't having any of that. He had heard Snape remind Harry that good behaviour today would get him a visit with his friends later in the holiday, so he and Hermione were on their best behaviour, avoiding asking awkward questions and standing with Snape instead of wandering off to look at all the exciting stuff on offer.
Harry and Snape apparently got along now… though how or why that had happened Ron would probably never figure out. Snape would say something a bit snarky, and Harry would grin instead of taking offence… it was an odd dynamic but it worked. Harry had confessed he'd spent most of his time not in bed reading school books out of bed brewing, but he didn't seem to mind much. His friend had also said that the castle had installed a door directly between Snape's rooms and Harry's, which was apparently a good thing.
"Hey Harry, seen the Snitch yet?" Fred leaned between Ron and his mate to ask, interrupting his train of thought. Ron bristled, prepared to defend his friend – after all, this was international Quidditch, not the school rated stuff that they played.
"Actually twice," Harry grinned, "It's really hard not to point it out, sometimes."
"Sure Potter," Fred snorted, and Harry turned to glare at the twin, something in his eyes wiping the smirk off Fred's face. There was something faintly Snape-like in that glare, which made it all the more intimidating.
"It's in the middle of the pitch…" Harry broke off as Krum suddenly turned and headed for the middle of the pitch, arm out in the classic Seekers pose. Fred and Ron were quiet as Harry narrated softly for them the twists and turns of the elusive gold ball, something that was moving so fast they couldn't see it at all. They could see Krum matching Harry's narration, and when the Seeker finally grabbed it the stadium exploded into frantic noise and cheers.
"Bloody hell," Fred muttered, cowed. He withdrew and Ron slung an arm around his friend, grinning as if Harry himself had been out on the pitch.
"Bloody brilliant," the redhead yelled and Harry laughed, cheering with him as the teams headed for the ground.