Hannah bounded ahead, her breath steaming in the air as she called back without turning.
“They’re doing the double-loop formation!
Come *on*, Tobias—you’ll miss the seeker drills!” Tobias adjusted his scarf, the wool itchy against his chin, and trudged after her.
The borrowed cloak—thick, navy, smelling faintly of cedar—swung heavily around his legs.
Below, the Hufflepuff team carved arcs through the crisp air, their brooms leaving faint trails in the frost-laden wind.
Cedric, smaller than the others but unmistakable with his easy grace, dipped low to skim the pitch before shooting upward again.
The captain’s whistle pierced the morning a second time, sharp as the cold.
Hannah was already halfway up the stands, her mittened hands gripping the rail as she leaned out.
“Look—they’re splitting for the snitch drill!
That’s *new*!” Tobias reached her side just as the starting seeker—a fifth-year girl with a braid whipping behind her—banked hard left, her eyes scanning the empty air with predatory focus.
The reserves, Cedric among them, mirrored her movements a heartbeat later, a staggered echo of precision.
“You think they’re nervous?” Hannah asked suddenly, her voice dropping.
“About Slytherin?” Tobias watched Cedric’s broom shudder slightly as he corrected his grip.
“Yes,” he said.
The whistle blew again.
The team regrouped midair, their breaths clouding together in the pale light.
The Hufflepuff stands creaked under the weight of the wind, empty but for the two of them.
The Hufflepuff team was already running drills when they reached the stands.
The Chasers broke formation first, weaving between each other in tight spirals, their passes crisp despite the wind that tugged at their robes.
Tobias exhaled slowly, watching his breath fog in the air before dissipating.
Hannah’s elbow jabbed into his ribs—gentle, but insistent.
“See that?
*That* pass sequence—they only do that against Slytherin,” she muttered, eyes fixed on the players.
“Too much left-side bias.
Flint *always* telegraphs right.” Tobias nodded absently.
Cedric was circling higher now, his gaze darting across the pitch in methodical sweeps.
The captain’s whistle trilled again, and the seekers peeled off one by one to hunt.
The practice snitch—charmed to dart erratically but never leave the pitch—zipped past the Slytherin goalposts, a flicker of gold against the grey morning.
Cedric dove.
Hannah’s mittens clamped onto the railing.
“He’s got it—no, *shit*—” The snitch veered upward at the last second.
Cedric twisted, his broomstick shuddering as he wrenched himself back into pursuit.
His fingertips grazed the wings—then empty air.
A collective groan from the team.
The captain blew the whistle sharply.
Cedric shook his head, rolling his shoulders once before resetting his stance.
Two rotations later, he caught it cleanly, his fist closing around the snitch mid-arc.
The team whooped.
Even the captain clapped.
By noon, Tobias’s toes were numb.
Hannah’s commentary had dwindled to shivering monosyllables.
The wind cut through his outer cloak.
The team landed in unison, their boots crunching on the frost-stiff grass.
Cedric tossed the snitch to the captain, who caught it one-handed before turning to bark orders at the beaters.
Hannah exhaled, her breath a ragged cloud.
“They’ll run one more seeker drill,” she said, voice thin with cold.
“Watch the older girl—see how she *holds* her shoulders before a feint?” Tobias nodded, though his eyes tracked Cedric instead—the slight forward lean, the way his fingers flexed around the broom handle like he was measuring the weight of the air.
The starting seeker shot upward in a sudden burst, her braid snapping behind her like a pennant.
Cedric mirrored her a second later, his ascent slower but deliberate.
“Wronski Feint,” Hannah breathed, leaning forward.
“See how she’s *dragging* him up?
Classic misdirection—he thinks she’s spotted the snitch, but—” The older girl plummeted.
Cedric followed, then jerked back at the last possible moment, his broom shuddering violently as he arrested his dive.
The captain whistled approval.
Hannah grinned.
“That’s the difference between a Wronski and a regular dive.
One’s a *trap*.” Tobias absorbed this silently.
The commentary was a lifeline—without it, the maneuvers would’ve blurred into meaningless motion.
He didn’t ask her to slow down.
The flood of terms—*bludger deflection arcs*, *reverse Porskoff ploys*—lodged in his mind like stones sinking into mud, anchoring his understanding.
By the time practice ended, his cheeks burned with cold.
The team trudged toward the changing rooms, their laughter carrying on the wind.
Cedric lingered, shaking out his arms before jogging toward the stands.
“Freezing,” he called up, grinning.
His nose was red.
“You two are mad to sit through this whole thing.” Hannah beamed.
“You were *brilliant* on the third feint!” Cedric waved a hand, but his posture straightened slightly.
“Missed the first two, though.” He glanced at Tobias.
“You holding up?” Tobias nodded.
The cold had settled into his bones, but the hollow in his chest felt no different than usual—just there, silent and unchanging.
“You fly well,” he said.
Cedric blinked, then laughed—a bright, startled sound.
“Thanks.
You should try out next year.
We need more seekers who pay *attention*.” He nodded toward the older girl disappearing into the changing rooms.
“She’s graduating.” Hannah gasped.
“Tobias!
You *have* to—” He shook his head before she could finish.
“I’m slow.” “Not *that* slow,” Cedric said lightly.
He hesitated, then added, “And you watch.
That’s half of it.” The wind gusted, carrying the scent of damp wool and broom polish.
Tobias tucked his hands under his arms.
He was grateful for the commentary because it gave him a frame for what he was watching.
Mid-morning the team broke into a half-speed scrimmage with the reserves, the starting players shrugging off their heavier cloaks as the reserves pulled on gold-and-black bibs over their practice robes.
The captain barked a sharp command, and the reserves launched themselves forward with sudden urgency, the Quaffle already in motion.
Cedric, sleeves pushed to his elbows despite the cold, cut left—not darting, but drifting, like he was following a thought rather than a play—and slipped past the starting Keeper with a flick of his wrist that sent the ball through the left hoop with deceptive ease.
The starting team retaliated in a loose formation, their passes wide and testing.
Cedric hovered near the center line, his breath steadying as he tracked the Quaffle’s arc.
When the starting Chaser feinted right, Cedric didn’t bite—he shifted left, intercepting the next pass with a sweep of his arm that sent the ball spiraling back toward the reserve Beater.
The Snitch was released without fanfare, a glint of gold against the overcast sky.
The two seekers—Cedric and the older girl—peeled away from the scrimmage almost simultaneously, their brooms angled upward in mirrored ascents.
She had the advantage of height; Cedric had the sharper turn.
They crossed paths twice, neither speaking, their focus narrowing to the erratic dart of wings.
Then— The older girl twisted midair, her braid whipping sideways as she snapped her hand shut.
The Snitch struggled for half a second before going still between her fingers.
The captain blew the whistle once, sharply, and gestured for everyone to regroup at the center of the pitch.
Cedric landed lightly beside the older seeker, his shoulders rising and falling with controlled breaths as she handed him the Snitch with a nod that might have been respect.
“Debrief,” the captain called, tucking her clipboard under one arm.
“Diggory—that intercept.
Again, slower.” Cedric straightened, the Snitch warm in his palm.
Below the stands, Tobias exhaled, watching the way Cedric’s fingers flexed around the tiny golden ball—like he was measuring the weight of something more than metal and wings.
Hannah leaned forward, mittens gripping the rail.
“She *let* him get the second one,” she muttered.
“Did you see?
The captain’s testing him.” Tobias nodded, though he wasn’t sure.
The older seeker had pulled up too early on Cedric’s last dive—her posture loose, her grip slack.
Deliberate.
Cedric jogged over to the stands when the team broke up, his broom balanced over one shoulder.
His hair clung flat with sweat, his breath steaming in the cold.
“You’re both still alive,” he called up, grinning.
“Impressive.” Hannah scoffed.
“You’re the one flying in *this*.” She gestured at the frost-glazed pitch.
Cedric leaned against the front rail, his shoulders rising with each breath.
He glanced at Hannah first.
“So?
What’d you think of the new Keeper?” Tobias tucked his hands deeper into his sleeves.
The question wasn’t for him.
Hannah paused, her mittens tapping the rail once.
“Too stiff on the left side,” she said finally.
“He’s watching the Chasers, not the *ball*.
And that habit of rocking forward before he dives—Flint’ll spot that in two seconds.” Cedric raised his eyebrows.
Then he laughed—bright, surprised—and shook his head.
“You should be on the team,” he said.
Hannah flushed, shaking her head.
“Not *me*,” she said, jerking her chin toward Tobias.
“But *he* watches like you do—quiet, but he *sees*.” Cedric turned, his gaze lingering on Tobias’s face for half a second too long—not assessing, just noticing.
Tobias felt the hollow in his chest tighten reflexively, though it never ached.
The wind shifted, carrying the metallic tang of broom polish and damp wool.
Cedric adjusted his grip on the broomstick, his fingers flexing once.
“Next year, then,” he said lightly.
“Tryouts are open to second-years.” Hannah opened her mouth, but Tobias shook his head before she could speak.
“I’d fall,” he said.
“You didn’t fall in flying lessons,” Cedric pointed out.
Tobias didn’t answer.
The memory of his first—and only—flight surfaced: the borrowed school broom shuddering under his palms, the ground tilting away in a slow, sickening lurch.
He’d stayed aloft.
Barely.
The captain’s whistle cut through the air again, sharp as the frost cracking underfoot.
Cedric straightened, glancing back toward the pitch.
“Coming,” he called over his shoulder.
To Tobias and Hannah, he added, “Walk back with me after?
Kitchen’s got hot chocolate on Saturdays.” Hannah brightened.
Tobias nodded once, his scarf scratching his jaw.
The three of them walked up the path to the castle together.
The mud near the pitch had softened where the frost had melted, their boots leaving shallow prints.
Cedric walked between them, his broom balanced over one shoulder.
He kept the conversation going—pointing out how the starting Chaser had adjusted her grip mid-flight, how the reserve Keeper had nearly fumbled a save because he’d misjudged the wind.
At the path junction, Cedric peeled off toward the changing-room block with a wave.
“Don’t drink all the chocolate before I get there,” he called back, grinning.
Hannah rolled her eyes but matched his grin.
Tobias tucked his hands into his sleeves, the wool damp with melted frost.
They continued up to the entrance hall in silence, their breath fogging between them.
The common room was warm when they entered, the fire crackling in the hearth.
A group of fourth-years glanced up from their game of Exploding Snap, then returned to their cards without comment.
Hannah beelined for the squashy armchair nearest the fire, her mittens already half-off.
Tobias hesitated by the doorway, watching the way the light caught on the polished barrel lids behind the portrait hole.
Hannah tossed a biscuit at him from the tin on the side table.
It arced clumsily; he caught it against his chest.
“You’re *thinking*,” she accused.
“Stop it.” Tobias unwrapped the biscuit slowly.
The sugar melted on his tongue, too sweet.
Outside, the wind rattled the windowpanes.
Somewhere beyond the castle walls, the Quidditch pitch lay empty, the goal hoops casting long shadows across the frost-stiff grass.
He had been folded into the rhythm of the house without anyone making a thing of it.
If Hollow at Hogwarts has caught your eye and you’d like to keep going, the full story lives on the usual site under TransmigratorTales, alongside my other ongoing serial.
More on the way, and I’m really glad you’re here reading this.