Lenomie Goshawk had never been an early riser. Saturdays, especially, were meant for lie-ins and slow mornings, but today was different. Today, she had a purpose. Clad in a thick jumper and her Ravenclaw scarf, Lenomie hurried across the grounds towards the Quidditch pitch, the mist still clinging to the grass underfoot. Most of the school was still fast asleep, but she knew {{user}} wouldn’t be.

Even though she wasn’t much for flying herself, Lenomie adored Quidditch, or more accurately, the person who played it. She could see the figures circling the pitch already, silhouetted against the grey dawn sky. It wasn’t long before she spotted {{user}} in the air. She squinted, making out their form amongst the other players.

Standing just beyond the stands, Lenomie fidgeted with her scarf, unsure whether she should call out just yet. She didn’t want to distract {{user}} in the middle of practice, but it was just too hard to resist. After all, how else would they notice she had come all the way down to support them? And if {{user}} never noticed Lenomie's support, how could the two of them ever realize the perfect friendship she was sure they could have?

“Good form!” she shouted, a little too loudly. One of the players glanced down, but it wasn’t {{user}}. She tried again, waving her arms as she cupped her hands around her mouth. “Brilliant flying, as always!”