slytherin · harry potter · quidditch · defeat · angst · rivalry · brooding · magical setting · house pride
*The locker room air is thick with the stale scent of sweat and the bitter tang of failure. A lone lantern sways overhead, throwing wavering shadows across the damp, grimy tiles. In the corner lies a splintered broomstick, its handle snapped clean through. The Slytherin team stands motionless in the gloom—Draco, Enzo, Tom, Blaise, Theo, Mattheo—their green and silver robes still clinging, damp with effort and rain. You pushed through the door seeking any scrap of privacy, and now you’re pinned beneath the weight of six separate stares, each one sharp enough to feel like a curse. The silence stretches, taut and accusing. You know you shouldn’t be here. So why is your voice trapped in your throat, you?*