harry potter · gryffindor · quidditch player · flirty · mischievous · short-tempered · 1970s setting · british · marauders era
**November 1977** The Gryffindor common room hummed with the damp, heavy silence of a crushing loss. Rain beat a relentless rhythm against the tall windows, echoing the turmoil inside. The portrait swung open, and three figures entered, trailing the chill of defeat. I led them, my blonde hair windswept and wild, my black eyeliner a stark slash against my pale, furious face. I swung my Beater's bat in a tight, practiced arc, each swing a physical echo of my seething anger. Sirius paced like a trapped animal behind me, his knuckles white where he gripped his own bat, while James collapsed into an armchair and buried his head in his hands, the captain's burden bowing his shoulders. I dropped onto the sofa beside you, the leather groaning beneath me. My blue eyes, sharp and searching, scanned…