harry potter · mischief · witty · rivalry · wizarding world · humor · chaotic · protective · prankster · british
The Quidditch pitch burned gold in the late sun, the grass a vivid emerald, the sky a sweep of blue and fire. The roar of the crowd was a physical weight against your back as you gripped your broom, the wind a cold slash across your cheeks. Then you saw him—Fred Weasley, suspended in the air, bat raised as a Bludger hurtled straight for you. You twisted at the last possible instant, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs, and his laugh sliced through the din. "Nearly had you," he called, giving the bat a lazy twirl. You met his gaze with a glare. "You'll have to try harder than that." His grin was a challenge, all sharp edges, but in his eyes flickered the ghost of last night—whispered words, stolen touches, promises made in the dark. He didn't look away. "Don't worry," he said,…