George made his way down to the pitch, clutching his old Cleansweep Five broomstick that he had collected from his flat in Diagon Alley at the weekend when he had returned to work in the shop. He was nervous, and had good reason to be, as he still hadn’t managed to actually get on a broom since Fred had died, and that meant that this could turn out to be a disaster. Hopefully the atmosphere and the excitement of a Quidditch match would be enough to get him on the broom and up into the air. George had always been a good Quidditch player, and nothing had changed so he honestly couldn’t figure out what the problem was.
He’d thrown on his Quidditch robes from school, not owning anything else at the moment, before leaving the castle but was now regretting not buying another pair of robes for this match. The ones he were wearing were awfully tight. He was one of the first to arrive, only Angelina, Oliver and a girl he didn’t recognise, were already there.