Golden Snitch

A/N: And lame title. I apologise.

I'm hovering a good fifteen metres above the ground. Below me are flashes of red and green, chasing the red quaffle and dodging the black bludgers. But I'm not watching the players around me. I'm not watching for the snitch either, I am forced to confess to myself.

Again, I'm watching Harry Potter. He's flying a bit below me, doesn't even realise I'm here. If he did notice me watching, he would figure I was just waiting for him to spot snitch. Of course I *never* play like that.

I lean forward on my broom and stroke the handle absently. It's a Firebolt 2X. It's better than Potter's broom. Should have seen his face the first time he saw it at practice. I finally have something that he doesn't. Imagine that. I have what he wants, and he has what I want. He could get a new broom any bloody time he wants---he's got the money. But I can never have...

A bludgers comes flying at me from the left, interrupting my thoughts. I swerve quickly and it grazes the tail of my broom.

These are not good thoughts to be having in the middle of a quidditch match.

I pull my attention back to the game. The score's 30 to 10, in Slytherin's favour. A rare occurrence, ever since Potter joined the team. They blame it all on me, the Slytherins. I'm not the only one on this team! They could try pulling their weight a little. Dammit, I never even wanted to be seeker in the first place. That was father's idea. 'Upstage Harry Potter, boy. Do it, if you know what's good for you.' Well, I haven't done a very good job at that. I wish I could just quit the team.

I laugh as Harry has to dodge an errant bludger. The Gryffindor team has suffered since the loss of the Weasley twins. Ha! He almost fell off his broomstick. Bit of bad luck, that. If he had fallen and killed himself I wouldn't be in this terrible mess anymore. You can't become infatuated with a corpse.

But...you can have your way with a corpse...I've been spending too much time around the Death Eaters. Some of those guys are just---wrong.

What was that? A flash of gold, low on the pitch. That damn snitch. Shit. Potter's seen it too. I go into a sharp dive. Potter's seen that I've located it. He's closer, but I'm faster.

I don't even hear the crowd around us as I near it. We're flying next to each other now. The ball is only a few metres away. There's only on way to go about it. I have to win this game.

I ram into him as hard as I possibly can, sending him off course and off balance. For a moment I think he really will loose his broom and fall to his death. No luck. A second later the Snitch is in my hand, and Potter is floating motionless on his broom as he stares at me.

As I'm holding the snitch up and Slytherin is screaming both in the stands and on the pitch I can't help but give him a smile. Not one of my mocking sneers or smug grins. A real smile.