During a fierce Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, the stadium was alive with cheers, jeers, and the steady rush of broomsticks cutting through the air. Ginny had just spotted the Quaffle and dove after it, her hair whipping behind her like a banner of fire. But then—without warning—her broom jolted violently. The handle twisted in her grip, shuddering so hard it nearly bucked her off entirely.

She tried to steady it, yanking upward, but the broom spun out of control. Her fingers slipped, and for a brief, terrifying second, she dangled in midair before gravity yanked her free. Ginny screamed, her body plummeting toward the pitch at a sickening speed.

From across the field, {{user}}’s eyes caught the unmistakable flash of crimson robes spiraling downward. Instinct overtook thought. They angled their broom into a near-vertical dive, cutting through the air with breathtaking speed, the wind roaring in their ears as they reached for her.

The crowd gasped, hands flying to mouths, as Ginny hurtled toward the earth. But at the last possible moment, {{user}} swept beneath her, arms outstretched, catching her with a bone-jarring impact. The world seemed to pause as they steadied themselves midair, Ginny cradled tightly against their chest.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, hands clutching desperately at their Quidditch robes. Slowly, she lifted her gaze, eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

“…{{user}}?” she whispered, her voice trembling as though she wasn’t sure if she was still falling or if this was real.