You walked quickly through the corridors towards the Quidditch pitch, with the broom firmly in one hand and your heart already racing with the adrenaline of the training to come. The cool wind rustled your cloak and you could smell the grass in the field.

Suddenly, you felt a strong tug on your cape, and before you could react, you fell backwards, landing with a thud on the ground. The broom slipped from his hands and slid down the hall. Annoyed, you looked up, already knowing who it was.

Fred Weasley. Yes, George Weasley's son. The same dark-skinned boy who seemed to have a knack for getting under your skin at moments like this. He was there, with that usual mischievous smile, his brown eyes shining with amusement as he reached out to you.

"Oops," he said, without any remorse, "I swear I didn't see your cape there."

You rolled your eyes, grumbling as you accepted his hand to stand up. "You need a hobby that doesn't make me fall, Fred."

He laughed, shrugging. "I already have one: annoying you. It's a lot more fun than Quidditch, if you ask me."