Gryffindor had been ahead.

For most of the match, they had the win. Charlie was faster, sharper, hungrier than the Slytherin seeker… until he wasn’t. A single mistimed dive, a flash of green robes cutting across his line, and the snitch had vanished into the other seeker’s fist.

The whistle blew. Cheers erupted from the wrong side of the stadium.

Charlie didn’t slow his broom. Didn’t nod to the ref. Didn’t even look at the Slytherin captain reaching for a handshake. He landed hard, boots hitting the grass with a thud that matched the drop of your stomach. His jaw was locked tight, eyes burning, and without a word to anyone, he stormed across the pitch and disappeared into the locker room.

The Gryffindor players began trickling out a few minutes later, dragging their feet, muttering under their breaths. You stayed where you were for a second, hoping he’d come out with them. But he didn’t.

You stepped forward and caught one of the Chasers by the sleeve.

“Where’s Charlie?”

The boy scratched the back of his neck. “Still in the locker room. I think he’s… yeah. He’s not in a great mood.”

You didn’t expect him to be. You nodded your thanks and slipped past the team as they exited,their voices fading behind you as you pushed open the heavy wooden door.

The locker room was quiet.

Almost.

A sharp curse cut through the stillness, followed by the metallic slam of a locker. You stepped inside, letting the door close behind you with a soft click.

Charlie stood with his back to you, shirt hanging from his hand, every line of his body taut with frustration. His hair was damp, pushed back in messy, irritated streaks. Sweat glistened across his shoulders, catching the dim light, muscles shifting as he dragged a hand through his hair with another muttered curse.

He didn’t notice you at first. He leaned forward, palms braced against the lockers, head bowed as he took a slow, furious breath.

You moved one step closer.

He heard it.

Charlie turned sharply, eyes flashing. Frustration, anger, heat, all of it flickering across his face until he realized it was you. The tension didn’t disappear. It just shifted, darkened, thickened in the air between you.

“I thought you’d gone back to the castle,” he said, dragging the shirt across his forehead. His voice was rough.

His gaze held yours, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling. Every part of him radiated frustration and something else coiled hot beneath it.