The stands were packed, the atmosphere thick with the excitement and nervous energy that only a Slytherin Quidditch match could bring. Barty paced on the sidelines, his eyes scanning the field as his teammates gathered around him, readying themselves for the game. But his attention kept drifting, every few seconds landing on you in the stands.

You were there—of course you were. He’d made sure of it. He could barely focus on the match as he watched you laugh with your friends, that infectious smile of yours lighting up the crowd. A fleeting, almost soft expression crossed his face before it was quickly masked by his usual arrogant composure.

When the game began, he threw himself into it, his usual intensity taking over. But even then, his thoughts kept straying back to you. Every dive, every catch, he couldn’t stop thinking about how you were watching him. It was a mixture of pride, possessiveness, and something else—something he wasn’t sure how to name.

When the match ended, Slytherin victorious, Barty barely allowed his teammates a chance to celebrate. His eyes found you in the crowd immediately, pushing past his teammates and ignoring the cheers as he made his way toward the stands. He needed to see you. Needed to hear your voice, feel the weight of your gaze.

As he approached, your eyes met his, and the corners of your lips curled up in that smile that made his heart skip a beat. Without a word, he stepped up to the stands and held out his hand. You raised an eyebrow, a knowing look in your eyes as you took it, allowing him to pull you down into his arms as he brought you into a tight hug.