tradition

09

The Quidditch match that Saturday morning was nothing short of legendary—a breathtaking spectacle that would remain the subject of lively conversations in the Gryffindor common room for weeks to come. The stadium was alive with energy, the stands packed with students and professors alike, as the biting winter air carried the resounding chants of Gryffindor supporters. Scarlet and gold banners fluttered in the wind, and enchanted lion roars echoed across the pitch, adding to the electrifying atmosphere. Briar could hardly contain her excitement, perched on the edge of her seat with her scarf clutched tightly in her hands. Her eyes never left Harry, who flew with a mixture of confidence and daring that made her heart race. 

Georgia, seated beside her, wasn't faring much better, wincing every time Briar squeezed her hand during a particularly intense moment. "If he doesn't catch that Snitch soon, I swear you'll break my fingers," she groaned, though her tone was more amused than annoyed. But, the Longbottom twin was also preoccupied with Hermione's constant muttering about Ron, her words nearly drowned out by the crowd's roars. "If those Slytherin Beaters keep targeting him, he's going to fall off his broom," Hermione fretted. Georgia patted her shoulder, half-watching the game and half-reassuring her friend. "Relax, Hermione. Ron's holding his own just fine—look, he just saved that goal!" she said, pointing as Ron swerved to block a Quaffle headed for the hoops.

The match was a whirlwind of tension and exhilaration, each play more daring than the last. The cheers reached a fever pitch as Harry executed a sharp dive, his fingers closing around the golden Snitch mere inches from the ground. The explosion of jubilation from the Gryffindor stands could probably be heard all the way back at the castle, the triumphant roar of victory cutting through the chill air. Briar jumped to her feet, screaming alongside Hermione and Georgia, who threw their arms around her in celebration. 

"He did it!" Briar exclaimed, her voice hoarse but her grin wide. Eloise laughed, pulling away to rub her hands. "Finally! I was starting to think my hand would never recover." Georgia smirked, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, don't act like you weren't clutching Briar's arm just as hard when that Bludger came towards Eloise." Hermione laughed, however, had already slipped away, likely heading toward the pitch to find Ron and offer her congratulations. "Well, there she goes," Georgia remarked with a knowing look. "Bet she'll be telling him he's a tactical genius by the time she's done."

Back on the ground, the Gryffindor team filtered into the red tent that served as their post-match refuge, their faces flushed with the thrill of victory. Harry, the hero of the hour, was immediately engulfed by his teammates, who clapped him and Ron on the back and animatedly recounted the highlights of the game. Briar stood near the entrance, leaning against the tent pole with her arms crossed, a small smile playing on her lips as she watched the scene unfold. There was something undeniably charming about Harry in moments like these—his exuberance, his unassuming way of soaking up the praise, and the way he seemed to light up when talking about Quidditch. She caught Eloise glancing her way and raising an eyebrow. "You going to keep staring, or are you planning to actually talk to him?" she teased in a low voice as she set her broomstick down. Briar shot her a glare but said nothing, her attention returning to Harry just as he finally managed to extricate himself from the crowd. Spotting her by the entrance, his grin softened into something more personal as he made his way over.

"So, what's the verdict?" Harry's voice was a blend of teasing confidence and lingering adrenaline as he approached Briar. His green eyes sparkled under the late afternoon sun, the golden light catching the wind-swept chaos of his dark hair. He came to a stop beside her, his broom still slung casually over his shoulder, and gave her a lopsided grin that was both boyish and undeniably self-assured. "Did I impress the great Briar, or should I be preparing for some scathing critique?"