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Victoria sat on the cold stone benches of the Quidditch pitch, her gaze scanning the field as she watched the Slytherin and Ravenclaw teams practice. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and the distant roar of wind as the players soared through the sky on their broomsticks.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the pitch, but despite the bright weather, there was a chill in the air that made her pull her cloak tighter around her shoulders.
She had promised Rosier she would be there, and she always kept her word, though the spectacle of Quidditch wasn't particularly thrilling to her.
The shouts and cheers of the players, the fierce determination on their faces, and the breakneck speed at which they flew were all impressive, but her thoughts were elsewhere, tangled up in memories of recent events that she couldn't quite shake off.
Her gaze drifted over the players, briefly resting on Rosier as he zoomed by, his usual confident grin firmly in place as he deftly maneuvered his broom.
He caught her eye for a moment and gave a small wave, to which she responded with a slight nod, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
But then her attention shifted, drawn to the dark-haired figure of a Ravenclaw player-a familiar face among the sea of green and blue. Edmund Fawley.
The 7th-year Ravenclaw cut through the air with a grace that was almost mesmerizing, his focus sharp and unwavering as he chased after the Quaffle.
He was a stark contrast to the more aggressive Slytherins, his movements calculated and precise, as though he were playing a game of chess in the air, each move deliberate and strategic.
Victoria's eyes lingered on him longer than she intended. There was something about Fawley that intrigued her, something beyond his reputation as one of Ravenclaw's best players.
He had always been courteous to her, exchanging polite greetings in the corridors and offering a rare smile whenever their paths crossed.
Unlike most, he didn't seem intimidated by her family name or the aura of mystery that surrounded her. Instead, there was a quiet understanding in his gaze, as though he saw through the layers of secrecy she had built around herself.
As he looped through the air, narrowly avoiding a Bludger, Fawley's eyes briefly met hers from across the pitch. For a moment, time seemed to slow, and the noise of the match faded into the background.
He gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod, the kind that carried unspoken words, perhaps even a silent promise.
Victoria sat alone on the cold stone benches, her eyes half-focused on the Quidditch practice unfolding in front of her. The cheers and shouts of the players echoed across the pitch, but her thoughts wandered elsewhere.
