You had wandered to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, just like Lucius knew you would. He found you there — alone, clutching the Nimbus 2002 he’d given you, your knuckles pale against the polished wood.

Lucius approached without a word, his black robes barely disturbing the leaves, and sat beside you on a moss-covered rock. The silence between you had been heavy, filled with everything you hadn’t said after the match.

“Lost again?” Lucius asked. His voice hadn’t been sharp. It had been measured. Knowing. He saw the look in your eyes before you even turned to him — that hollow disappointment, that anger turned inward after losing to Potter. Again.

Potter. The name alone made Lucius’s jaw tighten. Not because the boy had won, but because his victory had carved that look onto your face. Lucius hated seeing his child like this. Hated it more than he hated Potter himself.

His gloved hand had settled on your shoulder. Solid. Grounding. Then, so briefly you might’ve missed it if you hadn’t been watching, Lucius had given you a soft, reassuring smile. The kind he gave no one else.

“I am not disappointed in you,” Lucius said, each word deliberate, meant only for you

“Potter may catch a Snitch. But you, my dragon, were born to rule the sky. Do not forget that.”