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𝕿HE COLD BREEZE OF FEBRUARY SWIRLED THROUGH THE AIR as you walked toward the Care of Magical Creatures class, the familiar crunch of the snow beneath your boots accompanying your steps. You had Kyra and the usual Care of Magical Creatures friend group by your side, chatting about the upcoming lesson.

"I'm calling it now. Nifflers," Kyra declared confidently, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck. "Ever since Malfoy reported Hagrid for Buckbeak, everything big and dangerous has been a big no, but nifflers aren't exactly big and possibly not dangerous."

"Small, mischievous, and only the slightest bit dangerous," Alana chimed in, earning a round of laughter from the group.

As you all reached the paddock, your enthusiasm dimmed slightly at the sight of Hagrid standing next to a rather ordinary-looking enclosure filled with flobberworms. The sluggish, unremarkable creatures squirmed lazily in the cold, their dull appearance doing little to stir excitement in the gathered students.

"Today, we'll be learnin' about flobberworms!" Hagrid announced with his usual enthusiasm. The class, however, did not share his energy. Groans rippled through the group, with a few students exchanging disappointed glances.

"Flobberworms? Really?" Kyra muttered under her breath, nudging you with her elbow. "All that buildup for this?"

You suppressed a smile, nodding. "I was hoping for something... less slimy."

"Flobberworms are kind of cute though," Jamie piped up, earning a disgusted glance from Rhys.

"Said no one ever," Rhys disagreed.

Hagrid began explaining the flobberworm's habitat and uses in potion-making, his booming voice barely disguising the fact that even he knew this wasn't his most exciting lesson. You found your attention wandering, your gaze drifting to the snowy forest beyond the paddock. The steady murmur of Hagrid's voice faded into the background as you imagined different scenarios.

A light tap on your shoulder snapped you out of your daydream. Turning, you found Harry standing beside you, his expression amused.

"Drifting off already?" Harry asked, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

Caught, you grinned sheepishly. "Can you blame me? Flobberworms aren't exactly riveting..."

Harry chuckled, his blue eyes glinting with humor. "Fair point. At least Hagrid seems to enjoy it."

You both turned your attention back to Hagrid, who was now holding up one of the flobberworms for the class to inspect. Beside you, Alana stifled a yawn while Kyra leaned tiredly on her shoulder. You bit back a laugh at the sight of Lewis keeping Isaac upright after Isaac had fallen asleep.

A few minutes later, Hermione leaned over from her spot nearby, her voice filled with quiet urgency. "Pay attention. This is going to be on the exam, you know."

Ron groaned from her other side. "Of course it is. Because nothing says 'important magical knowledge' like flobberworms."

"...At least it's easy to remember," you whispered back nervously, attempting to be friendly with the trio. When your comment earned a stifled chuckle from Ron, you smiled and continued, "Besides, Hermione, we all know you'll pass no matter what."

"You got that right," Hermione agreed with a confident grin.

As the lesson dragged on, the snow began to fall lightly, dusting the paddock and the tops of your classmates' heads. You found yourself glancing at Harry occasionally, catching him doing the same. Every time your eyes met, he'd quickly look away, his cheeks faintly pink despite the cold.

"Are you cold?" Harry suddenly asked, leaning closer so his words didn't carry to the rest of the class.

"...A little," you admitted, tucking your hands deeper into your robes.

Without a word, Harry shrugged off his red Gryffindor scarf and held it out to you. The gesture caught you off guard, your eyes widening slightly.

"Harry, you don't have to—"

"Just take it," he interrupted, his tone light but firm. "I've got another one in my bag."

Blushing, you accepted the scarf, wrapping it around your neck. "Thanks," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. The bright red and gold of the scarf contrasted with your blue tie accented in bronze.

Kyra shot you a knowing look, a smirk playing on her lips, but thankfully said nothing. The rest of the lesson passed in a haze, your focus divided between Hagrid's enthusiastic explanations and the warmth of Harry's scarf around your neck. 

If only you knew there were three other boys there, staring daggers at that red scarf and the boy who gave it to you.

The low murmur of students filled the Potions classroom, accompanied by the rhythmic chopping of ingredients and the bubbling hiss of brewing potions. The flickering light of the dungeon's torches cast long shadows across the room, giving the space its usual eerie ambiance. Professor Snape prowled between the rows, his black robes billowing as he peered over shoulders and issued curt corrections.

At your workstation, you were paired with Mattheo, as usual, much to your ongoing dismay. His presence at your side was tense, and you both exchanged clipped remarks more often than actual collaboration.

"Don't overstir it," Mattheo muttered under his breath, his dark eyes fixed on the cauldron. "We're making a Girding Potion, not soup."

You frowned, your hand freezing mid-motion. "I know that, Riddle," you snapped quietly, gripping the stirring rod more tightly. "Maybe if you spent less time criticizing and more time helping, this would actually go faster."

From a few rows back, Theodore watched the interaction, his focus drifting from his own cauldron. His gaze lingered on the furrow of your brow as you leaned closer to the potion, your movements precise despite the irritation radiating between you and Mattheo.

Next to him, Blaise's eyebrows raised, catching the subtle way Theodore's attention seemed tethered to you. "That's the fourth time you've glanced her way, Theo," Blaise said, his voice low enough to avoid Snape's notice. He adjusted the flame beneath their cauldron with an exaggerated nonchalance. "What's the deal? You afraid Riddle's going to hex her mid-stir?"

Theodore gave Blaise a warning look. "...No. If they screw up and blow up their station, it'll ruin half the classroom, including us."

Blaise's eyes narrowed, clearly not buying the excuse. "Right, and I suppose you were watching her during Care of Magical Creatures a few days ago because you were worried she'd accidentally strangle herself with Potter's scarf?"

Theodore didn't answer, focusing instead on adding toasted dragonfly thoraxes to their potion. Blaise chuckled softly before shaking his head and dropping the topic.

Back at your table, Mattheo was clearly losing patience. "Are you deliberately trying to ruin this, or is it just a natural talent?" He asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You shot him a sharp glare that went unnoticed by everyone except Mattheo. "Oh, forgive me for not being thrilled to work with someone who treats everything like a duel."

Mattheo rolled his eyes but bit back a retort, focusing instead on measuring powdered doxy eggs. You stole a glance at the instructions, your determination to get this right overriding your irritation.

Theodore's jaw tightened as he watched Mattheo's dismissive gestures and sharp tone toward you. He stirred his own potion absently, the rhythm uneven. Blaise nudged him lightly with an elbow.

"Careful, Theo," Blaise teased under his breath, nodding toward Snape, who was prowling closer. "You're about to overstir your potion. Wouldn't want to screw up and blow up our station, would you?"

Theodore shot him a glare but quickly adjusted his technique, his lips pressing into a thin line. His gaze flickered back to you once more as Mattheo reached across the table, his hand nearly knocking into yours.

"Just move," Mattheo groaned with exasperation, taking over the stirring.

You let out a frustrated sigh, crossing your arms. "You know, for someone who thinks they're so brilliant, you're surprisingly terrible at teamwork."

Snape's voice cut through the room, sharp and impatient. "Riddle, (L/n), less talking, more brewing. Unless, of course, you'd rather discuss your compatibility issues in detention?"

Mattheo stiffened, muttering under his breath, while you bit your lip, your cheeks heating with embarrassment.

From his seat, Theodore's fingers tightened on his stirring rod, the faintest flicker of something protective flashing in his eyes. Blaise noticed it immediately, his grin returning, but he said nothing as Lorenzo scolded Mattheo for being a douche.

The library was quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of pages and the muffled whispers of students huddled over their books. The warm, golden light from the enchanted lamps above cast a cozy glow across the rows of shelves and study tables. You sat at one of the tables, a stack of Quidditch strategy books on the table's surface with you read one of your muggle novels.

Across from you, Oliver leaned forward, his brow furrowed in concentration. A diagram of the Hufflepuff team's latest formation lay open between you, and he tapped his quill against his chin thoughtfully.

"Right," Oliver said, his Scottish accent tinged with excitement. "If they're running this staggered keeper rotation, the best way to break it is with a decoy chaser. Draw their keeper left, then have the other chaser score through the open right hoop."

You nodded, though your eyes trailed across the page of your novel. "That could work, but only if Fred and George can keep Cedric distracted. Ced's smart, and if he catches on too quickly, he'll warn their keeper."

Oliver grinned, his brown eyes lighting up. "Exactly why I've got you helping me with this. You've got an eye for detail most people overlook." His gaze lingered on you a moment too long before he cleared his throat and looked back at the diagram.

You smiled faintly as you glanced up at him, unaware of his sudden shift in demeanor, and you leaned back in your chair. Oliver's gaze caught sight of your book's title and his curiosity piqued. "EPICAC by Kurt Vonnegut? What is that?"

"A muggle short story," you answered with a hum, casting him a look from over your book.

With a raised brow, he gestured for you to show him the book. As you handed it over, his eyes trailed over the printed words and he read aloud, "Love is a hawk with velvet claws. Love is a rock with heart and veins; Love is a lion with satin jaws, love is a storm with silken reins." He hummed in slight confusion. "What does that even mean?"

"It highlights the duality of love. It can be both intense and gentle. Overwhelming yet controlled," you commented, the words soft on your tongue. You smiled, amused by the confusion etched on Oliver's face. "Kind of like you with your love for quidditch. On the outside, you're intense, but it's because you hold such a soft spot for the sport. You're so insanely dedicated to the sport because you love it so much, which I've got to say, I'm a bit envious you've found something that you love so much to dedicate your entire being into."

Oliver sheepishly blinked at you and you glanced up to find him watching you intently. His expression softened, but before you could say anything, he cleared his throat again and handed you your book back.

"Speaking of which," Oliver chuckled, his tone lighter now. "You've got a match coming up, don't you? Ravenclaw against Slytherin?"

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Saturday morning. Should be an interesting one. Slytherin's chasers have been especially aggressive this year."

Oliver leaned forward, his grin returning. "Well, good luck. Though with your strategies, I doubt you'll need it. Just don't let them wear you down, they play rough."

"Thanks," you replied, feeling a touch of warmth at his encouragement. "And good luck against Hufflepuff. With that decoy play, I think you've got a real chance to break their defense."

Oliver's grin widened, but this time, there was something softer in his gaze as he stood, gathering his books and diagrams. "I appreciate it. And, uh... don't hesitate to let me know if you need any advice before your match."

As he walked away, you couldn't help but notice how his usual confidence seemed just a bit more personal today.

Meanwhile, Oliver left the library with a newfound flutter in his chest, his thoughts lingering on the quiet way you'd smiled while reading him like a book and the passion in your voice when talking strategy.

The icy February wind whipped through the Quidditch pitch as the teams soared high above the stands, the roar of the crowd creating an electric atmosphere. You, Kyra, and Roger navigated the air with precision, Ravenclaw's blue and bronze robes glinting in the sunlight as the quaffle zipped between your hands. Opposite from you, Slytherin's green-clad chasers were equally relentless, their moves sharp and aggressive.

The score climbed steadily, but Slytherin had their beaters — Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole — target the Ravenclaw chasers. Despite your team's best efforts, it became clear that their strategy of targeting Ravenclaw's chasers was working. You dodged another Bludger just in time, your breath fogging in the cold air as you passed the quaffle to Kyra.

Watching as she surged forward toward the goalposts, Slytherin's keeper — Miles Bletchley — was ready. With a swift dive, he blocked her shot, and the crowd erupted into cheers and groans.

"Focus!" Roger called, his voice cutting through the wind. You nodded, determination steeling your nerves as you intercepted the quaffle mid-air and veered away from Adrian Pucey, who was hot on your tail.

Kyra zoomed below you, and with a sharp whistle, she caught your attention. Shooting the quaffle straight down below you, Adrian swept down to chase after the quaffle, but it landed straight into Kyra's arms.

Grinning triumphantly, Kyra tucked the Quaffle close to her chest and veered sharply toward the Slytherin goalposts. You trailed close behind, ready to intercept if she needed backup. Adrian, however, wasn't giving up so easily. With a determined gleam in his eye, he surged forward, gaining on Kyra with every second.

Noticing Adrian's proximity, you let out a sharp whistle to garner Kyra's attention.

Without hesitation, Kyra spun her broom in a tight arc, hurling the quaffle in your direction. The wind bit at your face as you reached out, catching it firmly and darting upward to avoid a bludger sent your way by Lucian. Your heart pounded as you zeroed in on the goalposts, Miles watching your every move.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Roger swooping in from the left. You drew the keeper's attention to yourself with a fake throw, and at the last second, you tossed the quaffle to Roger, who sent it soaring straight through the left hoop.

Cheers erupted from the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor stands as Kyra pumped her fist in the air.

The momentum of the game picked up as Ravenclaw began to close the gap in the score. You, Kyra, and Roger worked seamlessly, weaving through the air like a well-oiled machine.

But Slytherin was nothing if not relentless. Adrian and Montague began blocking passes between the Ravenclaw chasers with almost ruthless efficiency, while the beaters aimed their bludgers with insane accuracy.

The turning point came when Draco spotted the snitch near the Ravenclaw stands. He dove sharply, a flash of green against the gray sky, and the crowd roared in anticipation. Cho was only a fraction of a second behind, but the snitch's erratic movements played in Draco's favor.

With a victorious shout, Draco's hand shot into the air, clutching the gleaming golden ball. The Slytherin stands exploded into cheers, and the whistle blew, signaling the end of the match. Slytherin had won.

Ravenclaw supporters clapped politely, but the air was heavy with disappointment. You landed alongside Kyra and Roger, your broom bristling from the intense match. "We played well," Kyra said, clapping a hand on your shoulder. "But Merlin, Slytherin really wanted this one."

"Yeah," Roger muttered, his tone bitter. "I'll give it to them, though. They were ruthless today."

As the Slytherin team celebrated, you began walking toward the locker rooms with the rest of the Ravenclaw team. Walking toward you was the Slytherin team and you just hoped that they'd ignore you and not gloat, but to your surprise, Draco slowed down while the rest of the Slytherin team walked past.

Draco, with his broom slung over his shoulder and his platinum hair windswept, slowed to stop in front of you. You blinked in surprise before motioning for Kyra to keep walking. Kyra did keep walking, but stopped not too far away to still listen to what you guys were talking about.

A small smirk was on Draco's lips but none of the usual arrogance in his tone. "Not bad, (L/n). You gave us a good match."

Your brows rose. "Thanks... Malfoy." The surprise in your voice was evident.

Adrian, passing by, chimed in, "Well, (Y/n)'s got a knack for working under pressure." Giving you a glance, he smiled, "Don't you?"

A small smile tugged at your lips. "Thanks, Adrian. You played well too." With an acknowledging nod, Adrian followed the rest of his team to the locker rooms while Draco stayed behind with you.

Draco gazed at Adrian's back, then returned his gaze to you. "Anyway," he mumbled. "Don't let today get you down. Enzo said you'd probably take the loss harder than most."

You opened your