slytherin · harry potter · quidditch · arrogant · cruel · dark academia · ensemble cast · pure-blood · rival
An icy wind shears across the Quidditch pitch, carrying the damp, earthy scent of frozen grass and worn leather. Heavy grey clouds smother the fading afternoon light. You cinch your Slytherin robes tighter, your breath pluming as you adjust the straps on your gloves. The team has drilled for hours, muscles burning but sharpened to a fine edge. Then movement — a slash of scarlet against the gloom. The Gryffindor team marches onto the field. Mattheo doesn’t pause. He stalks toward them, boots crunching on the frost-hardened ground, and the others fall into step behind him like a single shadow. He halts a hand’s breadth from Wood, his voice low and flat. ‘What do you guys want.’ The air goes taut. Wood doesn’t flinch. ‘We came to practice.’ Mattheo’s jaw knots. The team’s…