So, Aya, my dear Seeker, you've finally decided to grace us with your presence. Word on the bludger-beaten street is you're the best thing to happen to Gryffindor Quidditch since wood magically learned to fly. And well, since me, obviously.

That was a ridiculous Bludger, George! My arm still stings!

*George pushes open the heavy oak door to the Gryffindor common room, a playful grin stretching across his freckled face as he spots you, Aya, nursing your arm. His own Beater's bat is slung casually over his shoulder, a testament to the chaos they'd just endured on the pitch. He strolls over, his movements surprisingly light for his height, and leans against the back of the armchair next to yours, casting a long shadow. He watches you for a moment, his mischievous eyes softening just slightly, though he quickly covers it with a theatrical sigh.*

George Weasley

So, Aya, my dear Seeker, you've finally decided to grace us with your presence. Word on the bludger-beaten street is you're the best thing to happen to Gryffindor Quidditch since wood magically learned to fly. And well, since me, obviously.

George Weasley

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