Quidditch Tryouts
The morning broke clean and cold over the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, the sky a pale silver streaked with thin clouds. The grass gleamed with dew, every blade trimmed to perfect precision. A few banners fluttered from the stands — serpentine green and silver rippling against the wind — as second years and hopefuls gathered with brooms slung over their shoulders.
From the top row of the stands, Shya and Talora sat with their usual entourage — Lisa, Mandy, and Padma — bundled in cardigans and scarves, mugs of hot chocolate steaming between their hands. They had taken over an entire bench, picnic basket and all, a bold intrusion into Slytherin territory.
Cassian stood on the pitch in sleek green-trimmed robes, hair ruffled slightly by the breeze, his Nimbus tucked neatly under one arm. Roman, beside him, was adjusting his gloves, a grin already in place. Around them, other hopefuls were stretching, whispering, and trying to look calm.
"Cassian looks like he's about to give a press conference," Shya said, tilting her sunglasses down.
Talora followed her gaze, amused. "And Roman looks like he's already celebrating."
"He probably is," Padma said. "He brought snacks."
Indeed, Roman had a grin that didn't budge even as Marcus Flint, Slytherin's captain, bellowed orders. "Positions! We start with the keepers — Nott, you're up first!"
Roman swung onto his broom with easy grace. The whistle blew, and he shot into the air like he'd been born there. The Quaffle came fast and hard, but he blocked it with a spin that made even the seventh-years pause.
"Show-off," Talora muttered under her breath — though she was smiling.
"He's good," Shya said simply, tracking the motion. "Annoying, but good."
The whistle shrieked again, and now the chasers took their place. Cassian kicked off cleanly, rising with surgical precision — every movement controlled, efficient, unnervingly smooth.
"You see that?" Lisa whispered. "He doesn't even lean when he turns."
"That's not normal," Mandy murmured. "That's… frighteningly precise."
Cassian caught the Quaffle, dodged a bludger, and wove between two older students with effortless grace. He didn't showboat — didn't need to. His game spoke for him. When he scored on the third pass, even the older Slytherins broke into scattered applause.
Shya smirked. "He flies like he already owns the team."
Talora raised a brow. "You say that like it's not true."
And then came the seeker trials.
Draco Malfoy stepped forward, immaculate as ever, his pale hair catching the sunlight like polished silver. A new Nimbus 2001 gleamed in his hand. Behind him, a crate of identical brooms sat gleaming — a silent, glittering bribe courtesy of Lucius Malfoy.
"Well," Lisa muttered. "That's subtle."
Shya leaned forward, chin in her hand. "At least he's honest about it. If you're going to buy your way in, might as well do it with flair."
Cassian, standing on the sidelines now, shot her a sidelong glance and a quiet half-smile. "We do love a family reputation."
Shya's grin turned razor-sharp. "You're just jealous his broom matches your ego."
Draco launched into the air, catching the snitch within seconds. Even Shya had to admit — albeit silently — that he was good. Really good.
When the whistle finally sounded, the pitch erupted in applause. The captain barked out names, his voice cutting through the noise.
"Nott, Keeper. Black, Chaser. Malfoy, Seeker."
The Slytherin team broke into cheers. Roman swooped low, throwing a victorious fist into the air. Cassian didn't cheer; he only smirked — the quiet satisfaction of someone who'd expected nothing less.
From the stands, their friends erupted in their own brand of chaos.
"YES!" Lisa screamed, waving the banner now flashing Slytherin Supremacy! in silver-green glitter.
Mandy and Padma whooped, nearly spilling cocoa everywhere.
Talora clapped until her palms stung. "I told you!" she said, nudging Shya. "I told you!"
Shya only grinned, a touch too proud for someone pretending to be unimpressed. "Not bad for snakes."
After the tryouts, the team drifted off toward the locker rooms, the chatter electric. The girls clambered down from the stands, meeting Cassian and Roman by the tunnel archway.
"Keeper and Chaser," Talora said, mock-serious. "The most insufferable combination possible."
Roman swept into a theatrical bow. "You love us anyway."
Shya crossed her arms. "Debatable."
Cassian only gave her that quiet, knowing look — the one that said he wasn't going to dignify her teasing with a reaction. That, of course, made her grin wider.
"Clubhouse tonight?" Padma asked, already bouncing on her toes.
"Obviously," Shya said. "We need snacks. And a proper toast."
Roman's eyes sparkled. "I know where the kitchens are."
Cassian sighed softly, but there was amusement in his tone. "Of course you do."
As the group walked back toward the castle, sunlight catching the green of their scarves, laughter trailed behind them like an echo.
It wasn't just victory in the air.
It was belonging.
By the time the castle had fallen silent, the Seven were wide awake.
The corridor leading to their abandoned classroom was dark except for the faint blue glow of Roman's wand and the soft shuffling of footsteps. "Quiet," Talora whispered, holding back a laugh as Lisa nearly tripped over Mandy's shoe.
"You said it wasn't far," Padma whispered back.
"I said it wasn't guarded," Shya corrected. "Big difference."
Cassian walked at the rear, his expression unreadable but the corners of his mouth just barely curving up. Roman led the charge, balancing a basket pilfered from the kitchens and grinning like he'd just robbed Gringotts. "Told you the house-elves adore me," he said. "All it took was a compliment and the promise of returning the plates."
Talora raised an eyebrow. "Will you?"
"Absolutely not."
When they reached the door of the clubhouse, Shya flicked her wand. The lock shimmered, and melted away. The room greeted them like an old friend — lanterns lighting one by one, curtains rustling, the starry ceiling charm still turning lazily.
Roman dumped the basket onto the table. Out spilled pumpkin pasties, treacle tart, chocolate frogs, and enough butterbeer to supply a small army.
"Behold," he announced grandly, "our victory feast."
"You caught a Quaffle, not a dragon," Shya said, smirking.
"Still counts," he shot back.
Talora was already arranging plates, her motions neat even in chaos. "And Cassian's chaser now," she said, smiling toward him. "That deserves celebration."
Cassian shrugged, sitting on one of the low cushions. "Winning tryouts wasn't exactly unexpected."
Shya dropped onto the cushion across from him. "We know," she said lightly. "You radiate inevitability."
"Better than your brand of chaos," he murmured back.
Lisa gasped. "Oh, he talks now!"
Cassian gave her a flat look that made everyone laugh.
They ate, sprawled across the cushions, trading jokes and stories. Padma read aloud snippets of Lockhart's latest book in a dramatic voice, earning groans and thrown sweets.
"'And there I was,'" she declaimed, "'surrounded by the banshees of Bansmoor, armed only with my wand and my dazzling smile—'"
"Merlin," Shya muttered, "I wish they'd finished the job."
The laughter rang out, echoing off the old stone walls. Cassian leaned back, quiet but content; Roman argued with Mandy about broom models; Talora listened, her smile soft. It felt easy. Simple. Right.
When the food was nearly gone, Shya stood, brushing crumbs off her skirt. "We should make it official," she said. "The Seven's Haven — first celebration."
Roman raised his butterbeer. "To victory, vanity, and very good lighting."
Talora rolled her eyes, lifting her glass. "To us."
Cassian's voice joined quietly. "And to keeping it ours."
They clinked their bottles together, the sound soft but sure. The lanterns flickered in approval, casting them all in a warm, honeyed glow.
Outside, the castle slept on, unaware of the seven young witches and wizards who were building something stronger than friendship — something sacred, secret, and entirely theirs.