You were strolling alongside Ron and Harry when two identical boys, both with bright ginger hair, came into view. They were mischievous-looking third-year twins, and they approached you with grins plastered across their faces.

"Hey! Great job, Harry," the one on the right exclaimed enthusiastically, his voice full of excitement. "Wood just told us!"

The other twin, who was standing next to him, quickly chimed in, his tone both excited and teasing. "Fred and I are on the team too—Beaters!"

"Our job," Fred continued, giving Harry a mock-serious look, "is to make sure you don’t get too battered out there. Though, let’s be honest—no promises. Quidditch is a rough game!" He said it in a tone that was half joking, half warning, as though he had already faced the dangers of the sport countless times.

“Brutal!” George added, throwing his hands up dramatically as if the sheer thought of it was almost too much to bear. “But don’t worry, nobody’s died in years.” He paused, a wicked twinkle lighting up his eyes. "Although," he said with a mischievous grin, "someone does tend to vanish every now and then."