Quidditch pitch.
Even though the weather was freezing, it did nothing to dampen the young wizards’ excitement and fervor for the match.
It was only the opening game, and technically, the outcome wouldn’t affect the final standings, yet the atmosphere in the stands rivaled that of a championship—maybe even more intense.
Probably because today’s match featured a particularly special showdown.
Even while waiting inside the players’ lounge, Draco could still hear the cheers and chants echoing from the stands outside.
When he looked out the window, he saw packed bleachers filled with students waving magical props of all shapes and sizes, each rooting for their favorite team.
For someone like Draco, who had never seen a live Quidditch match before, there was only one thing he could think:
“Quidditch madness.”
Green and silver.
Red and gold.
These two colors washed over the stadium like tides, each representing one of the competing houses—Slytherin and Gryffindor.
Green and red, clearly divided.
What stood out, though, was how the red-and-gold wave vastly outnumbered the green-and-silver one, practically pushing it into the corners of the stadium. It looked like the Slytherin side might be swallowed up at any moment.
Clearly, Slytherin supporters were in the minority.
While Draco calmly observed the state of the pitch, Pansy, standing beside him, was anything but calm...
“Draco, how can you still be looking around like that? Did you finish checking everything? Are you wearing your full gear? You’ve got your broom, right? Your shoes fit? Are you hungry...?”
Thwack!
“Ugh~”
Pansy clutched her head and glared, teary-eyed, at the culprit—Draco. Her pouty, wounded expression was nothing like the queenly aura she’d shown the day before.
The one who'd knocked some sense into her—literally—was, of course, Draco, calmly withdrawing his hand.
“Relax already. You’re not even playing, so how are you more nervous than I am?”
He turned his gaze away from the window, clearly done putting up with Pansy’s frantic energy.
Anyone else would’ve been a nervous wreck from her barrage of reminders. Wasn’t she just causing trouble at this point?
“I... I... Hmph! It’s just that you’re not nervous enough!”
After calming down a bit, Pansy gave Draco a frustrated glare.
But thinking of how Draco would soon be out on the field, she just gave a soft snort, then jogged out of the players’ lounge.
Of course, she didn’t leave without tossing one last comment his way—and shaking her tiny fist in mock threat.
The message was clear: if you don’t win, you’d better be ready to get punched...
“I believe in you, Draco!”
Watching her vanish after that cute warning, Draco shook his head with a faint smile and started putting on the rest of his gear.
As he fastened the final piece—his windproof cloak—and stepped out into the corridor, he caught sight of a few familiar figures in the distance.
One of them, in particular, was petite—so much so that Draco stopped in his tracks.
It wasn’t Pansy, who had just left. It wasn’t anyone from Slytherin.
And it definitely wasn’t Snape, who might have come by out of concern...
…
Who knows what the chief architect was thinking when they designed this Quidditch pitch—why else would the locker rooms for both teams be built right next to each other?
At the moment, the room designated for the Slytherin team was directly adjacent to the one occupied by Draco’s opponents for the day—Gryffindor.
So, the moment Draco stepped out of the locker room after finishing his preparations, he immediately spotted a familiar petite figure among the Gryffindor players.
‘Is that the Gryffindor team… and that runaway little wildcat?’
Draco watched them quietly. They seemed to be talking with Harry Potter and hadn't noticed his presence. He didn’t intend to call out to them either. Instead, he leaned against the wall, eyes fixed on that small figure, his gaze unreadable...
“It’s time. This is the moment we’ve all been waiting for.”
The team captain was fulfilling his role, delivering a pre-match pep talk to his teammates.
Unfortunately, wherever those redheaded twins were, seriousness never lasted long.
“This important moment—”
“The moment everyone’s been waiting for—”
“Harry, we’ve all memorized Oliver’s speech by now. He gave the exact same one last year.”
“We could recite it in our sleep.”
Draco couldn’t tell which twin was which, but he could clearly see how their antics had helped ease some of Harry’s tension. The look on his face relaxed ever so slightly.
“Shut it, you two! This is the best Gryffindor team we’ve had in years—we’re going to win! I know it!”
With those parting words, the captain led his team out toward the roaring stadium. His head held high, posture brimming with confidence, he looked like someone who already had victory in his grasp.
Of course, Hermione, who wasn’t part of the team, could only stay behind, watching with envy as the players stepped into the sunlight, bathed in cheers.
Even if it was a different kind of stage, the proud little witch deeply longed to stand there too—so she could prove she was just as exceptional...
“Don’t they look like knights heading off to slay a dragon?”
“Now that you mention it… they kinda do—wait, what?!”
Hermione’s face froze the second she realized who had spoken. She had nodded in reflex, agreeing with the comment—then immediately stiffened.
Her mouth parted slightly, and yet... she didn’t turn around.
Draco, standing behind her, couldn’t help but smile at her reaction.
Caught you, little wildcat.