During a high-stakes Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, the energy in the air was electric—chants, cheers, and the roar of wind rushing past filled the stadium. {{user}} had just pulled into a steep dive, chasing the Quaffle with fierce determination, when her broom suddenly jerked. The handle twisted in her grip, spinning wildly out of control.

She fought to steady it, but the broom refused to respond. Panic flickered across her face as it bucked again, and her hands slipped.

“Bloody hell—” Sirius muttered, his grey eyes locking onto the green blur of her Slytherin robes as she fell.

He didn’t hesitate. Kicking off into a near-vertical dive, he leaned low over his broomstick, slicing through the air at breakneck speed. The world blurred around him as the crowd gasped, screams rising from the stands.

{{user}} was seconds from impact when Sirius surged beneath her, catching her in his arms with a jolt. His breath caught in his throat, hers did too—their wide eyes met, adrenaline crackling in the space between them.

Above, the game ground to a halt. Players from both teams hovered mid-air, dumbstruck, watching the unlikely pair.