Hey there. Someone just pointed out to me that the names aren't canon. Point is, this story wass started LONG before the seventh book ever came out- I'm just re-writing it to clean it up. So, enjoy the story, please review, and kudos to some anonymous person, my FIRST REVIEWER! GLOMP

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Tristan Potter was livid. He wasn't just mad, and he wasn't slightly irritated. Oh, no. The boy was pissed.

Ally Longbottom, his star Chaser, had magically managed to break her arm during History of Magic, so he had had to settle for one of his less talented reserves. Landon O'Neill seemed to have forgotten the basics of being Keeper. Instead of blocking the goals of the opposing team, he had somehow managed to assist the Slytherins, and was actually knocking the Quaffle into the hoops from time to time. Evan Warren, another one of his Chasers, was sporting a spectacular bruise on his right eye, courtesy of his latest fling's elder brother. Not that Tristan cared much about Evan's facial disfiguration. The only problem was that the boy's depth perception was pretty much gone. And, on top of all that, his team was losing. Badly.

"It looks like this game is pretty much wrapped up," announced Mason through her megaphone. "I know we were all hoping for a Gryffindor victory—" a couple of boos from the green crowd below interrupted this— "but the score right now is 210-80, in favor of Slytherin. It's really too bad, too; Potter had an amazing lineup planned, and… hang on… YES! Garrett's finally gotten possession of the Quaffle! He dodges Nott, and he—WHAT WAS THAT?! GARRETT, YOU USELESS SACK!"

At this point, Martin Garrett (Longbottom's hapless replacement) had managed to drop the Quaffle. While Berenice Mason, Professor McGonagall, and the rest of the Gryffindor supporters groaned and berated the poor Chaser, Tristan shut his eyes and drifted slowly towards the stands. He planned on calling a time out—he desperately needed to vent, and his team could definitely use the break.

"Bet you wish the ground would just eat you up, don't you?" came a cheery voice. Startled, Tristan stopped rubbing his temples and looked towards the source. There, seated by the junction between the goalposts and the roof of the commentator's box, was a girl who looked like Christmas had come early. In her world, it probably had.

"Shut up." Tristan mumbled feebly as he settled down beside her.

"Don't tell me my team's actually going to be facing Slytherin at the final match? You told me they were nothing compared to you!" Cassidy said mockingly.

"Would you let it go Day?" groaned Tristan as he signaled to the referee. As the whistle was blown, he turned back to the Ravenclaw captain. "I was drunk when I said that. And besides, I wasn't talking to you at the time. That hot redhead, on the other hand…"

"That was a second year!" the blonde cut him off heatedly. "Look, Potter, the margin is only 120 points-"

"Only one hundred twenty," he muttered derisively, once again burying his head in his hands.

"And you can still beat them. Merlin knows that Slytherin doesn't deserve the win. Relax. Have an open mind. Watch the clouds… If you will," Cassidy winked. Startled by the change in her attitude, Tristan glanced up, and found the telltale glint of gold near the only cloud in the clear sky. Grinning, he signaled once again to the referee and was off as soon as the whistle signaled the commencement of the game. "Good luck!" cried the girl as he sped off.

"That was odd," came Mason's amplified voice. "After a rendezvous with whoever that is by the goalposts, Potter called off the break, and the game resumes."

As she said this, Tristan urged his broom higher and higher, determinedly aiming for the Snitch, which was still hovering in the approximate area that Cassidy had pointed out. "The Snitch!" exclaimed Mason. "There's no way Gregory can get there in time, he's on the other side of the field!"

As the crowd roared in anticipation, Tristan began to close in, closer… closer… there! He'd done it. The game was over, and Gryffindor had won, no matter how badly the team had done as a whole. While Mason, along with the rest of the red and gold mass, were delighting in their victory— "Two hundred and thirty to two hundred ten, take THAT Slytherin!"— Tristan pushed past his team's congratulatory efforts in search of the elusive Ravenclaw he owed the game to.

But where was she? There was absolutely no trace of the girl by the goalposts, and he couldn't see her familiar mop of honey curls anywhere in the crowds. Certainly, the girl had a sadistic sense of humor and often came off as condescending. Not to mention she was ridiculously intelligent. And pretty. Shaking off this disconcerting train of thought, Tristan continued to skim above the heads of the crowd below.

"Oi, Potter! Party in the common room!" yelled Ally from the field below.

"I'll be there later," replied Tristan dismissively from his roost, safely perched on the commentator's box far above the reach of the frenzied mob below. "Have you seen Day?" he asked her casually.

"Not since breakfast," shouted Ally. "She usually likes to sit on her own during matches—says it helps her concentrate on the game. Last I saw, she was still up there, y'know, the spot between posts and the actual stands?"

"Yeah, I know," Tristan said absently. "Listen, I'll catch up to you. D'you mind if I take her with me to the party?"

"Not at all. See you there, lover boy!" Ally teased as she pushed passed the rest of the crowd, heading for the school.

"Oh Merlin!" shrieked Mason, her voice still resonating throughout the Quidditch field. "Over there. Someone's falling from the stands!"

Tristan reacted immediately. Shooting off in the direction Berenice had indicated, he quickly spotted the lone figure, a tangled blur of school robes and a telltale Ravenclaw scarf which was hurtling rapidly toward the ground. Cursing blackly as he took this in, Tristan dived.

He wasn't going to make it. He was too slow, and Cassidy's stiff body was gaining velocity as she neared the ground. A crowd was gathering, but everyone was at a loss of what to do. Desperate, Tristan pulled out his wand.

"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"

As the spell took effect, Tristan sighed in relief. Cheers erupted from below. He pulled the girl onto his broom and gathered her snugly into his arms. "Freeze up, did you?" he asked her cheekily.

"Mmph! Argmph! Hmph!"

Tristan raised an eyebrow. Then it dawned on him. "No bloody way. You're immobilized!"