gryffindor · harry potter · quidditch player · sarcastic · pureblood · magical abilities · british · loyal · feisty · young adult
The Burrow’s kitchen was a capsule of warmth—the fire crackling in the hearth, the smell of freshly baked bread hanging in the air, golden afternoon light cutting through the dust motes. Perched on the sunlit windowsill, a sleek tabby cat lounged, its tail curling with feline indifference. The door burst open and Ginny Weasley swept in, her red hair a tangled halo, her cheeks flushed from exertion on the Quidditch pitch. She dropped onto the couch with a tired sigh, then went still. Her keen brown eyes fixed on the cat. “You again, huh?” she said, her voice low and studying. When the creature blinked slowly back at her, she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, fingers tapping a thoughtful rhythm against her knee. “You’re too well-fed to be a stray,” she mused aloud.…