The morning Carlos had been waiting for finally arrived. The hospital wing was bathed in golden light as Madam Pomfrey carefully examined Carlos' shoulder one last time.

"You're lucky you heal quickly," she said, handing him a fresh shirt to replace the sling. "But I don't want to see you doing anything too strenuous just yet." She added this as a standard precaution, but she knew the first thing he would do when he left the Wing would be to grab his broom.

Carlos nodded enthusiastically, barely listening. As soon as she dismissed him, he was out the door, practically running toward the Quidditch pitch.

He found Lando and Oscar waiting on the sidelines, the latter holding a broom while Lando looked at his watch impatiently.

"You're ridiculous," Lando called as Carlos jogged up to them, grinning from ear to ear. "You couldn't even wait until tomorrow?"

"Why wait when I've got today?" Carlos replied, snatching the broom from Oscar's hands.

He raised an eyebrow. "I mean, you've still got one good arm. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Don't encourage him," Lando said with a sigh, though his fondness for Carlos was evident. "I've got class soon, so don't kill yourself before I get back."

He gave a mock salute, mounting the broom. "No promises!"

Lando shook his head, muttering something under his breath about reckless idiots, before heading off toward the castle.

For the next hour, Carlos threw himself into practice with the kind of abandon that only someone recently freed from weeks of inactivity could muster. Oscar watched from the ground, his arms crossed, equal parts amused and worried.

"You're going to crash at this rate," he called as Carlos executed a particularly sharp dive.

"Don't worry about me, amigo!" Carlos shouted back, his voice carrying through the crisp air. "I've got this!"

Oscar rolled his eyes but couldn't help admiring Carlos' ease in the air. It was like watching a bird that had been caged for too long finally stretch its wings.

Eventually, he landed, his hair windswept and his face flushed with exhilaration. He dropped onto the grass beside Oscar, clutching the broom like a lifeline.

"Feel better?" Oscar asked.

"Much," he replied, leaning back and closing his eyes. "I needed that."

Oscar hesitated, glancing at Carlos thoughtfully. "You said something last week... about how flying makes you forget."

Carlos' smile faltered, though his eyes remained closed. "Sí, lo dije. What about it?"

"How old were you when you started flying?" Oscar asked, changing the subject slightly.

Carlos' grin returned, softer this time. "Barely after I could walk. mi papá says I tried to steal his broom when I was two. By four, I was flying as though I owned the sky."

Oscar chuckled. "Figures. So Quidditch was... always a part of you?"

Carlos nodded. "Pretty much, I mean, mi papá's quidditch team won the championship for Spain several times. It's the one thing that's always made sense to me."

There was a pause, and then Oscar asked, more cautiously, "And the moon? When did that- if you don't mind?"

Carlos opened his eyes, his expression hardening slightly. He looked at Oscar, debating how much to say. "When I was six," he finally admitted, his tone flat.

Oscar swallowed, unsure how to respond. "I'm sorry."

Carlos shrugged, but the movement was tense. "Don't be. It happened. I've dealt with it."

"Have you?" He pressed gently.

His jaw tightened, and his cheerful mood from earlier seemed to drain away. "It's a conversation for another day," he said, his voice strained. "Maybe the next full moon."

Oscar nodded, sensing he'd pushed far enough. "Okay. Whenever you're ready."

Carlos offered him a small, grateful smile before lying back on the grass again, the broom still clutched tightly in his hand. As the silence stretched between them, Oscar found himself watching Carlos more closely. He wasn't sure when his curiosity about him had shifted into something deeper- concern, maybe even respect. Seeing Carlos so alive on the Quidditch pitch had been a stark contrast to the person he'd first known: guarded, prickly, always ready to snap.

But then, Oscar had also seen cracks in that armor. Like now, when the mention of the moon had pulled Carlos back into himself, away from the vibrant, smiling figure who seemed untouchable just moments before.

Oscar leaned back on his hands, gazing up at the sky. "You know," he said after a while, "I used to think Quidditch was just a sport. A way to show off."

Carlos snorted. "Isn't that why most people play?"

"Maybe," Oscar admitted. "But for you, it's different. It's not just about the game."

Carlos didn't reply right away, but Oscar didn't push. Finally, he said, so softly Oscar almost missed it, "It's the only time I feel free."

Oscar turned his head to look at Carlos, who was staring at the clouds. The weight in those words hung heavy between them, and Oscar felt a pang of guilt for ever dismissing Quidditch as trivial.

"You're good at it," Oscar said, trying to lighten the mood.

Carlos' lips twitched into a faint smile. "Gracias. I've had a lot of practice."

They lapsed into silence again, but this time, it felt less heavy. He didn't press further, but he filed away Carlos' words, his mind racing with questions he didn't yet know how to ask.

Meanwhile, back in the castle, Lando was struggling to focus on his lesson. The classroom was warm, the drone of the professor's voice almost hypnotic, but his mind kept drifting back to Carlos.

He hadn't missed the light in his eyes when he'd gotten the sling off that morning or the way he'd practically run to the Quidditch pitch. Lando had seen Carlos happy before, but this was different- raw, unfiltered joy.

It had scared him.

Not because he didn't want Carlos to be happy, but because he realised just how much Quidditch meant to his friend. And if it meant that much, what happened when it was taken away? Lando couldn't shake the memory of Carlos' injuries after the Bludger incident or the sight of him lying in the hospital wing, pale and in pain.

Lando frowned, tapping his quill against his parchment. Maybe that was why Carlos had been so insistent about practicing defensive spells. Quidditch wasn't just a sport for him- it was a lifeline.

When the lesson finally ended, Lando packed up his things and headed back to the Quidditch pitch. He didn't like the idea of Carlos overexerting himself so soon, sling or no sling.

Lando found Carlos and Oscar still lying on the grass near the pitch. The broom was discarded beside Carlos, who seemed to be dozing in the sun. Oscar glanced up as he approached, giving him a nod.

"Did he overdo it already?" Lando asked, gesturing to Carlos.

"Probably," Oscar said, smirking. "But he's happy, so I'm not going to ruin it."

Lando crouched down beside Carlos, nudging him gently. "Hey, idiota. You're going to get a sunburn if you fall asleep out here."

Carlos cracked one eye open, his smile lazy but genuine. "Nice of you to care."

"Someone has to," Lando said, but his tone was light.

As they talked, he noticed the subtle shift in Oscar. He wasn't sure what had passed between him and Carlos while he'd been gone, but Oscar seemed quieter, more thoughtful. It was... unexpected, to say the least.

And yet, as they sat together in the fading sunlight, Lando couldn't help but feel that something between the three of them had shifted- something fragile, but maybe, just maybe, something good.