The smell of woodsmoke and butterbeer clung to the air, warm and faintly spiced, curling around the old beams of The Three Broomsticks. Yuri sat tucked into a corner booth, his knees bouncing beneath the table despite his best efforts to stay still. A mug of butterbeer sat cooling in front of him, untouched. He’d been early—of course—and had spent the last fifteen minutes trying not to go over what he wanted to say again.

The letter he’d written last week had been a long shot, really. Polite but hopeful, phrased with care and maybe just a bit too much formality —but it must’ve worked. The reply had arrived just two days later. A meeting. A real one. With an actual player.

Yuri was tall enough to pass for older if he stood just right—his height helping but his face still had the earnestness of youth, and he knew it. He might be on his house team, quick and light on a broom, but still just a boy in the eyes of most adults. That was the point of this meeting, though. To be taken seriously. To ask real questions about what it took to get from house team to league team—to turn the dream into something more than a hallway boast.

His fingers tightened around the handle of his mug. Was it enough to want it this badly?

A shadow passed near the table. Yuri shot upright so fast he nearly hit the underside of the shelf behind him. His mouth opened before he could stop it.

“You’re—are you—? Sorry,” he stammered, flushing a little. “I’m Yuri. Yuri Podsnapper. Thank you for meeting with me.”

He managed not to add ‘I’m a huge fan’—but it hovered just behind his teeth.