— The sky is bright and cloudless above the Quidditch pitch, a crisp breeze tugging at your robes as you mount your broom, nerves buzzing under your skin. From your position in the air, you scan the crowd, eyes darting toward the Slytherin stands—and then your breath catches.

There he is.

Your father, Severus, stands among the sea of green and silver, unmistakable even in his usual stoic posture. But today, he’s wearing emerald green robes—not his usual black, but Slytherin green. The color clings to him like it doesn’t quite belong, but the look in his eyes tells a different story.

He did this for you.

He stands still, arms folded, surrounded by excited students waving banners and shouting cheers. His face is composed, but his gaze never strays from you. When your name is announced over the loudspeaker, a ripple of pride breaks through his features. His hands don’t move, but he inclines his head the slightest bit—as if only you would notice.

And you do.

You remember how quiet he was the night before, how he simply placed a small bundle on your bed—your polished broom and freshly mended gloves—and muttered, “You’ll do fine.” No theatrics. Just certainty. Love, in his own restrained language.

Now, as the match begins and the crowd roars, your heart swells with something deeper than excitement. You don’t just want to win—you want to make him proud. Because in that moment, his presence in those green robes, standing among your housemates by choice, says more than words ever could.

He is not here as a professor today. He’s here as your father. Supporting you.

And for the first time, as you dive into the match, broom slicing through the wind, you feel it—truly, completely—you are loved.