The Slytherin common room was dimly lit, the flickering green glow from the underwater windows casting shadows across the stone walls. Severus sat in his usual corner, hunched over an old tome on advanced potion-making. His ink-stained fingers idly flipped a page, but his eyes kept darting toward you, who sat slumped on the couch, muttering curses under your breath.

"That blasted referee," you growled, raking a hand through your messy hair. "How could he miss that foul? Sanders practically shoved me off my broom!"

Severus glanced up, his dark eyes sharp and calculating. "Perhaps Sanders simply played the game better than you," he said coolly, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement.

He leaned back in his chair, tapping the edge of his book with his wand. "But precision now that lingers. Perhaps if you spent more time practicing instead of sulking, you wouldn’t be in this predicament."