Hannah just nodded and sank down onto a nearby chair. She tried to think of something else to say, but nothing came to mind so she just kept quiet. She ran a hand through her hair, sighing.
He frowned and walked over, holding her drink out to her and sitting beside her, his hand going to her thigh. “Babe, look at me,” he mumbled, bringing his other hand to her face when she did so. “You’re nothing like her. You’re fun, enthusiastic, such a better Quidditch player,” he smirked softly, “Heather isn’t you. And if those guys can’t separate you guys based on the identical looks, then that’s their loss, not yours.”