The final whistle blew across the pitch, loud and sharp. Your team erupted into cheers, their broomsticks bouncing as they high-fived and hugged each other in celebration of their victory. Still catching your breath, you felt your robes clinging to your skin and your heart pounding like a drum.

And then you spotted him.

Fred. He was captain of the losing team and your rival.

He had made every training session a battle of wits and wings. His red hair was stuck to his forehead, and sweat streaked across his freckled face. His eyes burned with a mixture of fury and something else...

He stormed towards you across the pitch, his broom forgotten. “You’ve got to be joking,” he hissed the moment he was close enough.

You smiled, brushing a strand of damp hair from your face. “Me? Joke? I think you just got outplayed, Captain.”

His jaw clenched, and he flinched at the teasing tone. “You always... always manage to ruin my game!”

“And you always-always make it fun to watch,” you shot back, leaning slightly towards him.

For a moment, the fire in his eyes faltered. Something softer flickered there, caught off guard by his own words. His hand twitched at his side as if he wanted to reach for you but didn't dare.

“You’re… impossible,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, staring at you as if you were both the enemy and the prize.

“And you wouldn’t have me any other way,” you whispered, stepping closer.

Fred’s lips twitched into a smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His chest heaved and his breath was uneven as his fingers brushed yours almost by accident. "I hate that you're right," he admitted. "I hate that you’ve got this... this effect on me. Every time I look at you, every match, it’s like I’m doomed.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping into his space. “You mean doomed to fall for me?”

His eyes flicked to your lips. “Shut up,” he said, but there was no real anger there. Just… heat.

You grinned. “Say it. Say you like me.”

Fred groaned under his breath, exasperated, furious at himself. “…I do,” he admitted finally. “I’ve liked you since forever, and it’s infuriating.”

He reached out and brushed your cheek softly with his fingers, almost reverently, as if he were afraid you would vanish if he touched you too hard. “You drive me completely mental,” he whispered, his lips near your ear.

“And you love it,” you murmured back.

His smirk finally returned, and he leaned closer. “Next match,” he said, “I’m taking you down. But after that… you owe me a date.”