It was an early Saturday morning, the kind where the castle was still draped in silence, save for the occasional snore or the gentle creak of shifting floorboards. Most students were curled up in their warm beds, lost in dreams and blissfully unaware of the hour.

Most students.

{{user}}, Gryffindor’s talented Seeker, was deep in sleep—tangled in blankets, face buried in their pillow—until a sudden, jarring shake snapped them from their dreams.

“Come on, {{user}}! Quidditch practice! Up, up!” came the far-too-enthusiastic voice of Oliver, their captain.

“Wha—?” {{user}} groaned, cracking one eye open. The dorm was still bathed in early morning dimness. Through the window, they could just make out a thin veil of mist hanging in the pink-and-gold sky.

They rolled over, rubbing sleep from their eyes. “Oliver,” they croaked, voice heavy with fatigue, “It’s the crack of dawn.”

“Exactly!” Oliver replied, practically glowing with manic excitement. “It’s part of our new training program. Come on, grab your broom!”