*Draco*

The pitch was misted with zooming sand from the miniature sandstorms brewing with the banshee-like wind. My brand new Firebolt was slung over my shoulder, reveling at all the stares from the stands it received. Pucey, Crabbe, Flint, Goyle, and Bletchley stood around the trunk that held the Quidditch balls (and Gryffindor's bollocks as well;those pussycats didn't stand a chance with me as Seeker). Crabbe walloped Goyle over the head, who stood where he had been, seemingly unaffected by the large welt forming just above his left eye.

"Crabbe, Goyle! D'you remember the plan I told you, eggheads?" I ran my gloved fingers over the sleek part of my hair, and breathed in the seductive moisture of the pitch; it had rained all of last night into this morning, and my mates and I had been forced to go without practice before the match; not a good plan with two thick bastards as beaters. They nodded their heads like the schmucks they were and I shook my head and pounded Flint in the arm. His gapped teeth split out of his gaping mouth, and he grinned at my presence.

"'Ey, there, Draco! Oy, Crabbe, Goyle!" The two gluttons were stuffing their mouths with some crystal-colored sweet, backs turned to the rest of the teammates. They morosely turned back, lips covered in the fine sugar of the confection, and grinned like two stupid trolls. "Alright, mates," Flint began, pulling us all in to a huddle. "Here's the plan…"

*Hermione*

"Honestly, Ginny, I'm not even sure why we come to these matches. You know Ronald's going to get slaughtered! I mean, look at Crabbe and Goyle! They're complete brutes, and as thick as they are, they know how to hit a Bludger!" I huffed as I sat down, bundled up against the sleek rain that had momentarily run dry.

"'Mione, like my brother always says, 'you worry too much.' Just let him play the first match against Slytherin. Haven't you got a little faith in Harry, at least? He is the youngest Seeker of the century, after all." Ginny gazed out at the pitch, cooing over Harry's thick black shag fluttering in the wind. I swear she'd gone mental after they had begun to see each other.

"Of course I have faith in Harry. He's an absolutely brilliant Seeker, Gin. But Ronald…" I sighed. After the damn Divinations blow-out with Draco I had been attempting to patch up my relationship with Ronald. Parvati and Padma constantly accused me of being "off my rocker" for being so desperate with Ron, but…I wasn't willing to admit my utter attraction to bloody Malfoy. The note I had sent to him would hopefully clear some things up for me, but…well, I would know by the end of this match, if all went well.

*Draco*

I felt the soft parchment rub up against my leg in my Quidditch robes and smirked, cantering my view of the pitch up towards the stands. She was nearly impossible not to see, sitting so close to Loony Lovegood with a great big lion's head (which roared intermittently-that girl was an absolute lunatic) stuck over her blonde hair. Granger was sitting normally; a pristine scarf folded over her clavicle, but her hair was a nest of crazy kinks that flew about in the snarling breeze that tore through the pitch. "Flint!" I called out to our captain, hoping that he would hear me over the screaming wind. He pulled his attention away from Pucey, who was attempting to run through our plan by using mere gesticulations; it looked more like he was putting on a puppet show. "Flint, ten thousand galleons says I get the Snitch within the first quarter of the game. You in?" I smirked, rubbing my fingers around a tight pouch of the small gold coins.

"Ay, Malfoy. You're a right old git; I don't bet against teammates. 'Ow about asking old Scarhead? Bet he wouldn't mind a gamble…'e's gonna lose, 'neeway." Flint's tongue scraped over his jagged, gapped front teeth and I shook the bag of galleons.

"You're right. What have I got to lose? I'm the wizarding world's finest Seeker; better than the 'Seeker of the century'." I strode coolly over to the scruffy-haired git's team and yelled, "Alright there, Scarhead? Willing to bet I get the Snitch in the first quarter? Ten thousand galleons if you get it first." I winked at Ronald, whose cheeks flamed, matching his hair; he looked like a ripe tomato with all that red on his fat face. The half-blind Seeker lowered his eyelids over his emerald eyes and crossed his arms against his scarlet robes.

"Right, Malfoy." He pointed to his chest. "Remember when you last retrieved the Snitch before me? I can't. Shove those galleons up your arse; I don't bet on first match."

Ronald chimed in, "My brothers are the only two Gryffindors who bet, Malfoy, and…" He spluttered, running out of courage as his eyes roamed the slick broom mounted atop my shoulder.

"Well, then, Weasel, Scarhead," I addressed them respectively. "Guess you two will just have to dry your eyes when Slytherin wins this match…and the cup. Best of luck…you'll be needing it." I turned around, smirking, and heard Harry knock a wand to the ground, yelling, "No, Ron! You'll only get us disqualified!"

*Hermione*

I watched as a skirmish involving Harry, Ron, and the Ferret quarrel about what I presumed to be some sort of bet the Ferret had proposed. As my eyes bored a hole into Malfoy's back, I watched (in slight horror) as he turned around and gazed right back up at me, spearing me through the corneas with his beaming, sunshine-slice of a smile. He…he smiled at me? My palms sweated through the lambskin gloves that Ginny had given me last Christmas, and I gasped.

"What is it, 'Mione?" Ginny asked, turning back to me from having been chatting with Luna exhaustedly about Nargles for the past twenty minutes.

I quickly composed myself, looking back at her flaming orange, straight hair and shook my head. "Oh, nothing. Harry and Ron were just fighting over some stupid bet with Malfoy." She and I stared down at the pitch, where the boys and Angelina and Katie were mounting their brooms and Madame Hooch was releasing the Bludgers and hauling out the Quaffles. She blew her whistle, and the match had begun.

*Draco*

The match was flying past me…literally, as I zoomed in and out of the audience towers in search of the zipping golden line of the Snitch's path, buffering myself against the shrill wind. Potter was on my heels, but my Firebolt kept him just behind as I leaned forward, smelling the break in the rain that meant the Snitch was nearby; the golden scent of pure victory rested on the air like a genie, content with its distance from its master. "Oy, Ferret boy! Watch out for that-" Damn it. I had conveniently been so intent on catching the Snitch and concentrating on the wind speed that I had forgotten about the goalposts, and my torso folded horizontally as I smacked into the tall beam and slid down onto the pitch. Mocking me, the Snitch flitted back and forth just feet above my head, where my broom now hovered awkwardly, before falling at my feet. The Snitch seemed to humor the audience as it teased my agonizing headache further.

Bloody Scarhead was pulling into a hairpin dive to scoop up the Snitch. I heard a rather long, loud chant from the Gryffindor side of the stands: "Potter, Potter!" I was not about to be humiliated by a damn orphan.

*Hermione*

My fingers clutched the railing of the stands as I leaned forward, watching as Malfoy and Harry stumbled for the Snitch. Malfoy was re-mounting his broom and Harry was mere centimeters from the Snitch…

*Draco*

I kicked my feet back into the foot pegs on my Firebolt and ground my teeth together with concentration. "Give it here, Potter!" I pressed my broom forward, the controls jeering faster and propelling me headfirst towards the Slytherin audience tower.

*Hermione*

Ginny gawked at my proximity to the edge of the stands; I was so far leaned over to watch the happenings down on the pitch that I was positive she thought I was about to jump out of the stands and race down to help the teams. But Malfoy, in all of his pureblood glory, hurtling at breakneck speeds towards the green and silver tower, shot out his green-clad arm, pressing his fingers around the golden ball and swerving up at the last second to charge up towards the heavens, victory plastered over his features. In spite of myself, I cheered, raising my fists in delight that he had won. I watched as those nearest me converged into a seething mass of anger and rage at my inability to root for my own house. I quickly reseated myself and shoved my hands beneath my arse.

*Draco*

Victory! I had caught the Snitch! Now, all I needed to do was find out from Flint if it had been in the first quarter. By his sickly-sanguine grin, I knew that I had. I flew in circles a few times before zooming back to the pitch, Snitch still clutched in my freezing fingers. My whole body snapped back to life (and the freezing chill that sliced through my body like a scythe) as I touched down and dismounted, joining in the victory chants with my mates.

*Three hours later*

*Draco*

Dressed to the nines in a pair of plaid briefs and a Muggle "Come to the dark side; we have cookies!" t-shirt, I stretched out my legs and rested my bare feet on the table, snatching up the crumpled piece of parchment from my tiny bedside table. Anticlimactically, I tore it open and scanned the beautiful, handwritten font. In sweeping, iridescent emerald ink, the note said: "Go Slytherin!" Signed below the script was a tiny, still-glittering scarlet inscription of "Hermione" with a tiny heart dotted just beside it.