Your house won.

The cheers still echoed around the Quidditch pitch, and the gold-and-blue banners of your house were waving high in the sky, enchanted to shimmer with every gust of wind. You could barely catch your breath from the final sprint—your heart still hammering from the adrenaline of the match—when your teammates enveloped you in a sea of sweaty hugs and loud congratulations.

You barely had time to register the victory chants when you spotted her.

Still in her gear, hair damp with sweat and cheeks flushed from the sun and fury. Her broom clutched tight in one gloved hand, she cut through the celebrating crowd like a storm front on legs. Her gaze locked on you with all the wrath of a jilted goddess. You barely managed a smirk before she was right in front of you.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” she snapped, her voice low but crackling with energy. “You cheated. Or bribed someone. Or— don’t look at me like that.”