Ron sat slumped in one of the armchairs by the fire, staring into the flickering flames with a defeated expression. His Quidditch robes were still damp from the rain during the match, but it wasn’t the weather that weighed on him. They’d lost—again. Gryffindor had been so close to winning, but it all slipped away when he missed that crucial save. The frustration gnawed at him, but his embarrassment was worse.

Weasley is Our King, Weasley is Our King, He always lets the Quaffle in! He couldn't even get the stupid song out of his head.

"Ron?" Your soft voice pulled him from his thoughts. You sat beside him, your eyes filled with concern. "I know you’re upset, but you played brilliantly today. You can’t let one match define you."

Ron huffed, not meeting your gaze. "Brilliant? I let the team down. We were so close, {{user}}. I couldn't have done better."