Strength in Defeat

The buzz of the Quidditch match still lingered in the halls of Hogwarts, even though Ravenclaw had lost. Despite the defeat, Ez's name was on everyone's lips. His dazzling plays, incredible reflexes, and relentless attacks had cemented him as one of the best Chasers in Hogwarts.

As he walked through the corridors, students stopped to congratulate him.

"That backwards shot was insane!" one fourth-year Ravenclaw gushed.

"Honestly, I thought you lot had it. Hufflepuff just got lucky with the Snitch," a Gryffindor remarked.

Ez took it all in stride, acknowledging their praise but keeping his focus forward. He wasn't the type to dwell on losses—he analyzed, learned, and came back stronger.

---

Back in the Ravenclaw Common Room, the atmosphere was mixed. Some students were disappointed by the loss, but most were celebrating the performance. After all, the team had played spectacularly.

Ez sat with Roger Davies, Elena, and Adrian near the fireplace, discussing the match.

Roger leaned back, arms crossed. "We may have lost, but you played like a bloody professional, Ez. If we keep up this level of play, the Cup is still within reach."

Ez nodded. "Hufflepuff played well, but we were the better team overall. If we can refine our defense and train more aggressively, we'll dominate the next match."

Elena smirked. "You just hate losing, don't you?"

"Of course," Ez replied with a smirk of his own. "I didn't come to Hogwarts to be second place."

Adrian chuckled. "Well, good. Slytherin is next, and you know they'll be ruthless."

At that, the group exchanged glances. Slytherin's Quidditch team was notorious for their brutal, rule-bending style. Their Chasers were aggressive, their Beaters played dirty, and their Keeper was known for psychological tactics.

Ez's eyes gleamed with determination. "Then we just have to outplay them."

---

The next morning, Ez received a letter. The wax seal of the Malverne family crest gleamed in the morning light.

Meet me in my office after classes. We have matters to discuss.

—Thomas Malverne

Ez folded the letter, already knowing what it was about.

After dinner, he made his way through Hogwarts, eventually reaching the private guest office his father used when visiting the school. The moment he stepped inside, he was greeted by the sight of Lord Thomas Malverne, standing near the fireplace, a cup of tea in hand.

"You played well," his father said without preamble.

Ez inclined his head. "Thank you."

His father studied him for a moment before setting his cup down. "Your name is growing, Ezekiel. Even in the Ministry, people are speaking of your performance."

Ez raised a brow. "It's just Quidditch."

Lord Malverne shook his head. "It is more than that. It is influence, reputation. You are making an impression on the next generation of wizards. That is something more valuable than mere points on a scoreboard."

Ez absorbed his father's words, understanding the deeper implications. It wasn't just about the game—it was about establishing a presence.

His father continued, "You will continue on this path. Make allies. Strengthen your position. And when the time comes, you will have the power to shape your own future."

Ez met his father's gaze, determination burning in his eyes. "I understand."

His father gave a small nod. "Good. Then let us discuss your next steps."

Training and Growth

Determined to improve his skills even further, Ez threw himself into intense training.

During free periods, he was either in the library, researching new magical techniques, or on the Quidditch pitch, honing his precision. His ability to predict plays, evade Bludgers, and outmaneuver defenders became even sharper.

Elena and Adrian often joined him in training, and even Roger Davies put in extra time to refine their team coordination.

At the same time, Ez continued his magical studies. The knowledge from his family's grimoire had given him an edge, but there was still so much to uncover. He experimented with new spells, learning how to incorporate his growing magical abilities into his physical reflexes.

His ice magic, in particular, was becoming more controlled. He no longer needed to actively think about suppressing it—it was becoming an extension of himself.

---

One evening, as Ez was returning to the common room, he was stopped in the corridor by a group of Slytherins.

Adrian Pucey, Slytherin's best Chaser, stood at the front, arms crossed. Behind him were two of his teammates, both towering Beaters.

Ez slowed his pace, his expression unreadable.

Pucey smirked. "Heard you were Ravenclaw's golden boy now."

Ez met his gaze evenly. "Something you need, Pucey?"

"Just thought I'd let you know," Pucey said, stepping closer, "that next match, we're not going easy on you."

Ez's lips curved into a sharp grin. "I'd be insulted if you did."

The Slytherins chuckled darkly, but Pucey's eyes held a hint of grudging respect. "We'll see if you can back up that confidence on the pitch."** With that, they walked away.**

Ez exhaled, shaking his head. "Slytherins and their dramatics."

Still, he welcomed the challenge.

With the next match approaching and his skills reaching new heights, he was ready to show Slytherin exactly what he was made of.

The real season was just beginning.

---