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SAI POV

THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP FINALS.

I was buzzing with excitement.

Ever since I could remember, I've dreamt of flying for Slytherin, snatching the Snitch right out of Potter's smug hands—but, of course, Marcus Flint had to ruin everything. "No girls on the team," he said. Absolute toad.

But that was a battle for Hogwarts. Right now, my parents and I had just arrived at the Cup's venue via Portkey—and Merlin, did I hate Portkeys. My stomach swirled like a cauldron gone wrong.

The match was moments from beginning, and because my father was rather well-acquainted with the Minister himself, we were invited to watch the game from the comfort of his private box. No tent needed—we'd be leaving right after the final whistle blew.

I staggered slightly, still dizzy from the journey, when a sharp, all-too-familiar voice echoed behind me.

"Mr. and Mrs. Panday. And Sai," said a drawl so pompous, it made my head ache harder.

It wasn't Potter's voice—somehow, that made it worse.

"Lucius, Narcissa, Draco," my mother greeted with a polite smile.

Yes. The Malfoys.

I looked up and plastered on the sweetest, most insincere smile I could manage. Draco was an occasional ally, but only because we tolerated each other during mutual plotting.

"You look like you're about to vomit," Draco observed with amusement. "You're not pregnant, are you?"

"Choke, Malfoy," I replied flatly. "Pregnancy is a blessing, not a punishment. But I'm not in need of either at the moment."

"Relax, Panday. Just a joke," he smirked, brushing off the insult.

I shot back, "What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be somewhere else? Like, say, Pansy Parkinson's bed?"

Draco chuckled darkly while walking ahead.

Last year had been a mess. Pansy was cheating on Zabini with Draco, Greengrass was cheating on Nott with Zabini, and Draco... well, he'd been making flirty passes at me the whole time. A circus of betrayal, backstabbing, and very little subtlety.

"Jealous much?" Draco teased with a smug lift of his brow.

"Hardly. Looks like Pansy's the one with abandonment issues," I said, nodding toward her. She was staring daggers at me from across the field.

I strutted past her, head held high, my smirk matching hers in bitterness.

We entered the Minister's box, the Malfoys just behind us, their cold presence lingering like a storm cloud.

"We've been upstairs for hours," came a voice from the other end.

I glanced up and caught sight of the Weasleys, Granger, and—of course—Potter.

"How high up are we, Dad?" the younger Weasley asked.

"Well, put it this way," Lucius said smoothly, "if it rains, you'll be the first to know."

"Father and I are in the Minister's box, by personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge," Draco added, ever the braggart.

Lucius gave him a firm tap with his cane. "Don't boast, Draco. There's no need—especially with these people."

"These people?" I muttered, just loud enough.

"I still can't believe she's their daughter," Ginny Weasley whispered, not quite quietly enough.

"What was that?" I snapped, turning around.

"Nothing for your pretty little head to worry about, Little Snake," Potter smirked, leaning down so his eyes met mine.

"I worry when people mutter lies behind my back, blood traitor," I hissed.

"Sai! That word is disgusting. I don't want to hear it again," my mother scolded sharply.

Potter looked pleased. "You heard her. Take notes."

"I'll take them when you stop acting like a bloody saint," I muttered, but before I could land the last word, Draco cut in.

"She doesn't need to take anything from you, Potter."

"You should stay out of it, Malfoy," Potter growled back.

My father stepped between them with an easy laugh. "Alright, no duels before dessert. Let's move along, shall we?"

God help me when term begins.

Ireland won the match—despite Bulgaria catching the Snitch—and we returned to the Minister's room to prepare for departure. My father chatted with Fudge while I stared out the window, the echoes of roaring crowds still pulsing in my ears.

Then the screaming began.

"What's going on?" I asked.

My mother's face paled. "Oh no." She rushed to my father and whispered in his ear. His eyes widened, and he turned to Fudge, grim.

"We have to Apparate," he said quietly.

"Why? What's happening?" My voice trembled slightly.

"Death Eaters," Mum whispered, wrapping her hand around mine.

We stepped outside. Panic. Smoke. Shadows and spells cutting through the air. Most had already run—or fallen.

But two figures remained.

One of them, with his wand raised to the sky.

The other—a boy, unconscious, lying crumpled on the grass.

Potter.

"Potter!" I shouted instinctively, reaching for him.

But the magic gripped us and we Apparated before I could see if he heard me.

-----

Now, I sat on the train to Hogwarts, watching rain bead down the glass. But my thoughts weren't here. They were still back there, at the Cup. With him.

Why did I care? Why did I still want to ask Potter if he was alright?

"Panday. Earth to Panday," Pansy snapped.

"Just thinking," I replied, eyes drifting to the storm outside.

My parents had packed a ballgown in my trunk. Suspicious. I'd asked a dozen times what the occasion was, and they'd only smiled with maddening mystery.

I was still debating whether or not to go check on Potter when I felt a hand on my thigh. "Malfoy," I said coldly. "What are you doing?"

"You look tense. Want me to help ease it out of your system?" he asked, the slime practically dripping from his lips.

"You're revolting," I muttered, standing abruptly and looking around.

Where was everyone?

"Crabbe and Goyle went for candy. Pansy's off somewhere. It's just us," he said with a shrug.

Then he yanked me down onto the seat beside him.

"Have you lost your mind?" I snarled, struggling in his grip.

"Just trying to have some fun," he said, pressing in closer.

I shoved him hard. He stumbled back, and I wasted no time storming out, locking the door behind me.

Breathing heavily, I walked down the corridor. I needed clarity.

I needed answers.

And somehow... I needed to see Potter.

I found him a few compartments down, scribbling something on parchment. Granger opened the door, clearly surprised, but stepped aside.

"Potter," I began, awkwardly, "I just... I wanted to ask how you were. After the World Cup. I saw you faint, but—"

"I'm fine," he said curtly. "Though I'm curious. What brings the Slytherin snake princess to ask about a Gryffindor's well-being?"

"Don't flatter yourself. I actually came to ask about Remus and Sirius," I shot back. "Remus is my godfather, in case you forgot."

"They're fine," he said, attaching a letter to his owl. "If you must know."

"If I must—?"

"Oi, stop bickering," Weasley interrupted, pushing me forward.

And I stumbled.

Right onto Potter.

I hovered above him, one hand on either side of his face.

His eyes—green like forests after rain—held mine still. Everything about him pulled me in. His scent, his breath, the warmth of his skin, the lightning bolt scar, him.

"Anything off the trolley, dears?" came the sweet voice of the trolley witch.

I shot to my feet, cheeks burning, and bought Chocoballs, Chocolate Frogs, and a Licorice Wand. Potter joined me silently. Then, of course, I caught him sneaking a look... behind me.

At an Asian girl. Probably Ravenclaw.

"Do you want something?" the trolley witch asked him.

He shook his head.

I shook mine too—in disbelief.

Typical.

I turned and walked away without a word.

"Hey! Sai, wait!" he called. "I just... I wanted to say thank you. For caring. Even if it's new."

"Noted," I replied, not slowing.

"And I wasn't checking her out," he added quickly. "I was... looking at your hair."

I turned, eyebrow raised. "Good for you," I said coolly, then gave him a little wave.

What a playboy.

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