The flas of the fireplace grew and snarled with a rippling green, before fading away, revealing the newly arrived Cassius stepping out of the fireplace dusting off the ash from his robes.
Grimmauld place was quiet upon his arrival, the portraits on the walls turned their eyes to his entrance, but none bothered to make a sound of greeting to the young heir.
Cassius removed his outer robe, hung it neatly, and took precisely three steps into the hallway, before-
"Alright," Sirius Black said from the sitting room, far too casually. "Out with it."
Cassius paused.
Sirius lounged in an armchair like a predator pretending to nap, boots up on the table, a parchnt spread across his lap.
He hadn't even bothered to look up—but his attention was locked on Cassius like a drawn wand in the hands of a dark wizard.
"You went alone," Sirius continued. "Which tells it was either boring bureaucratic nonsense… or very bad news."
Cassius turned toward him. "It was neither."
Sirius's brow rose. "That's not comforting."
Cassius entered fully, leaning against the doorfra. "Britain's first match is against Egypt."
The effect was imdiate.
Sirius's feet hit the floor.
The parchnt snapped upright.
His expression shifted—not to worry, but to sothing sharp, focused, alive.
Not bothering to question anything else about the visit to the ministry, his entire focus now locked onto the new challenge ahead.
"Egypt," Sirius repeated, already standing. "Right. That's—right, okay, sit. No, don't sit—never mind, you stand. rlin, I haven't thought about their roster in years."
Cassius blinked once.
Sirius was already pacing.
"They favor speed over brute force," Sirius began, waving the parchnt like a conductor's baton. "Chasers fly in a tight rotating triangle—old desert formation, minimizes interception angles. Their Beaters? Dirty. Subtle, but dirty. Aim for destabilization, not knockouts."
Cassius folded his arms.
"Their Keeper," Sirius continued, warming to the topic, "is reactive rather than predictive. That's their weakness. He waits instead of anticipating, which ans—"
"That Britain should score early," Cassius finished flatly.
Sirius grinned. "Exactly! See? You're listening."
Cassius tilted his head. "I'm humoring you."
Sirius stopped pacing.
"Oh?"
"My role," Cassius said calmly, "has not changed."
Sirius studied him. "Which is?"
"Catch the Snitch," Cassius replied. "Win the ga."
Sirius snorted. "That's not a plan, that's arrogance. Even if as a seeker you cannot score, you could still handle the quaffle to help your chasers."
Cassius t his gaze evenly. "Sirius. I've played nurous national matches already, and my team, and the coaches all agree, that the chasers only real goal in this tournant is to hold off the oppositions assault until i catch the snitch, nothing more nothing less, just clean fast fun to bring the championship ho."
Sirius opened his mouth, then closed it again, reassessing.
He wanted to get involved, be apart of history, but had to admit, of the matches he'd seen Cassius play in, the team did exactly as Cassius had just stated, sure they played the ga, but it was never anything to write ho about, the chasers were national level but not extraordinary.
anwhile Cassius, the young lad was masterclass, one of the greats, ranked in the top three seekers in national competition right now.
Sirius dropped back into his chair, running a hand through his hair. "You know, most players would kill for the kind of intel I'm offering."
Cassius nodded once. "And it's good intel."
"Then why ignore it?"
Cassius considered his words carefully.
"Because the more complicated I make this," he said, "the more opportunities there are for things to go wrong."
Sirius frowned. "Quidditch is complicated."
"It really isnt," Cassius replied. "If anything i agree that the ga puts to much focus on the seeker role, to the point that if the seeker is good enough, like i am
(˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵). then the rest of the team quite literally does not matter, and even then if a seeker isnt good enough, within half and hour if one sides team is better than the other the score could reach a point where even victory by snitch capture was impossible."
He looked toward the window, as if he could already see the pitch.
"If i win on my own, on a world stage, it might be enough to make reforms to the ga making the sport evolve to adapt and beco sothing greater than it already is."
Sirius was quiet now.
Then Sirius laughed—low and incredulous.
The man loved quidditch with a passion, his mory of his childhood playing alongside Jas Potter, before then watching the sport in his freeti to unwind from the growing war within Britain.
"rlin help Egypt," he said. "They're about to learn what it feels like to get spanked on the world stage."
Cassius turned toward the stairs. "Not just Egypt."
"Wait," Sirius called. "One thing."
Cassius paused.
Sirius's expression softened, just a touch. "You okay with things? I an the pressure, the attention?"
Cassius didn't answer imdiately.
Then, quietly, "Pressure implies resistance."
Sirius smiled faintly. "Right. Stupid question."
Cassius ascended the stairs.
Upstairs, the atmosphere was… festive.
Cassius stopped short at the threshold of the drawing room.
Fabric floated midair—red, white, and gold—cutting itself into precise shapes under Hermione's supervision.
Ginny knelt on the floor, tongue between her teeth, painting bold letters across a massive banner.
Cho stitched with delicate concentration.
Daphne asured proportions with exacting care.
Astoria darted between stations, offering comntary of dubious usefulness.
Luna lay on her stomach, wand gently guiding glitter that seed to rearrange itself into constellations.
None of them noticed Cassius at first.
"Make the lion bigger," Ginny said. "It needs to look ferocious alongside the dragon."
"It already looks like it's about to eat soone," Hermione replied. "Any bigger and it wont fit beside the dragon."
"That's the point," Ginny shot back. "Psychological warfare, showing the alliance between the Dragon, and Britain."
Cho glanced up, smiling. "He's not going to see these until the match, right?"
Daphne nodded. "That's the idea."
Astoria bead. "Surprise support!"
Cassius cleared his throat.
Six heads snapped toward him.
Hermione flushed. "You're back already?"
Ginny jumped to her feet. "Perfect timing!"
Cassius surveyed the scene—the banners, the flags, the carefully chard stitching that would ripple dramatically in the air.
"…What," he asked carefully, "is this."
Luna smiled dreamily. "Belief, mostly."
Ginny held up the banner she'd been working on.
CASSIUS SNAPE — BRITAIN'S CHAMPION
Cassius stared at it.
Then at the others.
Shaking his head slightly in resignation, he knew even if he cast a spell now to destroy their efforts, they would only retaliate by creating things even worse than they were now by the ti of the match.
So with just a simple nod of his head to acknowledge their efforts before leaving them to it, he retired to his room.
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