Theo glares across the ring as Mattheo wraps his fingers tightly. The crowd is loud, the sounds of their cheers and chants bouncing off the walls of the Undercroft. His opponent smirks at him, the look so smug that Theo imagines wiping it off his face over and over again.

Mattheo steps away and they both approach the middle. He holds his hand out for a shake, but McLaggen waves him off with a scoff. With twitching fingers, Theo raises his fists up to his face. He’s itched for this fight for weeks, craving the relief to this rage he feels in the catacombs of his chest, in the crannies of his heart.

Though he knows, when all is said and done, the intense anger will never be sated.

“Hey, Nott!” His opponents voice calls across the hand drawn ring on the floor as the bell rings out. “How does it feel to know you fumbled so hard?”

And as Theo fights desperately to not take the bait, to not mess up this fight by letting his anger get the best of him, he fights just as hard to not shift his eyes to his sunlight beaming to the left, the one he fumbled right into Cormac McLaggen’s arms, a mistake that led him to this intense moment.