Title: The Reason
Rating: PG
Word count: 1337 XD
Pairing: my OTP. :D
Response to 30minutefics's Challenge #35
Summary: Draco wonders why he always loses to Gryffindor.
Unbeta'd. :D I stopped 'cause I ran out of time. So sorry about the ending.

Draco Malfoy knew without a doubt that he was the best flyer in Hogwarts. There was nothing on earth that could defeat his superior flying skills, not even the infamous Harry Potter-who-was-such-a-pain-in-the-arse. The only reason that Potter had been able to defeat him all these times, Draco had recently found out, was not because of his flying ability.

Everyone made so much out of Harry's flying. It was almost as much as they made out of his gorgeous eyes. But the truth of the matter was that Harry flew above average… but nothing truly special. There was nothing really special with the boy at all- his entire being screamed 'average!' and 'normal!' that it made sure he just disappeared into a crowd.

Draco, on the other hand, was much more noticeable. He stood out in a crowd, and he was easily above average in everything he did.

At first Draco had been frustrated when Potter managed to beat him even in sixth year (and he had gotten more flying lessons as well), not knowing why it was that Potter managed to defeat him all the time. It wasn't fair! Clearly, Draco's skill was better than that of Potter's… and he had been trained for this since he was young!

So why was he lacking? What was he doing wrong?

The blonde Slytherin had spent days after the Gryffindor-Slytherin match seething helplessly, glaring at the ebony-haired Gryffindor whenever he got the chance.

How, oh how, did Harry Potter manage to defeat him?

The odds were in Draco's favor, as always. He had the fastest broom on the line (the StarStream 900), had better vision than Potter, and had been training all summer. It was clear in the air that Draco was the better flyer, being faster and infinitely more graceful than Potter ever was.

The shrimp of a Gryffindor didn't even seem to be playing Quidditch for the competition, but rather just for flying! That would get a person nowhere in a game… yet it always gave Potter a significant advantage.

Draco fumed as he headed out to the field with his broom. It was more than humiliating that after seven years, he had still not managed to defeat Potter… not even once!

Potter had a great broom, yes, but the Firebolt was getting old. He was graceful in the air, yes, but that grace was raw and untamed in a way that could be used to his advantage. His reactions were faster than Draco's, yes, but that didn't mean much when his vision was so poor anyway.

Not that his poor vision hindered Potter in any way. Draco had already knocked off those hideous glasses in their match in sixth year, and Potter had still managed to catch to snitch (by falling, nevertheless. The boy had lost control of his broom and fallen, grabbing onto the snitch when he was grasping for air. He was lucky that Weasley had been close enough to catch him. Heck, he was lucky to catch the snitch, too!). That boy must have run all his years of Hogwarts on pure luck, Draco decided.

Ducking into the Quidditch field, Draco mounted his broom without looking to see who might still be on the field. He didn't want to deal with anyone, but he wanted to confront them even less. Ignoring people was better than getting in trouble later because he had hexed for just for being there… or being ugly.

The blonde flew up into the sky, letting his broom maneuver where he wanted to go, and breathed in the clean scent of the air, so fresh after the spring showers.

It was strange, he thought, that Potter could always best him. How does that happen?

But it was when he was high enough into the air when he realized that he wasn't the only one on the Quidditch field, and that there was laughter from the other side, laughter that was strangely familiar.

He looked down curiously, and sneered when he saw Potter and his clique, the Weasel and the Mudblood. The three Gryffindors looked like they were teaching Granger how to fly, and were having a good laugh over how she huffed at them.

Realizing that none of the three had realized that he was there, Draco shifted to move into a closer position where he could watch them without being seen himself. He figured that with the three of them talking so freely, he might be able to hear something that he could later use as blackmail material.

"…it's not like you can expect to be a great flyer right away, 'Mione." Potter was saying, his voice light with laughter and amusement.

"Oh, like you really needed time to learn how to fly." Weasley was mocking Potter, flying close enough to make the dark-haired boy laugh and duck out of the way. "You've got to have talent for flying! If you don't, the best you can be is decent. You'll be able to fly, but you'll never have that natural grace."

"And what natural grace would that be?" Granger seemed to huff, having trouble with staying on her wobbly broom even though it was only a few feet off the ground. "This makes me feel like I'm balancing on a tightrope… a tilt to either side and I'll fall."

Potter seemed to ignore that comment. "Well, there are a lot of people at school with natural grace… Malfoy, for one, is an excellent flyer." He paused for a moment, and Draco tried to swallow his shock from where he hid.

"I really can't understand why he does never manage to beat me." Potter admitted honestly. "I know that I'm lucky in games, but it's always like he's distracted… he always sees the snitch after me because he simply isn't looking for the snitch."

Draco fumed. He looked for the snitch! What else would he have been doing?

"I know why he's never found the snitch," Weasley grinned mischievously. He flew around Granger in circles, making her squawk at him and bat him away desperately when he flew too close. "It's because he's always staring at you, Harry."

Draco choked from where he was hiding.

"That's not a very good strategy," Harry mused. "I don't have exceptionally good vision. It would be easier for him to find the snitch himself instead of waiting for me to find it first."

Both Ron and Hermione seemed to snicker at his naivety.

"It's not that." Weasley continued. "The reason, Harry, that Malfoy always looses the matches against Gryffindor even though he wins all his other matches and certainly does seem to be a decent flyer…"

The blonde tried to lean in close, wondering how the Weasel seemed to have figured out what he had just been wondering about moments ago… the question that haunted the back of his mind for seven year already… why did he always loose to Harry Potter?

"That," Granger quipped, sounding right cheerful, "is an easy answer. Anyone who looks closely at the game or at the two of you can see it, Harry. He's been staring at your arse all this time."

Draco fell off his broom in shock. It was lucky that he wasn't that far away from the ground, as he only winced when he fell on his back, and could still hear the distant voices.

"Harry? Harry! Are you okay? This is the first time you've fallen from a broom since third year!"

It couldn't be, Draco mused silently in shock. All those years… all those humiliating defeats… was because he was wasting time staring at Harry Potter's arse?!

He groaned quietly and dropped his against the grass below him, not bothering to listen to the Gryffindors in their concern for the Boy-Who-Lived. The big secret that he had been trying to find out since First Year. The reason that he, Draco Malfoy, always seemed to lose the Gryffindor matches was because…

Well, Draco thought to himself, Potter did have a nice and delectable arse…

...okay, someone talk to me about how refuses to accept my HTML now? D: Every space that I try to place into the story (for artistic purposes-- especially for my Naruto stories) seem to dissolve the moment I attempt to save those changes. WTF? I tried it months ago, and it didn't work. Now I figure I'd try posting here again and it still doesn't work! Any more and I'm dropping completely.