☀️ A Normal Morning… Almost
It was a Saturday morning, and Hogwarts was buzzing.
The Quidditch pitch gleamed with dew. Students streamed toward it in packs, scarves fluttering, excitement crackling like static in the air.
In Gryffindor Tower, Aarav lounged upside down on the couch, reading a comic book he conjured from a parallel Earth where wizards surfed on brooms.
"Mate," Ron said, tugging on his sweater, "we need a reserve Keeper. Wood said you've got great reflexes. You in?"
Aarav raised a brow. "What's the job description?"
"Get smacked with Bludgers, dive through the sky, maybe break a rib or two—"
"I'm in."
---
🥥 The Helmet of Destiny
Aarav didn't bother with standard Quidditch gear.
Instead, he conjured his own outfit — a vibrant saffron tunic, golden dhoti pants, floating rudraksha beads around his neck, and a literal coconut shell on his head.
"Protection," he explained solemnly. "Blessed by Lord Ganesha. Also reinforced with anti-skull-crack enchantments."
Wood, the Gryffindor captain, was speechless.
"Are you serious?" Hermione muttered, arms crossed.
"As a coconut tree in a storm," Aarav replied with a grin.
---
🧡 A Magical Mayhem Match
The game began with the roar of enchanted horns.
Gryffindor vs. Slytherin.
Aarav zoomed into the sky on a broom that left a faint trail of marigold petals.
From the stands:
> "Who the hell is that?"
"Is he… wearing sandals?"
"WHY IS HIS BROOM SINGING BHAJANS?"
Every time a Bludger came close, Aarav simply blinked — and it politely changed direction.
One even turned around and hit its own bat in rebellion.
Fred and George cackled with delight.
---
🧠 The Inner Game
But it wasn't just showmanship.
Aarav noticed something odd.
Every time Harry got close to the Snitch, Draco would veer in dangerously, almost like he was trying to injure rather than win.
The Snitch darted toward Aarav — and he could have grabbed it in a second.
Instead, he summoned a floating tea cart mid-air, handed Harry a cup, and whispered:
"Breathe. You're rushing."
Harry blinked. Drank. Centered himself.
Then zoomed off — focused, calm, free.
Aarav smiled and floated down slowly, sipping his own chai.
---
🐍 The Slytherin Standoff
Below, Marcus Flint was fuming.
"This is a game, not a carnival!" he bellowed.
Aarav landed beside him, looked him in the eye, and offered him a samosa.
"What do you really want, Marcus?" Aarav asked gently. "Victory, or to be noticed?"
Flint stared at the samosa like it was a foreign language.
Then — to everyone's shock — took it. Bit it. Chewed slowly.
"…Your food is confusingly good," he grunted.
---
🏆 Victory, But With Spice
Harry caught the Snitch cleanly. Gryffindor won.
But the real highlight? The celebration afterward.
Aarav turned the pitch into a mini Indian mela.
Stalls appeared with mango lassi, jalebi fountains, and levitating kites.
Even Snape — stern, skeptical, always sour — stopped by for a cup of masala chai, which he pretended not to like but finished in five sips.
---
🌸 A Quiet End
That night, Aarav stood on the Astronomy Tower, barefoot, looking at the stars.
He could've flown higher than any broom.
He could've turned the Bludgers into butterflies.
But today, he played like a student.
He laughed like a boy.
He felt… normal.
> And that was the most magical thing of all.