It was cold. And friggin' loud. Stupid noise.

And there was Potter, flying on his stupid superior broom. Pssh. Like I couldn't have gotten a Firebolt if I wanted to. The only reason he had that annoyingly better-than-mine broom was because the entire wizarding nation was holding a Pity-Potter-Party, and giving the little twerp every-bloody-thing he wanted.

That left me, frozen to my Nimbus 2001, entirely distracted by Potter's flamboyance and the Potter fangirls in the crowd. Bugger, they were annoying. Shrieking harpies with no respect for the other players. Jeez, you'd think they'd have noticed that Quidditch was played by teams. But, no. Potter had to brainwash them with his swoopingly amazing Quidditch tricks that were so-much-better-than-mine-DAMMIT!

Potter trampled on my ego simply by existing, which pissed me off on a daily basis.

I swerved around on my broom to face the other end of the field, shivering as I did so. And there was Potter, right beside me, glaring at me—as if I had…done something wrong other than…you know…insult him and constantly attack him for five years. Well, okay. There was that…but other than that—

"Nice flying, Malfoy. That is, if you were trying to fly. Looked more like you were trying to fall."

            Nice wit, Potter. That is, if you were trying to make a witticism. Sounded more like you were trying to act like a total loser and insult me without any creativity whatsoever!

            "Sod off, Potter," I spat at him. Then I bundled my cloak tighter about myself, trying to ward off the evil Potter death-rays.

            Damn. That sure was an original insult, there. Mummy would be proud.

            Wait a second, why was Potter attacking me?! He never came up and insulted me without provocation before! That was my job! So why would he be—

            Ohyeah. Cho-bitch. Heh-heh. Probably shouldn't have been flirting with her before the game, considering the enormous amounts of drool emitted by Potter in her direction for two years. There was a point when he hadn't been chasing her, but…that didn't last very long. Ha. Potter. Always predictable.

            "No, I won't. I might have to catch you if you fall off your broom."

            Jeez, this boy was pathetic! Honestly! You would think that after years of my tutoring he would've learned how to throw at least a decent insult!

            Suddenly, to my right, I saw a glint of gold, and, entirely on reflex, I swerved my broom to follow it. I heard Potter growl behind me, and knew he was in pursuit. "Out of my way, Malfoy!" yelled Potter, shoving myself and my broom aside. "It's not like you're gonna catch it anyway!"

            Okay. That's it. Pothead's goin' down! Swinging my broom around, I zoomed forward with deadly intensity. I was after his blood.

            Okay, maybe that was a bit much. But he was definitely going to—be humiliated and—and—stupid bloody Potter!

            I blinked, and he had the snitch. Bollocks. The whistle blew, and all the players swooped down on the field. I landed, unfortunately, right next to Potter. Too bad I didn't land on top of him. Would have spared me a lot of grief if he'd been knocked out.

But then none of the other things would have happened…

THWAK!

There was a fist in my face, and it was Potter's. "That's for Cho," he yelled. I had a little trouble hearing it though, being distracted by the fact that there was a fist in my face.

As a man, a rough, manly, manly man, I had to defend my rough and manly manhood.

So I fought back.

You know, when I fight, things tend to get a little blurry around the edges. After a certain amount of time, I can't exactly tell what I'm doing. Being pissed off does that to you.

So that's why I continued to pummel Potter long after people began to try and drag me off his rapidly bruising and bleeding body.

Heh-heh-heh…

Finally they were able to drag me away and I realized where the hell I was. I also realized I was bleeding…from my nose…this was not good. I was in desperate need of a handkerchief.

Somewhere in this entire mess, I was able to spy none other than Hermione and Weasley—the malodorous Weasel. They helped that blasted Potter to his feet, where, breathing heavily, he managed to get out in a shout to me as I stalked away, "Good to see you're following in your father's footsteps, Malfoy!"

Ooh. Good one. I almost had to commend Potter.

But of course, I would never in a million years do that.

Then Hermione, wiping blood off Potter's face with a handkerchief (hey! Where was that when I needed it?!), decided to chime in, "Yeah, you're right, Harry. Next thing you know he'll be giving his arm to the Death Eaters."

Ouch. That was a low blow.

Just as I was getting past the Hufflepuff stands, Mark Carty, the Slytherin team Captain tapped me softly, dangerously, on the shoulder.

"Malfoy. I'd like to speak with you for a moment…"

*********

A/N: Hey people!  It's me, Winter trying my hand at a joint fanfic with Lyra… See, the funny thing is, I don't write fanfiction, but I'm good at characterizing characters that aren't mine.  Especially men.  Yay ^_^

A/N 2: Hiyo, everybody, Lyra Silvertongue here! I'm working with Winter, here, because she's like Mini-Me! No…seriously…she's like younger me. It's kinda freaky sometimes. Anywho, there will be more fanfic from us soon, especially if you give us feedback! ::huggles all around::