The sun was out for the first time in days, its weak winter rays reflecting off the thin blanket of snow covering the courtyard. Students milled about, talking in groups or hurrying to their next class. Carlos sat on a low stone bench near the fountain, the frost-covered edges melting slightly under the midday warmth.

Lando leaned against the side of the fountain, tossing a small stone in his hand. "You know, if you keep brooding like this, someone's going to start calling you the resident storm cloud."

Carlos rolled his eyes. "Not in the mood."

"Clearly," Lando muttered, dropping the stone with a sigh. "Come on, lighten up. It's a nice day. No duels. No whispers-"

As if on cue, a couple members of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team approached hesitantly, their expressions a mixture of guilt and nervousness. One member cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Sainz," he began, shuffling. "We, uh... we wanted to apologise."

Carlos raised an eyebrow. "For what exactly?"

"For... well..." He glanced at his teammates, who all avoided eye contact. "For the things we've said. About you."

"And the way we've treated you," another team member added quickly. "It was out of line."

Carlos crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. "You're right. It was."

Lando suppressed a smirk, watching the Ravenclaws squirm under Carlos' cool gaze.

"We were wrong," he continued, his voice quiet. "You're... you're not what we thought. And the way we acted was unfair. You're an incredible player, and we were jealous. Plain and simple."

There was a long pause before Carlos finally sighed. "Fine. Apology accepted. Just don't let it happen again."

Relief washed over the team, and they quickly mumbled their thanks before retreating.

"See?" Lando said, nudging Carlos with his elbow. "Even the resident storm cloud gets a rainbow every now and then."

Carlos shot him a half-hearted glare but couldn't quite hide the small smile tugging at his lips.

Meanwhile, Oscar was making his way back from the library when he passed a group of Slytherins loitering near the entrance to the dungeons. Their voices carried across the hall, sharp and derisive.

"...Heard he's using dark magic to win matches," one of them said.

"No wonder he's always so pale," another sneered. "Probably practicing curses all night."

"Carlos?" Oscar stopped in his tracks, his voice cutting through their laughter.

The Slytherins turned to look at him, their smirks faltering. "What's it to you?" One of them asked.

"Say it again," Oscar said evenly, stepping closer. His tone was calm, but his eyes were anything but.

"Relax," the first Slytherin said, raising his hands mockingly. "We're just talking. No harm done."

"Except there is," Oscar said coldly. "You don't know anything about him, so maybe keep your opinions to yourself."

The group exchanged uneasy glances before slinking off, muttering under their breath.

Oscar exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. The rumors were getting worse, and while he didn't entirely understand why they bothered him so much, he knew he couldn't ignore them anymore.

Later that day, Carlos and Oscar sat together in Professor Horner's Potions class. The long tables were covered in bubbling cauldrons and scattered ingredients, and the warm, spicy scent of brewing elixirs filled the air.

"Alright, class," Horner announced, clapping his hands together. "Today, we'll be attempting a Wit-Sharpening Potion. A useful brew for clearing the mind before exams. Instructions are on the board- chop your ginger roots finely, and for Merlin's sake, don't let it boil over."

Oscar glanced sideways at Carlos. "I'll chop if you measure. Deal?"

Carlos shrugged. "Fine. Just don't mess it up."

As they worked, their conversation took a turn for the ridiculous.

"Do you think this potion works on Horner?" Oscar asked, grinning. "Because sometimes I'm not sure he knows what day it is."

Carlos snorted. "Probably drinks too much mead. Did you see him at the last feast? He was redder than a tomato."

"True." Oscar laughed, then paused. "Hey, are these supposed to be chopped or minced?"

Carlos glanced over. "Chopped. What are you- don't pulverize them! We're not making a stew! Dios, Oscar. ¿Cuántos años llevamos haciendo esto?"

"Oops," Oscar said, holding up the mangled ginger root with a sheepish grin.

Carlos shook his head, suppressing a laugh. "Give me that. You're a danger to the culinary arts."

By the time the potion was finished, their cauldron emitted a faintly glowing vapor. "Well," Oscar said, leaning back in his chair. "It looks right. Probably smells horrible, though."

Carlos gave him a sidelong glance. "That's because you got the ginger in your hair. Maybe the potion's working- it's sharpening your fashion sense."

Oscar swatted at his head, grumbling, while Carlos laughed- a rare, genuine sound that drew curious glances from their classmates.

"Mr Sainz, Mr Piastri," Horner called from the front of the room, his eyes twinkling. "I trust your potion won't cause any explosions this time?"

"Of course not, Professor," Oscar replied, feigning innocence.

Carlos just smirked, his mood noticeably lighter as they cleaned up their workstation.

The library was unusually quiet later that evening, the usual buzz of chatter and laughter replaced by the gentle hum of murmured conversations. Most students had retreated to their dormitories, leaving only a couple of revising students, including Carlos and Oscar seated at the back of the room, separate to everyone else. The two hadn't planned to be there together, but the silence between them was companionable rather than awkward- a testament to how far they'd come since their years of rivalry.

Oscar stretched out on the cushioned chair opposite Carlos, his fingers tapping idly on the armrest. Carlos was slouched in his seat, staring into the flickering flames, his face cast in shadows. He looked like he was battling with himself, and Oscar, ever perceptive, decided to wait for Carlos to speak first.

Finally, he let out a long sigh. "Do you ever feel like... no matter what you do, it's never enough?"

Oscar raised an eyebrow. "That's a loaded question. What's got you in that mood?"

Carlos shifted, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "It's just... everything. The constant whispers, the expectations. I mean- I've lived with them my whole life, but it seems to be becoming too much. It's like I can't just exist without someone assuming something about me."

Oscar nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, people can be idiots. But you've got Lando and me now. And most of the school's finally realising they were wrong about you. Doesn't that count for something?"

"Maybe." Carlos' voice was low. "But it doesn't erase the years of... all of it." He gave a bitter laugh. "I'm supposed to be this brilliant Quidditch player, this guy who's got it all together. But most days, I feel like I'm barely keeping it together."

Oscar leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. "You're allowed to feel like that, you know. Nobody's expecting you to be perfect. Well, except maybe you. Which is... what's the word? Estúpido."

Carlos glanced at him, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Coming from you, that's rich. You used to be the first one to call me out whenever I slipped up."

"Fair." Oscar chuckled. "I was a dick. No denying that. But... you weren't exactly innocent, mate. Remember third year? The duel in the Great Hall?"

Carlos groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Don't remind me. I'm pretty sure McGonagall still glares at me sometimes because of that."

"You deserved it," Oscar said, grinning. "You're the one who started it."

"Only because you couldn't shut up about how Hufflepuff were going to wipe the floor with us in the next Quidditch match," Carlos shot back, though his tone was more amused than defensive.

"And we did," Oscar said smugly.

Carlos snorted. "For one game, bearing in mind that was the one game I couldn't play in. Then we crushed you in the finals."

"Details," Oscar said, waving a hand dismissively.

The two laughed, the tension between them easing. For a moment, it was easy to forget the weight that had been pressing on Carlos.

But the moment passed, and his gaze returned to the fire. "I..." He hesitated. "There's something else."

Oscar straightened. "Go on."

Carlo's voice was quieter now. "The rumors. They're not going away, are they? I know what people are saying about me, some point someone's going to realise-" He cut himself off, sighing.

Oscar frowned. "They'll fade eventually. People move on. They always do."

"But what if they don't?" Carlos looked at him, his eyes haunted. "What if they figure it out?"

Oscar's expression softened. "Carlos... are you trying to tell me something?"

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to his hands. "No. Not... not really. I just... I hate the way people talk. Like they know me, like they have the right to judge me."

"Then don't let them," Oscar said firmly. "You're more than their stupid rumors. You're the best Quidditch Captain this school's ever seen, hell, you're one of the worlds best at your age. You're loyal to your friends and you're a hell of a lot stronger than you think."

Carlos looked up at him, his expression unreadable. "You really believe that?"

"Yeah," Oscar said without hesitation. "And if anyone tries to tell you otherwise, they'll have to go through me."

A faint smile broke through Carlos' somber demeanor. "Thanks, Oscar."

"Anytime," he said, leaning back in his chair. After a moment, he added, "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry for all the shit I gave you over the years. I was... jealous, I think. You've always been better than me at everything that mattered."

"That's not true," Carlos said quietly. "You're better at being honest with yourself. And with others."

"Guess we're even then," Oscar said with a grin.

Carlos laughed softly, shaking his head. "Maybe."

The two sat in silence for a while longer, the firelight dancing across their faces. Carlos felt a little lighter- as if the burden he carried was a little less suffocating. And Oscar, for his part, felt a quiet satisfaction in knowing he'd done something right for once.

Neither of them knew what the future held, but for now, they were content to sit in the warmth of the fire, the weight of their shared history finally beginning to lift.