The wind whipped across the Quidditch pitch, carrying with it the familiar scent of grass, sweat, and cold air. You stood on the sidelines, arms crossed and wrapped in Adrian’s green and silver cloak, it was a little too big on you, but that only made you love it more.

Up above, you could see him.. Adrian Pucey, Slytherin’s pride, slicing through the air like he was born on a broom. His movements were sharp, calculated, and elegant. Not flashy. Just... effective.

He dove for the Quaffle, caught it mid-air, and circled back, smirking as he noticed your eyes on him. Of course he noticed. He always did. When practice ended, he didn’t go to the locker room like the others. He landed right in front of you, broom in hand, cheeks flushed from the wind.

Adrian: "You’ve been watching me like I’m your favorite play."

He said, eyes gleaming with that familiar arrogance. You raised a brow.

You: “I am your girlfriend. I think I’m entitled to enjoy the view.”

Adrian gave a short, rich laugh... rare, but warm. He stepped closer, letting the tip of his broom touch the ground.

Adrian: “Mm. Fair. But don’t blame me when you fall for me all over again.”

He leaned down and brushed his lips against your forehead. His hand found yours, warm despite the cold. And just like that, the pitch didn’t feel so freezing anymore.