"Draco!" was the first word that Draco heard that morning, as he woke again. Blinking blearily, he wondered what had set his mother off.

"DRAAAA-coooo!" The voice sounded, closer and more imposing. That was a man's voice, Draco considered, so it probably wasn't his mother at all. And his father had never had the idea of yelling that loudly. Who was left? His godfather would never yell at him - especially when he deserved it. Snape's style had always been to get very, very quiet when he was upset with Draco. The quiet of ice on a river, slowly cracking beneath your feet, leaving you too afraid to run for the bank. It was devilishly effective too.

"Draco!" Blaise shouted, coming into Draco Malfoy's room. "Why aren't you up yet? We were going to Quiddich, for goodness sake!"

"Oh, the charity benefit. " Draco moaned, acting for all the world like he was completely sloshed still from overdrinking the night before. "Remind me why I signed up for that?"

"Because Tori's hot, and you could never turn down a cute pair?" Blaise said with a grand smile.

"Neither of those are true." Draco groaned, putting his hand on his head, and trying to shield his eyes from the light. Draco Malfoy was competent at most forms of lying, but he was an expert at playing sick.

"But you love me anyway!" Zambini said, his laughter joined momentarily by Draco's - after a distinct grimace to show off his theoretically throbbing head. "Now get up, you're going to be late!"

"It's fashionable to arrive late, you realize?"

"Not to QUIDDICH!" Blaise howled.

Draco compromised by grabbing his head in theoretical agony. "You may do me the courtesy of stepping outside my door. I'll be out in a bell."

"Make it half, or I'm coming in to grab you."

"You know you can't dress me, you remember how badly that turned out last time." Draco chuckled smugly.

"I was eight!"

"So was I. Your sense of dress continues to be atrocious."

At this point Blaise stomped out of the room, slamming the door. Draco laid back down, pausing for a few minutes to gather his thoughts. He always had a gameplan for Quiddich, and he just needed to recollect a few things. In his mind's eye, he sketched out the appropriate moves and countermeasures, and then swiftly stood, donning his clothes without pretense because Blaise was just outside.

As he walked out (presumably having quaffed a hangover draught), Draco smiled at Blaise and said, "I think today is going to be a marvelous day." Blaise looked at him sideyed, as he well remembered the last time Draco had said something so optimistic.

"Why so?"

"I've got a mark on the Golden Boy himself."

"Harry Potter? Drake, you've got to stop with this stuff!" Blaise said, crossing his arms like he always did when he was truly upset. "He's going to throw you in jail or something!"

"That's the best part! He can try." Draco Malfoy's face had taken on that cruel grin that he often wore when he contemplated bollixing up the Chosen One's plans. Draco Malfoy was rather good at breaking things, after all.

[a/n: trolling ain't fun unless you have someone to share it with. Leave a review!]