Harry's twin || Between Light and Shadow

November 9th, Saturday

The Hogwarts grounds were cloaked in a brittle, frosted gray, the air sharp enough to steal breath. November had clawed its way into the castle, leaving icy fingerprints on every windowpane. For Daisy, however, the excitement was tinged with unease. Her blackouts—though infrequent and minor lately—still haunted her. She couldn't shake the fear of losing control at the worst possible moment. 

Daisy's dormitory was a riot of green and silver as the girls prepared for the first match of the season: Slytherin versus Gryffindor. Tracey stood in front of the mirror, painting jagged serpent stripes across her cheeks, while Pansy looped a Slytherin scarf around her neck with military precision. Daphne, ever composed, pinned a silver brooch shaped like a snake to her robes. 

"This is going to be epic," Tracey declared, her voice muffled by the scarf she was tying over her hair. 

"Epic for us," Pansy corrected, smirking. 

Daisy nodded absently, layering on as much green as she could—face paint, a scarf, even a Slytherin emblem pinned to her robes. By 8:30 AM, she was ready, her stomach growling loudly. 

"I'm heading to breakfast," she announced. "Starving." 

Her roommates chuckled. "Save us some toast," Daphne called as Daisy slipped out. 

The dungeons were eerily silent, the usual hum of Slytherin activity muted by the early hour combined with the Quidditch preparations. Daisy traced the cold stone walls, her breath fogging the air. She'd almost reached the Entrance Hall...

Then it happened. 

The world tilted. When she blinked, she was standing in the Gryffindor locker room, the sharp scent of broom polish and sweat stinging her nostrils. A Nimbus 2000—Harry's broom—was clutched in her hands.

What the—?

Panic clawed up her throat. The room was empty, thank Merlin, but voices echoed down the corridor. She shoved the broom back onto its rack and fled, her heart hammering, unsure of what she had done while she lost control.

--- The Great Hall ---

Daisy successfully made her way to the Great Hall without being seen. She took a seat and shoved a piece of toast into her mouth, the bread dry as parchment. Her friends found her minutes later, their laughter sharp against her frayed nerves.

"We're totally winning," Pansy declared, slathering jam on a scone. "Potter's just a first year. No way he's good enough to break our winning streak." 

"Logically, it's impossible," Daphne agreed, though her eyes flicked to Daisy. "You're pale. Eat something."

Daisy forced a bite of toast, her gaze drifting to the Gryffindor table. Ron and Hermione were wrestling with a massive banner that read "Harry for President!" in flashing gold paint. A decently drawn lion roared at the edges, its mane sparking with charmed flashing paint. 

"So unnecessary," Pansy sneered. 

Just as Pansy complained about the tacky signs, Tracey interrupted. It seems that she had made signs for our team, too.

"Nothing a little morale boost can't fix," Tracey said, handing Daisy and Pansy a sign. "GO SNAKES!" glared back in emerald letters. Another read: "LION SUCKS." red letters with a doodle of a dead lion.

Daisy gripped the sign, her knuckles whitening, trying to shake away her thoughts.

--- 

By eleven o'clock, the stands groaned under the weight of students, their breath fogging the air in excited clouds. Daisy huddled between Pansy and Tracey; binoculars pressed to her eyes. The Slytherin team emerged first, their brooms gleaming like weapons. Marcus Flint led the charge, his smirk visible even from the stands. 

Gryffindor's entrance was met with jeers. Harry trailed behind Oliver Wood, his broom dwarfed by the older players. 

"Look at his face," Pansy crowed. "He's going to faint!"

Madam Hooch's whistle pierced the air. Fifteen brooms shot upward, and the match began.

Angelina Johnson scored first, her scarlet robes a blur as she zigzagged past Slytherin's defense. The Gryffindor stands erupted, their cheers drowned out by Slytherin boos. 

"FLINT! FLINT! FLINT!" Pansy chanted, stomping her feet. 

"Foul!" someone shouted as Marcus Flint blocked Harry, sending his broom spinning. Gryffindor was awarded a penalty shot, but the Slytherins quickly retaliated with a goal of their own. 

Daisy's focus, however, was on Harry. Her binoculars trembled as she tracked him. His broom jerked violently, bucking like a wild hippogriff. 

"What's wrong with Potter's broom?" Tracey asked, squinting through her binoculars. 

"Who cares?" Pansy snapped. "Fall off, already!" 

Then it happened again. 

Darkness swallowed Daisy's vision. 

No. Not now—

"Daisy!" Pansy's voice snapped her back to reality, accompanied by a sharp whack to the head with the LION SUCKS sign. 

"Ow!" Daisy rubbed her temple. She blinked back to reality—the teachers' stand was ablaze, flames licking at Snape's robes.

On the pitch, Harry clambered back onto his broom, his movements frantic. He dove, the crowd gasping as he hurtled toward the ground. 

"He's going to crash!" someone screamed. 

But Harry pulled up at the last second and revealed he had swallowed the snitch. The crowd roars.

"GRYFFINDOR WINS!" Lee Jordan's voice boomed. "170 TO 60!"

The Gryffindor stands erupted in celebration, their chants deafening. 

"170 to 60," Tracey muttered, her lips pressed into a thin line. 

The Slytherin stands emptied like a sinking ship. They knew they'd never hear the end of this; the Gryffindors would never let this go. Pride shattered, several years of winning streak overthrown. Pansy stormed off, shredding her sign. Daphne's composure cracked into a scowl. The Slytherin team even filed an official complaint, claiming that, technically, Harry never caught the snitch.

Only Daisy lingered, her eyes lingering on Harry as he was swarmed by his teammates. Hagrid stood nearby, his face split by a proud grin. 

"Yeh did it, Harry!" his voice carried across the pitch. She notices Hagrid, Harry, Ron, and Hermione heading towards Hagrid's hut.

Daisy's chest tightened. She hadn't spoken to him since that Thursday in September. Her mind was racing, uneasiness growing inside; she wished she had someone to confide in about today's blackouts—they had been the worst she'd ever experienced.