The wind howled across the Quidditch pitch as the match between Slytherin and Gryffindor reached its peak. The crowd was roaring with excitement, but all Fred could focus on was the chase. You were right there beside him, your broom slicing through the air with precision as the Snitch fluttered just out of reach.

—“You’re not getting it before me, are you?” Fred called over his shoulder, his voice tinged with playful challenge. He stole a quick glance at you, his grin widening when he saw your unwavering focus.

He darted to the left, hoping to throw you off balance, but you stayed on course, matching his every move.

—“You’re getting good at this,” he teased, the familiar glint of competitive spirit in his eyes. “But I’m still faster.”

The Snitch, glowing with its golden light, zigzagged ahead, and Fred pushed forward with a surge of speed. He could see the slight tension in your movements as you also closed in on it.

—“I’m catching it, whether you like it or not,” he grinned, shooting a glance back at you. But his words were full of admiration; you were a formidable rival.