[Third Person's PoV]
As Arthur and his group of friends huddled together in a quiet corner of the Hogwarts library. The table was cluttered with parchment, quills, and half-finished homework assignments, but Arthur, practically vibrating with excitement, could barely focus. He leaned in, speaking in a low whisper so as not to draw the ire of Madam Pince, but his enthusiasm was barely contained as he told him the news of his participation in the tryouts.
Gwyneth's eyes widened as she sat upright, momentarily forgetting the essay she was halfway through. "Really? That's incredible, Arthur! It's extremely rare for a first-year to even be considered for the Quidditch team." Her voice rose a touch too loud, prompting a stern shhh! from a passing older student. She winced, then leaned closer. "Sorry, but still—that's amazing."
Lance, who had been diligently copying down notes from a thick textbook on magical creatures, didn't look up but chimed in dryly, "That explains why you disappeared halfway through Flying class. Madam Hooch looked very pressed when she realized you'd snuck off."
Arthur scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "Yeah, I thought I was in serious trouble. But luckily, Harry was with me and vouched for me—said we were with the professor, which technically wasn't a lie, so I didn't get detention."
Merlin, who had been half-listening while sketching something arcane in the margins of his Herbology notes, looked over with a mischievous grin. "Hmmm… so you're already skipping classes and thinking about becoming a jock? Should I be worried that you're on your way to becoming a full-blown delinquent?"
Arthur rolled his eyes and huffed. "Oh please. If anyone in this group is most likely to turn into a delinquent, it's definitely you."
Merlin raised a hand in mock offense. "Touché."
Finally, Lance looked up from his notes, a thoughtful expression forming on his face. "Should I also try out for the Quidditch team?"
Arthur blinked in surprise. "Huh? Wait—are you into Quidditch too?"
Lance shrugged casually. "Not particularly. But since we're rivals, I figured it might be fun to compete against you."
The table went silent.
Arthur stared at him, then exchanged confused glances with the others. Gwyneth furrowed her brow, and even Merlin stopped doodling.
"…Rivals?" Arthur echoed, clearly baffled.
Lance tilted his head slightly, clearly unaware of the confusion he'd just caused. "Yes? Are we not? I mean, it's something my mother always encouraged. I can see why it might sound strange without any context."
Now the others were definitely intrigued. Merlin leaned forward, eyebrow raised, as Lance elaborated.
"It's a training method my mother taught me," Lance explained. "She said that choosing someone I consider my equal—or someone whose skill I aspire to reach—as a rival can help push me to improve. That kind of motivation drives a person forward. Arthur and I have similar passions, and frankly, he's better than me in a lot of areas. So naturally, he seemed like the best choice."
Arthur's confusion slowly melted into a grin, while Merlin's teasing expression gave way to something more serious.
"I get what your mother was trying to do," Merlin said thoughtfully. "But just remember, rivalry can be a double-edged sword. If you get too obsessed with surpassing someone, it can poison your thoughts. You might lose your sense of self and fall into the trap of chasing power just for its own sake."
Lance nodded solemnly, accepting the warning with quiet dignity. "I know. My mother warned me about that too. But honestly… I'm okay with never surpassing Arthur."
Gwyneth blinked. "Eh? Really? Then what's the point? Isn't the whole point of a rival to eventually beat them?"
Lance smiled faintly and shook his head. "That's only part of it. The real point is to push yourself beyond your limits. It's not about winning or losing—it's about growth. And honestly," he turned to Arthur with a crooked, roguish grin, "if I can't surpass you, it just means I chose the right person. It says more about your skill than my failure."
Arthur had to clamp a hand over his mouth to stifle the laugh bubbling up in his throat. His shoulders shook slightly, and his eyes gleamed with amusement and maybe even a touch of pride. Gwyneth, meanwhile, stared at Lance for a moment longer than necessary. She found herself slightly flustered, wondering why his smirk—paired with that casual head tilt—made him look suddenly handsome.
"Lance…" Arthur said, his voice low but filled with excitement, barely able to contain the large, battle-hungry grin that stretched across his face. His fingers twitched slightly, as if already gripping an imaginary sword. "You sure know how to get my blood pumping. I don't know about you, but I've got this sudden urge to pick up a sword right about now."
Lance's smirk slowly mirrored Arthur's, the same hungry spark igniting in his eyes. "Funny coincidence… my fingers are itching too. Would be a shame to let this fire go to waste."
The two stood up in perfect sync, practically radiating anticipation, clearly ready to bolt from the library for another impromptu duel in the courtyard.
"Alright, you battle-hungry maniacs, sit down," Merlin scoffed, not even looking up from her parchment. "You both still have homework to finish, remember? Or do you plan on dueling your way out of failing Charms?"
The sharp reminder hit them like a cold splash of water. They both froze mid-motion, their excitement deflating like popped balloons. With identical groans, they slumped back into their seats, grumbling under their breath.
"Fine… afterwards?" Lance asked, flicking a glance Arthur's way.
Arthur nodded with a determined look. "Oh, definitely afterwards."
"Right then," Merlin said, with a casual wave of her hand. "Anyway, moving along—Art, I've got something for you."
Arthur blinked, confused. "Wait… what?"
Merlin leaned beneath the table with a mischievous gleam in her eye, and when she resurfaced, she was holding a wide, oddly-shaped object wrapped in crinkled newspaper. It had definitely not been there before.
Even Gwyneth and Lance leaned in with surprise. "Where did that come from?" Gwyneth asked, glancing under the table as if something was hidden in a secret compartment.
Merlin plopped the package down in front of Arthur. "Go on. Open it."
"But it's not my birthday," Arthur said, bewildered. "And it's definitely not Christmas either."
Merlin rolled her eyes in exasperation. "There doesn't have to be a holiday to give a friend something special, genius. Now stop gawking like a stupid idiot and open it."
Still stunned, Arthur carefully tore away the newspaper wrapping. As the paper fell aside, everyone at the table gasped.
It was a Nimbus 2000—sleek, gleaming, and polished to perfection.
Arthur stared at it as if he were seeing a piece of heaven itself. He reached out slowly, reverently running his fingers along the woodgrain. "How did you…?"
Merlin raised her chin proudly. "Please. You think I don't know you by now? I figured the moment you heard about Quidditch tryouts, you'd jump at the chance. And to try out, you'd need a good broom. So, I took care of that."
Arthur didn't say a word. Instead, he lunged to her side and tackled her into a tight bear hug, almost practically launching them both out of their chairs.
"Whoa—Oof!" Merlin yelped as her chair tipped backwards, when it tipped back down it released a band, echoing through the library like a thunderclap.
Everyone around them jumped in fright, and Madam Pince's head snapped around like a hawk spotting prey. "SHHHH!!" she hissed, her voice laced with fury as she gave them a glare.
"Mel, you're the freaking best," Arthur said into her shoulder, grinning from ear to ear as he held her tight.
"I know, I know," Merlin replied, patting his arm smugly. "I'm amazing, aren't I?"
Lance shook his head with a chuckle, and Gwyneth, still wide-eyed, leaned over and peeked under the table again.
"But… you didn't bring anything in with you," she muttered, utterly baffled. "We all came in together. Where did you even hide that thing?"
Merlin just gave her a knowing smirk, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Magic," she said simply, winking.
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