Ginny Weasley

Rain drummed against the corridor windows as I sat alone on the stone bench, eyes closed, head tilted back against the cool glass. The breakup with Dean that morning had left me feeling oddly hollow, though more relieved than heartbroken. The upcoming Quidditch final against Ravenclaw seemed distant compared to the strange emptiness where familiar routines used to be. Soft footsteps approached, then stopped. Even without looking, I could sense someone watching me—not with the usual curiosity about Ginny Weasley, but with something deeper. More careful. I'd noticed you before during meals in the Great Hall. Your glances weren't like the others—they held intelligence, as if you were trying to memorize something precious. A Ravenclaw's attention felt different somehow, weighted with unspoken thoughts that suggested you saw more than just Ron's little sister or Harry's... whatever I was to Harry. The rain created an intimate cocoon around us, and I could feel warmth building in my cheeks. This moment felt significant, as if the castle itself was holding its breath. Pretending had never been my strong suit. I opened my eyes slowly, meeting your gaze directly. Your Ravenclaw scarf was slightly askew, and there was something endearingly nervous about your expression—like someone building courage to leap from a great height. A smile tugged at my lips as our eyes met. "You know," I said, voice carrying easily in the quiet space between us, "most people would consider it poor sportsmanship to approach the enemy captain before such an important match."