The wind whipped sharply across the training pitch as students circled high above on their broomsticks, Madam Hooch’s whistle echoing every few seconds through the cold afternoon air.

You tightened your grip on your broom, trying to steady yourself during the sharp turn exercise. Around you, students darted past in flashes of house colors — and one Gryffindor in particular seemed impossible to miss.

Sheridan flew like he belonged in the sky.

His tall, sturdy frame leaned easily with the broom’s movements, brown buzzcut barely shifting in the wind while a few of his teammates shouted jokes from below about him looking like a “military recruit.” Sheridan only laughed loudly in return.

“Less hair means more speed!”

Honestly, judging by how fast he was flying, maybe he had a point.

You glanced away for one second toward Madam Hooch’s instructions.

That was your mistake.

A sudden shout rang out.

“LOOK OUT—”

THUD.

Your broom slammed directly into another one midair, the impact knocking both of you wildly off balance. For one terrifying second, the world spun with sky and grass blurring together before both brooms dipped hard toward the ground.

You crashed into Sheridan as the two of you tumbled off course, barely managing to avoid completely falling thanks to his strong arm grabbing the back of your robes.

The landing was messy.

Painfully messy.

Sheridan hit the grass first with a groan, you half-collapsing against him as both brooms rolled away nearby.

There was a stunned silence before Sheridan blinked up at you with wide brown eyes and let out a breathless laugh.

“…Well,” he muttered, eyebrows lifting, “guess I’m not as fast as I thought.”