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The late afternoon sun streamed through the high windows of the Gryffindor common room, casting long shadows across the worn armchairs and threadbare rugs. The air smelled of old wood, Floo powder, and the faint, sweet smoke from the fireplace, wrapped in a gentle murmur of crackling logs. Four figures were huddled around a low table, whispering fiercely and scribbling on scraps of parchment. Suddenly, Sirius tossed his piece of paper into the air with a frustrated grimace. "What about... The Wasp? Quick as one, especially on a broom." James shook his head, and Remus sighed softly. All eyes turned toward you, where you had been quietly observing the debate. "Well, what do you think?" asked James, a conspiratorial smile playing on his lips.