Wind whipped and thrashed, thunder booming while rain poured. Brooms upon brooms zipped through the flooded air. Deep red along with flashes of shiny green. James Potter, the teams seeker, was high above the stands. His glasses, now fogged up with pattering rain water, had slipped halfway down his nose. He seemed oblivious to it though, as his eyes scanned the pitch in a frantic manner, in search of the sneaky golden snitch. A flash of green zipped past, and a whistle suddenly split the thunderstruck air. "150 points to Slytherin! Slytherin wins!!" The announcers voice boomed, as a parade of splitting applause cut them short. Oh how you could just anticipate James' reaction, it was not an exciting thought to say the least. You watched from the stands as brooms hit the ground, and the Gryffindor players dismounted, leaving Slytherin to zip around in their arrogant victory. The first to storm off the pitch, of course, was James. He looked absolutely livid.