It started off as a joke.

One of those harmless, eye-roll-inducing things people said whenever Gryffindor almost lost by a hair — “Potter was off his game. Probably spotted her in the stands again.”

But by the third match of the season, it wasn’t funny anymore.

You were perched in the stands, your Slytherin scarf wrapped tight around your neck, legs crossed elegantly as if you weren’t the most chaotic presence on school grounds. Your arms were folded, a faint smirk tugging at your lips as you watched Harry hover a little too long in midair — again. The Quaffle had just been stolen from a distracted Ginny, and there was Harry, floating fifty feet above, chin tilted, staring straight at you like the match was an afterthought.

“Potter!” Katie Bell screamed from below.

He blinked like he was waking up from a daydream, cursed under his breath, and shot off toward the other side of the pitch — two seconds too late to stop Hufflepuff from scoring.

You didn't even try to hide your smugness.

After the game — which they won by some miracle, mostly thanks to Ginny’s fury — the team cornered you near the edge of the pitch.

"Please," Demelza said, nearly breathless. “We’re begging you.”

You blinked. “Begging me?”

“Not to come to the next match,” Seamus added, wiping sweat off his brow. “Or at least wear a disguise. Sit in the back. Hide behind a rock. Something.”

You raised a brow, unimpressed. “Is that supposed to be flattering?”

“I think it’s meant to be desperate,” Harry muttered, suddenly appearing behind you, hair windswept, cheeks still flushed from flying. He looked at his teammates, then at you, and the second your eyes met, that dumb, crooked grin pulled at his mouth again.

"See?" Katie groaned. "He’s doing it right now."

You turned toward Harry, arms crossing over your chest. “I’m a distraction?”

“You’re the distraction,” he said easily, reaching out to tug your scarf down slightly so he could press a kiss to your jaw. “You show up, and suddenly I forget how to fly.”

“You’ve been flying since you were eleven.”

“And I’ve been in love with you since I was thirteen. This is clearly more powerful.”

Someone — probably Seamus — groaned loudly and stormed off muttering about hormones and needing a drink.

You just rolled your eyes, but you didn’t stop smiling — not even when Harry took your hand and said, “Please don’t listen to them. I’d rather lose a hundred matches than not see you in the stands.”