The changing room felt colder than it had an hour ago. Draconia sat on the edge of the wooden bench, her fingers tracing the rough grain of the timber. The adrenaline from the win had faded into a dull, heavy ache in her muscles. Everything felt too quiet now that the singing of the Slytherin team had subsided into a distant, muffled murmur. Harry sat a few feet away from her, his posture stiff and formal. He looked like a man trying to pretend he had not just been pressed against a locker with a broomstick in his hand.
"You were distracted today," Madam Hooch said. She stood in the centre of the room, her eyes sharp and uncompromising. Her robes were slightly dusty from the pitch, but her stance was perfectly straight. "A Chaser of your talent should not be looking over her shoulder every time a Bludger passes."
Draconia lifted her chin. She did not want to look like a girl who had been caught in a moment of heat. "I was not distracted. I was positioning myself for the next play."
"Positioning yourself or seeking a distraction?" Hooch asked. The teacher walked a slow circle around the bench. "The way you were playing, one might think you were trying to score more than just goals."
"It was a decisive win, Madam," Draconia replied. She kept her voice level and cool. "The scoreline speaks for itself."
"The scoreline is irrelevant to the matter of conduct," Hooch said. She stopped walking and looked down at Draconia. "There is a certain... exuberance in your play this term. It is as though you are playing a different game than the rest of the team."
Harry cleared his throat. He looked at the floor, his face a mask of polite neutrality. "She was very effective, Madam. The win was essential for the standings."
Draconia shot him a look that was half-warning and half-plea. She wanted him to shut up. He was too good at being quiet when it mattered, and his sudden interjection felt like a clumsy attempt at a defence.
"It is not just about the win, Harry," Hooch said. She turned her attention back to Draconia. "There has been a pattern all season. A certain lack of focus. A certain... preoccupation."
"I have been entirely focused," Draconia insisted. She felt the heat rising in her neck. "Every goal was a result of precise movement."
"Precision is not the issue," Hooch said. She stepped closer to the bench. "The issue is the timing. You seem to find ways to disappear from the pitch at the most opportune moments. A few minutes in the changing rooms here, a few minutes by the stands there. It is as if you are carving out time for yourself."
Draconia felt a prickle of sweat on her skin. She had been careful. All season, she had managed to slip away into the shadows of the corridors or the corners of the changing rooms without a single person raising an eyebrow. She had been a ghost in the machine, a shadow that moved with purpose.
"Is there a problem with my conduct?" Draconia asked. She kept her gaze steady. She refused to let her eyes dart around the room.
"The problem is that you are playing as if you have nothing to lose," Hooch said. Her voice was not angry, but it was stern. "A player with everything to lose plays with discipline. A player who feels trapped plays with a certain... recklessness."
"Maybe the recklessness is what makes me a good player," Draconia said.
"It is a dangerous game to play," Hooch said. "If you keep chasing these moments of distraction, you will eventually lose the rhythm of the match itself."
"I haven't lost the rhythm yet," Draconia muttered.
"No," Hooch agreed, her eyes narrowing. "You haven't. But the cracks are showing. People are starting to notice the way you look when you think no one is watching."
"I don't know what you mean," Draconia said. She felt the lie sit heavy in her mouth.
"Do you?" Hooch asked. "Because from where I stand, it looks as though you are searching for something that isn't on the pitch."
"I am looking for the win," Draconia said.
"The win is a temporary thing," Hooch said. She began to walk toward the door. "But your reputation is permanent. Do not let a few moments of indulgence ruin the work you have done all year."
Harry stood up. "She has been the best player on the pitch today, Madam. The win is deserved."
"The win is deserved," Hooch said, pausing at the threshold. "But the conduct is questionable. Think about it, Draconia. Think about what you are actually chasing when you leave the ball behind."
Hooch turned and left the room. Her footsteps retreated down the corridor, echoing against the stone walls. The silence that followed was heavier than the one before. Draconia felt exposed. She felt as though the very air in the room was judging her.
"She is very observant," Harry said. He had not moved from his spot. He looked at her, and for a second, the mask slipped.
"She is too observant," Draconia said. She reached for her towel, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. "She shouldn't be looking for things that aren't there."
"She's not looking for things," Harry said. "She's looking at you."
"Don't be ridiculous," Draconia snapped. She gripped the edge of the bench. "She is talking about discipline. She is talking about the game."
"She was talking about you," Harry said. He stepped closer to her. "She was talking about the way you look when you think you've won."
"I've won," Draconia said. She felt a sudden, sharp urge to be alone, but she stayed put. "The score is six to two. That is all that matters."
"It's not the only thing that matters," Harry said. He reached out, his hand hovering near her shoulder before he pulled it back. "You're being too loud about it. Even when you're being quiet, you're being loud."
"I am not being loud," she said.
"You are," he insisted. "You are making a statement with every move you make."
"Then let me make it," Draconia said. She looked up at him, her eyes bright and defiant. "If she wants to talk about conduct, let her. She can't catch me because she isn't looking where she should be."
"She is looking exactly where she should be," Harry said. He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. "She sees the way you handle the broom. She sees the way you look at the scoreboard."
"I look at it because it's the only thing that is certain," Draconia said.
"It's not the only thing," Harry said. He shook his head. "You are acting like a person who is running out of time."
"I have plenty of time," Draconia said.
"You don't," Harry said. "You're acting like you've already won the match, but you haven't even finished the season."
"I've finished the match," Draconia said. She stood up, her legs feeling slightly unsteady. "The game is over for today."
"The game is never over," Harry said.
Draconia looked at him, her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to tell him to be quiet. She wanted to tell him that he didn't understand the stakes. She wanted to tell him that the win was the only thing that kept her sane. But she said nothing.