Sixth Year - Emma Vanity

I dislike Gryffindors on principle. I am not a bad person, I promise. I am highly motivated, I know what I want, and I can be manipulative. I was not placed in Slytherin House for any penchant towards the Dark Arts. I find the new Dark Lord ridiculous, foul, a disgrace. Not many Slytherins truly support him. We're quite mislabelled.

No, I was in Slytherin because I will do anything to succeed when it comes to Quidditch. Now, three years later, I am the current captain of the Holyhead Harpies and their best Beater. I was the youngest–and first female–Quidditch Captain Slytherin had had in over a century. I was Quidditch Captain for four years and I brought home three Quidditch cups.

The one year we lost was because of Gryffindor's reserve Chaser, Lily Evans.

Potter had landed himself in detention during the first game of the season for hexing someone or other in the halls in front of Professor Seams, the new Defence teacher. No one could convince him to drop the detention, so Gryffindor, desperate, turned to Lily Evans.

Pighead Potter would have been no challenge for us–his cocky flips, his telegraphed passes–but Evans was another story. I had nothing against her personally, she was just too bloody nice. She played fair. And, well, I didn't.

Hooch–the new Quidditch professor and referee, just retired off the Kestrels after a mangled knee the Healers couldn't fix–beckoned for me and Black, their deputy Captain, to shake hands. I tried my best to crush his hand in mine so he couldn't hold his bat, and he tried the same; the handshake lasted several seconds longer than customary, until Hooch cleared her throat.

Evans looked green. She'd filled a few times before, but this was the first time she'd faced us. The looks Mulciber was giving her would have been enough to make anyone hurl, though, mind you. Yet I knew better than to underestimate her.

Hooch blew her whistle and we all mounted. I glanced around at my team mates, and up at the stands. A quarter was wearing green and silver. At that moment, I strongly resented Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.

As Hooch released the last ball - the Quaffle - I kicked off, hard, and soared in pursuit of a Bludger, my eyes never leaving Evans with the Quaffle. How she could manage to fly so fast on a bloody school broom was beyond me.

Then again, Snape was always talking about how she was a whiz at Charms, wasn't he?

No, I told myself. I need to concentrate on the game. And no matter how nice Lily Evans is, I need to hit her with a Bludger. Get her out of the rest of the game.

Yet somehow, I couldn't bring myself to hit it her way. Instead, I aimed for Cresswell, their second Chaser. Evans would have passed to him, I reasoned with myself. This inconvenienced her.

Frick, Emma, I thought. Just send a bloody Bludger at her.

But as soon as I took aim, all I could see was the one Gryffindor who said 'hello' to me in the halls, no matter what that would do to her reputation. The one person who truly didn't see the importance of blood status or house lines.

No, Lily Evans was much too nice for me to consider hurting.

The game progressed; Mulciber attempted a botched Wronski Feint that nearly got him killed while Longbottom, the Gryffindor Seeker, watched and laughed. The score went up slowly, with every other goal by Evans being matched by one of our own.

Hell, Evans played smart. No fancy dives, no showing off. Clear, crisp turns. Emerald eyes. It was hard not to envy her; she had it all. Looks. Brains. Friends. I could see what Snape saw in her. I only wished someone would see that in me.

Everest, the other Beater, flew up beside me. ''Vanity! Where's your head at? You want to give me that fricking badge so someone will captain this bloody team?''

I glared at him, and swung my bat an inch from his head to prove my point. I then flew over to Hooch and called a time out.

''They're killing us out there,'' I yelled at the three Chasers. ''Even if we catch the Snitch now, we're not winning the game.''

''Thanks, captain. That's news to us,'' Wilkes said, rolling his eyes. ''Maybe if someone would knock the Mudblood of her broom I could block some of her fricking shots.''

I glared at him, mounted, and kicked off. I threw my bat in the air and then caught it with ease. ''Go, team. Win it.''

I sighed. Hell, I hated this. But I had to win. This was my last bloody year, and I was sure Evans would get to play again before she graduated.

The game resumed. We had to gain fifty points in order to tie the match. A Bludger soared towards me and I brought my bat back to whip it in Black's general direction.

Crack.

I knew that sound. That was not the sound of the metal Bludger against the wooden bat. That was the sound of soft bone against wood. I turned around just in time to see Lily Evans, Quaffle in hand, drop twenty feet from the ground with blood pouring out her nose.

Oh frick.

Guilty conscience kicking in, I dove down and landed beside her. I felt sick. This was not fair play. This game meant the world to me and I would do anything to win–but not like this.

''Evans, you okay?'' I bent down. She was conscious, luckily. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could respond someone grabbed me by the shoulder, turned me around and socked me in the face.

Black.

''Sirius, stop.'' Evans struggled to her feet, blood pouring out her nose. ''It was an accident. I wasn't flying well. It wasn't Emma's fault.''

Both the Gryffindor and Slytherin team turned to stare.

''Lily, you hit your head pretty hard. You sure you know what you're saying?'' Black asked. Evans shot him her usual withering stare.

I turned to her and pulled out my wand. Black made a guttural growling noise in the back of his throat, but Evans turned to face me head held high.

''Episky,'' I muttered.

Hooch called the foul, but Evans deliberately missed. She nearly hit Wilkes in the stomach, for crying out loud. A chaser like her would have never missed such an easy target.

Lily Evans taught me that Quidditch wasn't all about winning. Quidditch is about persevering, manipulating, and calculating. But Quidditch is also a sport about honour.

We didn't win the Cup that year. Not because we lost the game to Lily Evans. Not because Potter's plays were better in the Cup match. No, we lost because Gryffindor had more honour than we did.

Lily Evans taught me how to play Quidditch–the right way.