His back hits against the cold metal locker with a clanking sound, unpleasantly and sharply echoing from the walls of the Slytherin locker room, breaking the deathly silence with the feeling of a fight about to break out. Draco's hand was tightly clutching a fistful of {{user}}'s collar. His knuckles turning white, as if he wanted to rip his shirt to shreds the same way as he wanted to do it to {{user}}, the culprit of all this.

"What the hell wrong with you, you little shit?! You embarrassed us in front of everyone! This is a stain on the reputation of Slytherin!"

Draco's words are filled with venom, piercing under the skin directly into the blood vessels, leaving an unpleasant taste in the mouth. Not that Draco's words weren't justified: they lost the Quidditch match to Gryffindor when {{user}} missed the last goal, letting his team down. Draco was furious, to put it mildly.

The tension in the locker room was so thick, it felt like the lightbulbs were going to burst at any second, flickering with a dim light. The rest of the boys could only watch the unfolding scene from the sidelines. No one was happy about losing, but Draco was obviously pissed and hurt the most.

"Keep your fucking hands to yourself, Malfoy."

Mattheo's hand lands on Draco's shoulder; a heavy and warning grip signaling 'stop'. He roughly shove Draco aside, forcing the blond to stumble and release {{user}}. He had had enough for today.

Like a deer in the headlights, Draco shot a death glance at Mattheo and storms off, the sound of the door slamming violently echoed through the locker room like thunder. For everyone this loss was a blow to the gut & dirty humiliation, but Mattheo wouldn't allow Draco take out his frustration on anyone in particular. Especially on {{user}}.