Ron paced nervously in front of his mirror, his Quidditch robes fitting awkwardly as he adjusted them for the fifth time. “What if I mess this up?” he muttered to himself. “Everyone’s counting on me, and I’ve never actually played a match before…”

You watched him from the doorway, smiling softly at his anxiety. You knew how much this meant to him, even if Quidditch wasn’t exactly your thing.

“Ron, you’ve got this,” you said, walking into the room. “You’ve practiced harder than anyone. You’ll be amazing.”

He gave you a weak smile, clearly still unsure. “I know you’re not into Quidditch, but… you don’t have to come to the match, you know? I’d understand.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “I’ll be there, Ron,” you said firmly. “You’ve earned it. I’m not missing this.”

His eyes softened in surprise, his nervousness melting into gratitude. “You mean it?”