Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin
The atmosphere at the final match of the season was toxic.
Ravenclaw was fighting for the Cup.
Slytherin stood as the final obstacle.
Hufflepuff and Gryffindor filled the lower stands, quieter than usual. Even the Lions, normally loud and reckless are more silent than usual.
From the moment the whistle blew, it was clear this would not be a clean match.
Slytherin played with their usual tactics—hard shoulders, dangerous proximity, and just enough rule-bending to skirt punishment. Their chaser flew like thugs on brooms.
But Lyra Lee was unstoppable.
She cut through green robes like a silver blade, her movements sharp, decisive, brilliant. She scored again and again—forty points by herself—and the Ravenclaw stands roared. She was the highlight of the season, the star of the pitch.
The crowd watched more quietly than ever before, eyes locked on the sky. Professor Flitwick stood the entire match, hands clenched in excitement. Professor McGonagall remained standing as well, her posture rigid with determination, if Ravenclaw was going to win, she wanted to see Slytherin lose fairly.
The match dragged on for three exhausting hours.
The scores climbed higher and higher. Ravenclaw's lead grew so wide that even catching the Snitch wouldn't save Slytherin. Under professor McGonagall's sharp warnings, the green team behaved for a while.
But as always the Slytherin team grow restless and immediately initiate their plan b tactic
Warrington and James who was reserve chaser were swapped in.
For thirty minutes, they played quietly. Almost clumsily. Everyone taught that Slytherin was giving up. For a moment every house except the Slytherin were cheering for the Ravenclaw team.
But then... it happen.
Near the Ravenclaw hoops, Lyra intercepted a pass. She accelerated—then suddenly found herself boxed in. Warrington and James flew on either side of her, close enough that stopping or turning was impossible. From the stands, it looked like a aggressive but legal pressure tactic.
But Then they grabbed her robes.
They yanked her sideways with them—straight into one of the support poles near the stands.
Within a second,
The impact echoed through the stadium.
Lyra's body slammed into solid wood with a sickening crack. Warrington and James were thrown off course as well, but it wasn't as hard as compared to Lyra's.
Lyra took it all.
She went limp.
She fell twenty feet.
Professor Flitwick reacted instantly, firing Arresto Momentum in rapid succession. Lyra stopped inches above the grass—but she was unconscious, bruises already blooming across her body.
The Ravenclaw team froze.
Without their star Chaser, their formation collapsed. The incident looked like an accident three players crashing together at high speed. Warrington and James staggered off the pitch with injuries and not only that, it was preestablish that both of the reserve players played clumsily that could be interpret this as a mistake.
Ravenclaw lost one player.
They lost their best.
The Lee sibling and Tonks didn't know what to make of this incident as from the audience standpoint it look like an accident.
They didn't wait for the match to end. Leo, Orion, Vela and Tonks were already running for the hospital wing, hearts pounding. None of them could say it aloud but all of them knew.
No matter what it look like It wasn't an accident.
And everyone else knew it too.
With Ravenclaw lost their star player, Slytherin surged forward with confidence. The Quaffle points narrowed. Then, as if to seal the insult, the Slytherin Seeker caught the Snitch.
The Cup was theirs.
The Hospital Wing
Leo sat beside Lyra's bed, his hair a violent, jagged. Orion stood rigid at the foot of the bed, his expression carved from stone. Vela hovered nearby, silent, shaking.
Lyra finally gasped and stirred, groaning as she sat up. Her jaw was dark purple with bruises.
"Did we…?" she croaked.
"Slytherin won the Cup," Orion said quietly.
Lyra didn't cry.
Her eyes filled with something far worse…white-hot rage.
Without a word, she swung her legs off the bed.
"Lyra—wait!" Leo shouted.
But it was Too late. She didn't listen to reason, she has only one goal in mind.
The Corridor
The Slytherin team was celebrating openly. Warrington and James hand and legs were bruised and one of their tooth was missing one, but they laughed the loudest, the silver Cup gleaming in their hands.
Lyra was facing their back and without warning,
She raised her wand.
"Furnunculus!"
Boils erupted across Warrington's and James face as he screamed.
"Locomotor Mortis!".
He slammed into the floor like a dropped stone.
Hex after hex poured from Lyra's wand—stinging jinxes, tripping curses, spells fueled by fury and tears streaming down her face.
The corridor exploded.
Ravenclaws joined in.
Slytherins fought back.
Usually Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff always been sideline in every major fight between Gryffindor and Slytherin, but now every Ravenclaw suddenly as brave as lion and every Ravenclaw is as loyal as Hufflepuff, if one person fight everyone joined in.
Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors watched in stunned silence—no one intervened. Even the Lions, usually the first to charge, stayed still.
Everyone knew.
Slytherin knew.
They could pretend it was an accident, but it was bullshit, and everyone here knew it.
The fight grew uglier and uglier, one by one many student was unconscious.
"LYRA— THAT ENOUGH!"
Orion's voice finally cut through the chaos.
She didn't stop.
Professor Flitwick arrived like a thunderclap, shouting Expelliarmus! so powerful it echoed. Lyra's wand flew. Orion caught her, pinning her arms as Vela snatched the wand off the ground.
With a booming roar—high-pitched but furious—Flitwick ordered the prefect to escort everyone back to their dormitories.
Slowly, the hallway cleared.
The Lees and Tonks returned to the hospital wing along with Warrington and James and few other from the scuffle.
The Headmaster's Office
Professor Flitwick—small in stature but blazing with fury—stood toe-to-toe with Snape.
"You taught them better than this," Flitwick snapped. "I taught you better than this."
Snape, for once, had no retort.
Sprout and McGonagall stood nearby, faces tight. They know this feeling of frustration all to well.
Dumbledore finally spoke, his voice calm but heavy.
"Winning at the cost of honor," he said gently, "is no victory at all. It is merely loss wearing a trophy.for I think Severus that you could have prevented this from happening, remember you not just a Slytherin professor you are Hogwarts professor"
The room fell silent.
Snape exhaled sharply, jaw clenched.
"I apologize," he said stiffly. "Warrington and James are banned from Quidditch for life."
Lyra's Frustration
The adrenaline that had fueled Lyra's frantic hexing in the corridor evaporated the moment the door to the hospital wing clicked shut.
The silence hit her harder than any spell.
For a single heartbeat, she stood in the center of the room, shoulders trembling. Then her knees gave out. She collapsed into a wooden chair, burying her face in her hands, and a jagged, broken sob tore out of her—one she had been holding back since the instant she awake.
"It wasn't fair," she choked, her voice muffled by her palms. "We worked so hard. I practiced until my hands bled, and he just… did that." Her breath hitched. "Like I was nothing."
Leo was at her side instantly.
His hair, reflecting his sister's shattered state, faded into a weeping, translucent grey-blue. He didn't speak. He simply knelt beside her and leaned his head against her arm, a quiet, unshakable anchor.
"They think they can do whatever they want because they wanted the Cup," Vela spat, pacing the cramped space, her eyes flashing dangerously. She wasn't just angry for Ravenclaw she was incandescent with rage for her sister, she knew better than everyone how hard she work. "Slytherin didn't win that game. They stole it. Everyone saw it."
Orion stood by the window with his back to them, staring out at the Quidditch pitch as the shadows stretched long and dark. His hands were clasped behind his back, knuckles white with restraint.
"I don't care about house points," Lyra sobbed, finally looking up. Her bruised jaw made her face look lopsided—too young, too vulnerable. "I don't even care about the hundred points It probably cost us." Her voice broke. "They still deserve more punishment."
Madam Pomfrey paused mid-step, arms full of potions for other patients. Her sharp ears had caught every word. She nearly intervened nearly demanded quiet and rest but something in Lyra's voice stopped her.
The girl needed this.
"You are not small," Orion said at last, turning around. His voice was firm, edged with steel—but his eyes softened when they met Lyra's. He crossed the room and placed a steadying hand on her head. "You are one of the best Chaser this school has seen in a decade."
Leo lifted his head and gently wiped a tear from Lyra's cheek. "The whole school knows who the real winners were today," he said quietly. "Even the Hufflepuffs were cheering for you."
It was a strange moment for Leo he never seen Lyra like this before. She was always the optimistic core of the siblings,
Lyra let out a watery, shaky laugh and leaned into Orion's touch. "I really did hit him hard, didn't I?"
"You turned his face into a topographical map of the Swiss Alps," Vela said with a crooked grin, finally sitting on the edge of the desk. "Brutal. But beautiful."
The room fell quiet again.
Lyra sniffed, wiped her nose and eyes with the back of her sleeve, then stood. The anger was still there—but now it was steadier, controlled. Determined.
She walked back to her hospital bed and sat down carefully.
"Next year," she said, her voice calm but unyielding, "I'm not giving them the chance to get close enough to touch me."