The morning light crept across the ancient stones of Hogwarts, illuminating an air charged with anticipation for the first Quidditch match of the season. In the Slytherin girls' dormitory, Rose Shafiq took her time rising, unconcerned by the restless footsteps echoing around her. She was a Shafiq, after all—someone who saw no reason to bend to the day's schedule unless it suited her.
She dressed with customary care, selecting emerald robes fastened by small silver clasps. Each clasp held a polished green stone that caught the morning glow with ostentatious elegance. A fine black turtleneck beneath the robes emphasized her figure, and a discreet pearl necklace complemented the shimmering pins in her hair. Wealth was her armor, and she wore it proudly. Let the rest of Hogwarts think what they liked—her father's influence and fortune placed her far beyond their judgment.
By the time she entered the Great Hall, the bustle of breakfast had mostly died down. Many students had already hurried off to secure seats at the Quidditch pitch, eager to witness the face-off between Slytherin and Gryffindor. At one end of the Slytherin table, Daisy Parkinson waited anxiously, glancing repeatedly toward the door. When Daisy saw Rose, she waved, looking both relieved and a little exasperated.
"You're late," Daisy murmured as Rose settled into a seat and poured herself a cup of tea.
Rose lifted her chin in a gentle shrug. "Punctuality is overrated," she said, letting her gaze drift over the nearly empty hall. "Why let the day rush me when I can saunter in at my leisure?"
Daisy made a vague sound of agreement but cast a worried glance toward the corridor. "The match starts soon, and everyone's saying it'll be spectacular. James Potter is captaining Gryffindor now, and Regulus Black's in charge of Slytherin. Sirius is a Beater. They say the tension between those two brothers will be incredible."
Rose sipped her tea with a faint, half-interested smile. "How fascinating. Perhaps it will give them both a chance to show off. I suppose I'll watch, if only to see which Black brother prevails."
Before Daisy could respond, Evan Rosier sauntered over from the staff table, where he had evidently been chatting with Professor Slughorn. His stride was confident, almost theatrical, and he looked far too pleased with himself. He cast Daisy a perfunctory nod before bestowing his full attention on Rose.
"Shafiq," he said softly, "I trust you'll be cheering for us today? After all, we can't lose when our resident princess is in the stands."
Rose shot him an icy look. "Don't flatter yourself, Rosier. I'm there to watch Quidditch, not to shout and wave banners."
He gave a languid shrug, eyes gleaming. "As you wish, but a victory for Slytherin is guaranteed to be all the sweeter if you're in attendance."
Her lip curled in mild disdain. "Enjoy your match, then."
Rosier snorted a laugh and drifted away, apparently pleased by the exchange. Daisy watched him go, then cleared her throat. "Shall we, Shafiq? We should find decent seats before the pitch is completely swarmed."
Rose allowed a graceful nod and rose from the table, her robes trailing behind her as she and Daisy strode out into the Entrance Hall. The tall doors leading to the grounds stood open, revealing an expanse of sky so sharply blue it made the castle walls seem grayer by contrast. Students poured out in a colorful stream, many wearing House scarves or clutching homemade signs.
Narcissa Black stood by one of the great windows, observing the throng. She turned when she heard Rose's footsteps, a faint curve on her lips that bordered on a smirk. "Shafiq," she said, voice low and polite. "I wondered how late you'd arrive this morning."
Rose studied her cousin by marriage—if one could even call it that in this tangled lineage—and offered a cool smile. "Why bother coming early when all the excitement happens on the field?"
Narcissa looked like she wanted a private word. Daisy took the hint, said she'd head off to find a seat, and hurried away. Once they were alone, Narcissa inclined her head toward the open doors. "Walk with me. I'd rather not be jostled by the crowd."
Rose agreed, and they left the castle together, the crisp air brushing their cheeks. Dozens of banners fluttered overhead, some bearing the roaring Gryffindor lion, others the serpent of Slytherin. The volume of cheering students made conversation difficult at first, but eventually, they reached a quieter stretch of pathway that led directly to the stands.
"Word is that your father still refuses to support the Travers campaign for the Ministry," Narcissa remarked.
Rose shrugged lightly, unwilling to show how much that detail rankled. "He has his reasons."
Narcissa's pale eyes flickered with an emotion akin to concern. "Just be wary. Orion is pushing for an alliance with Travers, especially now that Minister Malgrovor might resign. One wonders where the Shafiqs will stand if Orion cements his support."
Rose merely smiled. "My father is accustomed to forging his own path. We Shafiqs bend to no one, least of all the Travers family."
Narcissa accepted that in stony silence, and they reached the tall wooden stands without further talk. They ascended the tiered seating, weaving past pockets of excited students. From this vantage, they could see the entire pitch with ease. Daisy Parkinson waved at them from a lower row, but Rose pretended not to notice, preferring the higher, more exclusive seats.
Before long, the teams appeared. The Slytherin Quidditch players strode out in immaculate emerald robes, Regulus Black at the forefront, shoulders set with quiet confidence. Opposite them, the Gryffindors emerged in bright red, led by James Potter and backed by Sirius Black, who carried a Beater's bat slung casually over his shoulder.
The stands roared in anticipation as the announcer called out the players' names. Each mention of Regulus elicited a chorus of cheers from Slytherin; each mention of Sirius drew equally raucous cries from Gryffindor. The whistle sounded, and the match began at once. Broomsticks soared, Bludgers hummed through the air, and the Quaffle flew from player to player in a dizzying dance.
Regulus moved with lethal grace, weaving through the air and signaling to his Chasers with sharp precision. Slytherin scored quickly, prompting a roar from the green and silver stands. Then James Potter answered by launching the Quaffle through a hoop at the other end, leveling the score. Sirius circled overhead, sending Bludgers hurtling at any Slytherin who dared linger too close to his precious Chasers. The scoreboard ticked upward, the two teams trading points in a blur of aerial maneuvers.
Rose observed it all with calm detachment, though she felt a faint, unwilling rush of excitement whenever Regulus scored. He displayed a singular focus, as if every pass and dodge were meticulously planned. She found herself admiring the way he commanded his teammates. But her gaze wandered more than once to Sirius, whose wild and agile flying seemed driven by sheer bravado. Part of her wanted to see him fail—another part felt an inexplicable curiosity about how far he might go to win.
When the Gryffindor Seeker finally seized the Snitch, the stands exploded. Gryffindor finished well above Slytherin in points, their victory sealed by that golden flash. On the field, Regulus's composure cracked; he hurled his broom aside in frustration, while Sirius hovered nearby with an exultant grin, all too eager to rub in his triumph.
Narcissa scowled. "A disgrace," she muttered, rising from her seat and sweeping out of the stands. Rose followed more languidly, descending the steps where Daisy Parkinson hovered with crestfallen eyes.
"I can't believe it," Daisy whispered. "We lost so fast."
Rose gave a small shrug, refusing to let the defeat ruffle her. "Quidditch is fickle. We'll win next time, if Slytherin can keep calm instead of relying on bravado."
They reached the pitch, where a dispirited Regulus was berating his Beaters. Evan Rosier bristled at the accusations, muttering that he'd done his best to take out the Gryffindor Seeker. Several Slytherins looked near tears, while a swarm of red-robed Gryffindors celebrated off to one side. James Potter and Sirius Black, arms over each other's shoulders, were fielding congratulations from classmates who had rushed down from the stands.
Regulus noticed Rose and the others approaching and cut his tirade short. He turned to face them, anger radiating from every line of his posture. "I should've seen this coming," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Sirius doesn't play fair."
Narcissa tried to console him. "He's a blood-traitor who got lucky, that's all."
A flicker of raw pain stirred in Regulus's eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but the sudden arrival of Sirius broke the moment. Sirius, still in his scarlet uniform, gazed at Regulus with a mixture of mockery and sadness. James Potter lingered behind him, ever the mischievous wingman.
"Tough luck, little brother," Sirius drawled.
Regulus spat something furious under his breath, and Rosier looked ready to fling a hex. Before matters could escalate, Rose stepped between them, addressing Sirius with a cold, imperious voice. "You've had your victory, Black. Must you swagger about looking for more?"
Sirius looked her up and down, recognition flashing in his grey eyes. Their earlier confrontation flickered in both their memories. He hesitated, perhaps recalling her slap, then smirked. "Maybe I just wanted to see how everyone's doing after that humiliating defeat."
James tugged on Sirius's arm, pointing out that Gryffindor Tower awaited. With one last sneer, Sirius let himself be guided away, leaving Regulus rigid with fury. He and Rosier began arguing over how the match had slipped through their fingers. Eventually, they and the rest of the Slytherins stormed off toward the locker rooms, consumed by anger and embarrassment.
Daisy stared after them, murmuring her sympathies for Regulus, but Rose felt her mind drifting elsewhere. The day was barely half over, and already, the tensions overshadowing Hogwarts felt more palpable than ever. She had no love for Sirius's rebellious streak, yet something about his defiance tugged at her thoughts.
When they returned to the castle, Daisy went off to commiserate with other Slytherin supporters, and Rose found herself wandering through the corridors, vaguely searching for a quiet space to think. The tap of her heels against the stone echoed in the stillness. At one point, she paused by a wide window overlooking the grounds. The lake stretched out in shimmering silver at midday, dotted by flickers of the giant squid or passing owls.
She closed her eyes briefly, remembering how, years ago, the mention of her and Sirius as a potential couple had seemed almost certain. Yet here they were, practically strangers. She had lost track of the time she spent absorbed in these reflections, until she heard a light footstep behind her and turned.
Claire Travers stood there in Ravenclaw robes, her blonde hair aglow with the afternoon sun. She smiled demurely, though her eyes gleamed with bold confidence. "You must be reeling, Shafiq. Your House lost so spectacularly."
Rose considered her with a stony gaze. "I'm not especially bothered. It was one match."
Claire shrugged. "Some matches carry deeper meaning. All eyes were on the Blacks, and it did amuse me to see how the oh-so-esteemed Regulus handled losing."
Rose's lip curled. "You're still attempting to slither into his orbit, I see. Have you no House pride that you'd skulk around Slytherin?"
Claire arched a brow. "I like to keep my options open. And it doesn't escape me that my father's political aspirations may soon reshape the landscape of wizarding Britain. One might wonder how the Shafiqs plan to adapt. Or if they can afford not to."
Rose's jaw tightened, recalling everything she'd heard from Daisy, Narcissa, and even Regulus. But she maintained her composure. "You Travers lot can chase your positions all you wish. The Shafiqs do not kneel to some new Minister, especially not if he's a puppet to Orion Black."
Claire gave her a pointed look. "You may find that remaining neutral is no longer an option, my dear. Certain families have to pick a side—particularly if the Dark Lord's presence continues to grow." She paused. "At the very least, you might keep in mind that alliances can prove... beneficial."
Rose's voice chilled. "I align with no one unless it suits me. And your father's ambitions have no bearing on how I live. Remember that."
Claire studied her a moment longer, then gave a small nod and disappeared down the corridor. Rose exhaled slowly, realizing she was trembling slightly with anger or perhaps apprehension. The notion that her father would be pressured into any arrangement was sickening. She loathed the idea of being used as a pawn, whether by Orion Black or by the Travers family.
Feeling the need to compose herself, she made her way back to the Slytherin common room. The corridors sloped downward, the air growing cooler and the lighting dimmer. Murmuring the password, she slipped inside and found the common room in a somber mood. A few second-years sobbed about the match, blaming bad calls from the referee. A pair of older girls huddled in a corner, whispering about Rosier's near fight with Sirius.
Rose eased into a deep armchair facing one of the windows that looked out onto the greenish depths of the lake. She let her thoughts wander over the day's events, uncertain which unsettled her more: Regulus's shattered pride, Sirius's triumphant smirk, or her father's rumored standoff with Orion Black and the rising Travers faction.
A subtle shuffle of steps made her look up. Regulus had entered, hair still slightly damp from the locker room showers, and set his broom aside. His expression was drawn, yet when he spotted Rose, a flicker of resolve appeared in his eyes. He came closer, hesitating briefly before speaking in a low voice.
"I needed a moment away from the others. Too many questions about the next match."
Rose inclined her head, offering him the seat opposite her. He settled there, leaning forward. The tension in his shoulders betrayed the weight he bore, a mix of frustration and wounded pride. For a moment, neither spoke.
Finally, he broke the silence. "I suppose you'll say it's just a Quidditch game, but losing to Sirius—" His voice constricted. "It stings more than I imagined."
She regarded him thoughtfully. "You hate losing, especially to a brother who rejected your family. But in the grand scheme of things, a single loss is hardly the end."
He exhaled. "True." Then, a flicker of hesitation darkened his gaze. "I don't enjoy discussing our parents, but you should know something. My father, Orion, expects the Shafiqs to support Travers. If your father refuses, Orion may take it as a personal affront."
Rose stiffened. "Is that a threat from him to me?"
Regulus shook his head. "I'm only warning you. The Blacks don't respond kindly to perceived slights, and if they believe the Shafiqs stand in the way of their agenda, they'll retaliate. I'm not certain how, but it's best you be prepared."
She let out a slow breath. Memories of her mother's travels in France, her father's transatlantic dealings, and her own reluctance to bow to anyone echoed in her mind. "My father rarely heeds ultimatums," she replied. "Nor do I."
Regulus studied her, a hint of wry admiration in his eyes. "That's what I expected." After a pause, he added, "You realize we may all be forced to pick a side soon. Rosier's rumored to be flirting with Death Eaters. Other families are doing the same. If your father won't back Travers, some might wonder if the Shafiqs support... a different faction."
A tight smile formed on her lips. "I support no madman. Nor do I champion any lesser families clamoring for a worthless seat of power. We Shafiqs have resources enough to stand alone." She lifted her chin. "At least, that's how I see it."
He nodded, not disagreeing outright, but she sensed he viewed her stance as naive. Even so, he said nothing more on the subject. After another silence, he rose, broom in hand. "I'll leave you to your thoughts," he said simply.
She watched him retreat, feeling a swirl of complicated emotions churn in her chest. Yes, she was a Shafiq, heir to a vast fortune that dwarfed the holdings of most pure-blood families. Yes, she prided herself on being above petty politics. But everything pointed to a gathering storm, one that might rend the wizarding world in two: those who sided with the Dark Lord, and those who opposed him. Where would that leave her, caught between her father's obstinate independence and Orion Black's demands?
She smoothed her robes and closed her eyes, recalling the day's events: the roar of the crowd when Sirius seized victory, the grim look on Regulus's face, the mocking poise of Claire Travers. Even Daisy's starry-eyed enthusiasm for radical ideas felt unsettling. A single Quidditch match had exposed so many cracks in the foundations of her life.
And yet, for all the turmoil, Rose Shafiq refused to relinquish her composure. If her father taught her anything, it was that control and status yielded near immunity from ordinary constraints. She clung to that belief, hoping it would be enough to navigate the trials that loomed on the horizon.
Nightfall would bring its own hush over the castle, and the day's defeat would fade into memory. But the questions remained, echoing in her mind: How far could she remain aloof when the world seemed intent on forcing everyone to choose sides? And how long before the cost of her neutrality became too steep?
She pressed her hand against the arm of the chair, steadying herself. If a war was coming, she would face it on her own terms, neither a puppet of Orion Black nor an ally of any lesser name. The corridors of Hogwarts might close in around her, the darkness of dangerous alliances might advance, but Rose Shafiq would stand firm—flawlessly adorned in jewels and pride, fearless in her conviction that no one dictated her destiny.
It might be an illusion of freedom, yet for the moment, it was the only freedom she had. And that, she told herself, would have to suffice.