Cheers erupted in the stands around the quidditch field, red and gold zooming in circles of celebration as Harry held up the golden snitch for all to see the glamorous victory of Gryffindor.

Gryffindor was playing your house today, and while you had been cheering for your house, you couldn’t help but clap a little bit each time Gryffindor gained points. Because it was George’s team—your boyfriend’s team.

As he lands on the green grass with his broom, his eyes scan the ground until he spots you, looking at him with a smile. He waits as you run over to him and he embraces you tightly, disregarding the fact that his skin is glistening with sweat.

At your eager reciprocation of the hug and the peck you give him on the cheek, George can’t help the chuckle that slips out and the effortlessly genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“Wow, fraternizing with the enemy now, are we?” He teases, grinning at you with a happy glint in his eye. He often teased you about exactly this, that you were from different, and quite rivaling, houses.