He'd been so close, so close. Draco had touched the snitch, felt the wings for a millisecond, right before Potter came on his stupid Firebolt, dove for it, knocked his arm out of the way, and got it.

The crowd watching erupted in cheers. All the houses had been cheering for Gryffindor, except Slytherin obviously. The cheering and whooping and celebration did nothing to calm his fury. He swooped down and dismounted his broom. His feet hit the ground with a thud, basically jumping off his broom. Another thud. Draco had thrown his broom at the ground and was storming off to the locker rooms.

The captain will have his head. Why did damn Potter have to do everything right? Draco had lost Slytherin the Quidditch Cup, gave it away to the fucking Gryffindorks.