The cold air off the Black Lake bit through Ginny’s sleeves as she leaned against the stone balustrade, watching the water ripple under a grey afternoon sky. Practice had ended early, and the pitch was empty now—quiet enough for her thoughts to get loud. Too loud. Harry’s laugh still echoed in her head from earlier in the day, easy and careless, the kind he gave everyone. Not her. Never just her.

She told herself she was past the silly crush, that she’d dated, lived, proven she wasn’t that shy girl anymore. And yet—every glance he didn’t give her, every time he spoke to her like she was simply Ron’s sister, it stung more than she cared to admit. Ginny clenched her hands, annoyed at herself. She wanted to be chosen.

The castle loomed behind her, warm with noise and life. Ginny straightened, jaw set. If Harry never looked her way, then fine. She would still burn brightly—whether he noticed or not.