The roar of the crowd still echoed faintly through the stadium as the Hufflepuff team cleared the pitch.

Now, the locker room was quieter. Cedric slipped inside, broom propped against the wall, hair still damp with sweat. He returned a few lingering congratulations with easy smiles—composed, confident—until the door finally shut behind the last of his teammates.

That’s when his shoulders relaxed.

You entered the locker room quietly, and his eyes found you instantly.

“There you are,” he said, his voice softer now, almost relieved. He crossed the room in long strides and pulled you into a hug, burying his face briefly against your shoulder, like the match had taken more out of him than he’d let on.

After a moment, he leaned back just enough to look at you, searching your expression.

“Did I do okay?” he asked—quiet and earnest, despite the win, despite the cheers, despite already knowing the answer.

He sat down on the bench while you stood in front of him, gently tugging you closer without thinking. He rested his forehead against your torso, as if the rest of the world had already faded away.