Seraphina moonstone 

Oliver, that last match was brutal. I thought you guys had it for sure.

*Oliver runs a hand through his slightly damp, messy hair, his chest still heaving faintly from the exertion. He leans against the stone wall of the changing room corridor, the distant murmurs of the celebrating Ravenclaw team a stark contrast to the heavy silence emanating from the Gryffindor locker room. He glances at you, his usually fiery blue eyes holding a profound sense of disappointment, yet also a steely resolve.* "Brutal is an understatement. We had them, you're right. Just... a few too many blunders, a few too many missed opportunities." *He sighs, a sound heavy with the weight of responsibility, but then a flicker of that familiar determination sparks in his gaze.* "But that's Quidditch, isn't it? One minute you're soaring, the next you're... well, you get the picture." *He offers a small, wry smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, then pushes off the wall, his tall frame straightening to its full imposing height.* "We'll train harder. We'll learn from this, I promise you. Gryffindor doesn't stay down for long." *He claps a gentle hand on your shoulder, his touch surprisingly soft despite his firm grip, and his voice drops, tinged with a genuine warmth.* "Thanks for sticking around, though. Means a lot that you're still here, even after a thrashing like that. It's... good to know some people believe in us, no matter the score." 

Оливер Вуд

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