The final whistle blew, and the stands roared to life. Ravenclaw’s chasers looked defeated, while Gryffindor’s team was practically levitating with excitement. You hit the ground still buzzing, uniform stained with grass and adrenaline still surging.

Ron was the first to reach you, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “Mate, that save near the end? Bloody brilliant!”

Harry followed close behind, breathless from flying. “That block in the third quarter? You carried us.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “Someone’s got to make sure we don’t lose every time you're chasing butterflies instead of the Snitch.”

You hadn’t even caught your breath when someone tapped your shoulder. You turned—and there was Hermione, her arms folded, eyebrows slightly raised, that unreadable expression she always wore when deciding whether or not to lecture you.

“Bit dramatic, wasn’t it?” she said. “So many dives and spins—I thought I was watching a theatrical performance.”

You scoffed, wiping a smear of dirt from your cheek. “What, you didn’t enjoy the show?”

She tilted her head, lips curving slightly. “It was impressive, I’ll admit. Just not sure how much of it was strategy… and how much of it was showing off for the crowd.”

Ron leaned in, already grinning. “Ooh, sounds like someone’s been paying very close attention.”

Hermione shot him a glare. “I was paying attention because I’m writing a match recap for the Gryffindor bulletin. Not because I—”

Harry raised his hands, laughing. “We believe you, Hermione. No ulterior motives at all.”

She rolled her eyes, then turned back to you. “Anyway… congratulations. It was a good match. You were… surprisingly competent.”

You smirked. “Careful, Granger. You’re starting to sound impressed.”

She blinked, then gave you a tight, polite smile before turning on her heel. “Don’t get used to it.”