To Be a Slytherin

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his magical world belong to J.K. Rowling. I merely have the huge, egotistical idea that I know what I'm doing with her characters. It's fun to let my imagination roam. Yippee!

A/N: Hugeo thanks to my nonexistent betas, kalariah & Alice E. White. Maybe next time, you guys will actually help me out here!

If any of the readers want to become a beta for me, you're more than welcome! I have a couple other chapters written, so I could e-mail them to you to preview.

Enjoy!

The Slytherins Lose--Again

Draco Malfoy scowled into his cereal. The Slytherin table was talking animatedly around him, not noticing his unusual silence, for once. He was surprised that Pansy wasn't tugging at his arm, chattering stupidly into his ear. The Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match was today, and most of his housemates were helping the Quidditch players come up with even nastier ways to play dirty without being seen by the eagle eyes of Madam Hooch. Draco usually took an active part in these discussions, being the Slytherin Seeker, but he was distracted today.

He had gotten out of bed feeling very grumpy, and he knew why. He was about to look like a fool in front of the whole school. Again. Good as he was, that fool Potter was always one step ahead of him. It didn't help that the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs always supported Gryffindor in these matches, their mutual dislike of Slytherin banding them together for the length of the match at least.

Malfoy glared over at the Gryffindor table, reserving his iciest stares for Potter and his little fan club. The prats! The Weasley twits (as Draco called the twins) were ALREADY celebrating with Potter as if they had won yet ANOTHER match against Slytherin without even trying. Ron was patting Potter on the back, assuring him as he always did that he was the best. Potter choked on his pumpkin juice, and tried to smile as his best friend delivered yet another energetic blow to his back. Sickening.

But worst of all was the Weasley girl, Ginny. She sat between the Mudblood Granger and Dean Thomas. Her eyes were riveted to Potter's face adoringly. She had every confidence in him. She KNEW he would win yet another stunning victory for the Gryffindors. There was no doubt in her mind--or face (thought Draco snidely) that Potter was her hero. Her bright face was turned up to his--in the perfect position for a kiss, Draco reflected. There was a quiet resignation in her features, as if she knew that he would never notice her, but she would be glad to stay in his shadow forever, ready for the day when a miracle happened and he needed her--

Draco slammed his glass of pumpkin juice down--a little harder than necessary--and tried not to laugh as he saw Crabbe and Goyle's futile efforts to wipe the juice off their robes. They made good bodyguards after all, and it would not do to offend them, particularly before a match, where the Slytherin team could only expect support from their housemates.

Well, he, Draco Malfoy, would show them. He didn't know how he was going to do it, but that didn't matter at the moment. What mattered was the look on the Weasley girl's face when Slytherin won the Quidditch cup. Because of course if--no, WHEN, Draco reminded himself, when they beat Gryffindor, the Quidditch cup was as good as theirs. For some reason, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were never much competition. They would be flattened within the first fifteen minutes of the game, as they usually were. Then victory, oh sweet victory. He could hardly wait to get onto the field and show them what Draco Malfoy was really made of. Everyone who laughed at him before was going to be sorry.

The sun was shining brilliantly that September morning, and Draco was nearly blinded by it when he and his teammates flew out onto the Quidditch pitch. Draco pulled his broomstick up above the rest of the players, still assembling below. A cool breeze tickled his face, and he allowed himself a small smirk. He had enchanted his hair to stay in place, of course. Nothing must upset the carefully arranged coif. At the end of the match, when Gryffindor crawled home in defeat, he had no intention of looking like Potter, with his hair sticking up in every direction. He snorted in disgust. Potter was good; even Draco Malfoy had to admit that, but Draco was every inch as good, if not--better.

Below Draco and Potter, the Slytherin and Gryffindor teams had assumed their positions, and Madam Hooch had already released the Snitch. Draco had to seriously hold himself in check; he knew the game didn't really start until the Quaffle was released, but the Snitch had flown right by him! Maybe that was a good sign, an omen of how the game would go--he grabbed his thoughts suddenly, and stopped daydreaming about victory. It was not for nothing that he, Draco Malfoy had been put into Slytherin. He focused himself completely on the goal--finding the Snitch before Potter, and wiping that self-satisfied smirk off his enemy's face.

Then the Quaffle was released, and the game began.

Draco was aware that down below, his teammates were giving Gryffindor even more trouble than usual, but their plans to avoid Madam Hooch had failed, as Draco had expected they would. Did they really expect her to not to see when someone zoomed their broomstick right into Angelina, knocking her off her broom? Amazingly, the hardheaded girl had not been knocked unconscious by the fall, and insisted on returning to the game. Draco shrugged: it was none of his concern. That was why he loved being the seeker. He didn't have to get involved in all the petty fouls and pushing and shoving that went on below him. He preferred not to mingle too closely with people who did not possess the same social standing as he.

Suddenly, a flash of gold caught Draco's eye. The Snitch! He ducked, out of instinct. Both Potter and the Bludgers tended to follow the Snitch around. A split second later, Harry and two Bludgers whizzed overhead. Draco righted himself, and took off in pursuit. He wasn't far behind Potter, and he urged some more speed from his Firebolt III, which was vastly superior to his rival's broom. Not far now. He could see the golden ball glinting in the sunlight, and he could taste victory just around the corner. If only that dratted Potter would move out of the way!

Draco ground his teeth in frustration. Potter might be a Gryffindor, but when it came to Quidditch, he was almost more Slytherin than Draco himself. Almost. He focused completely on the goal, willing to take any risk to come out on top. But Potter always played fair. A true Slytherin would do anything to get ahead, and in a moment of pure rage, Draco did. He had waited for Potter to move long enough. He pushed his broomstick forward even faster- and found himself riding beside Harry at top speed, the wind almost blowing them both off their broomsticks. Potter had that determined look in his eye, and was actually reaching out his hand to catch the Snitch. In the tiny millisecond before he caught it, Draco turned his broomstick and rammed himself straight into the Gryffindor seeker's side, then pulled away to watch the spectacle.

By some miracle, Madam Hooch didn't see him; being too occupied with keeping the other players from killing each other.

Potter's reflexes were quick. He was surprised by the blow, and was almost knocked off his broom, but he recovered, and wheeled around, searching for the Snitch again. But the impact had thrown him way off course, and it was too late. Draco was already reaching out his hand for the Snitch. He was so close, he could hear the tiny little wings of the Snitch beating furiously. Then his hand was so close, that one wing brushed against his skin, feather light. Draco thought his heart would fly right out of his mouth and join the Snitch. He leaned forward to grab his victory--but the ball was gone.

It had suddenly turned and was whizzing off in another direction--straight towards Potter. Draco cursed, and took off in pursuit, but he was too late. A few seconds later, the game was over. Merlin! He had been so close. He growled savagely and spat, not caring if it hit anybody walking below. It was as if the stupid ball actually liked Potter, and didn't want to be caught by anyone else. How could he compete against that?

Maybe he could nastily suggest that Potter had enchanted the Snitch. Yes, that was it. Potter had enchanted the Snitch to fly straight to his hand--not right away of course, since that would be too obvious.

He smirked, but his smile faded as he realized that no one would take him seriously. Everyone loved Potter; they just couldn't get enough of their hero. He never did anything bad, oh no! So what to do then? He flew down to the grass and began another session of pretending he didn't care that the entire Slytherin house looked like fools, especially the Slytherin Seeker. He was quite good at it, but pretending he didn't care irked him, since he did care. Just once! WHY couldn't he win just once? Was it too much to ask? There had to be a way. And he would find it.

Draco almost laughed aloud as a sudden inspiration came to him. It was too easy. Whistling to himself, he walked off the Quidditch pitch and went straight to the showers in the Slytherin dungeons. Under the hot streams of water, he relaxed and reviewed his plan to beat Potter. It was so simple that he almost worried that it really was too easy, but he quickly dismissed the idea. The precious little Gryffindors wouldn't suspect a thing. He would begin phase one in Transfiguration tomorrow afternoon.