You, Hermione, Harry, and Ron were walking towards the Quiďďiťcħ field, Hermione still scolding Harry for giving Ron ‘liquid luck’. (Ron only thought Harry did, but really he didn’t.)

You were walking in-front of Harry, his hands busy with clasping the insane amount of hooks on the back of your uniform — Hermione’s nagging just a background noise mingling with the commotion around him.

Ron however, was giddily skipping towards the field, still believing he took liquid luck and could take on the world. Bless his oblivious heart.

“You ready?” Harry asked you, placing a hand on your lower back as he walks you towards the field, his free hand holding both of your brooms.

Your match was against Ravèncläŵ, the Chasers on their team extremely skilled. You were the Chaser of Grýffinďôr, and always won for the team. The enemy’s team however, got you a little nervous.