Disclaimer—I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I seek to reap financial benefits from this piece of fiction. I am merely a fan yearning to manipulate Rowling's characters in such a way as to entertain myself and others.

-the story-

A few weeks had passed, and Sarra Evans was still on the Slytherin team (though Flint took the argument all the way to the headmaster, reasoning that 'It was an upheld tradition to not let girls on the team!' To which Professor Dumbledore replied, 'Traditions always change Mr. Flint.')

It was wonderful.

At breakfast the Great Hall was alive with jovial chatter, a practice match was being held between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw in order to prepare the way for the opening of the season.

Sarra was excited, not because she would get to see a rather good match, but because it meant that in a few short days she herself would be on a broom, tackling other players, throwing the quaffle, scoring so many points that it wouldn't even matter if the other team caught the snitch.

"Evans!" Sarra's eyes lifted from her plate to see her captain looking down his very crooked nose at her.

"What do you want Flint, can't you see that I'm eating? I'd rather not start my morning off by vomiting."

"I only came by to tell you that the entire team will have practice tonight after dinner. Snape says that if anyone is late then they will be cut, so…don't be late." Flint then took a piece of toast off of Sarra's plate and left, without even telling her what time she needed to be on the pitch.

'I guess I'll just have to ask someone…' As she was looking around for a fellow team member to ask, she saw that the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor teams were standing up, saying goodbye to friends, and getting ready to head out to the pitch.

Not wanting to miss a minute of the match, Sarra hurried out to the pitch to sit with Amanda and try not to cheer for either team.

That proved to be a bit difficult. Sarra couldn't believe it, thirty minutes into the game and the score was already 40 to 10, Gryffindor. She really did want them to win. After another forty minutes the score had become a bit closer: 80 to 60, Ravenclaw.

Sarra found herself yelling at the Gryffindor chasers: "Tackle that guy!" "Get the Quaffle! Get it! Get it! Get it!" "What was that? You call that a barrel roll? Come on!"

The few Slytherin students near her kept turning to glare. 'They're most likely first years,' thought Sarra, though one student in particular kept eyeing her, he was blond and had a glower plastered on his face.

"Do you mind? A few of us would like to enjoy the defeat of Gryffindor without your incessant clattering." The blond boy turned back towards the field, the girl who sat halfway in his lap cooed "Draco, you are wonderfully attractive when you do things like that!"

Draco…that name meant something. Ah yes, Draco Malfoy; son of that vile man Lucius. Sarra was a bit miffed. This eleven year old boy had the nerve to say such a thing to her! Clattering indeed, "But if they when it will be so much better when I outscore them during next month's match."

The first-year girl draped over Draco, laughed…at her! "When you outscore them?"

It was Draco's turn to laugh "How can you make sure that we outscore them? Have the house elves prepare an exceptionally well balanced meal for the team? Ruthlessly cheer from the stands? Polish their brooms?"

"No, no, no. Exactly what I said. Outscore them. I'm on the team…"

The blond prat, sneered. "You are not! Everyone knows girls can't play quidditch! Besides there have never been any girls on the Slytherin team!

"We can, and I am, you little shit." She flashed her quidditch patch to the snotty first years.

Draco was taken aback. "You can't talk to me that way! Do you know who I am?"

Sarra stood up (her full height being a good foot and a half taller than the young boy in front of her). "Yes, I know who you are. You are a blond headed little brat, who hides behind mummy's money, and daddy's ministry influence."

Draco shrunk back a bit, as the crowd erupted into a mixture of cheers and groans alike.

"Well, great. Thank you, Malfoy. I missed the last play of the game." Sarra threw her hands up in a mock of defeat.

"Oh, girl… It was a good one!" Amanda was yelling and jumping up and down.

Sarra gave her friend a side-eye. "No need to rub it in."

Oliver Wood could honestly say that he was smitten. He had only known the girl for about four or five weeks and had only spoken with her once, but he was indeed…interested. His eyes scanned the Great Hall during breakfast, looking for her auburn hair at the Slytherin table. When he finally found her, she was reading "Potions! Everything You Could Screw Up, But Shouldn't!"

Sarra seemed so out of place there, with the constant sneers and jeers from the Slytherins towards everyone else in the Hall. She seemed like she should be outside under a tree where she could look down the dale and see the pitch, and daydream about quidditch. At least that's what he assumed she'd daydream about, he really actually wasn't sure.

Yes, Sarra Evans was his kind of girl: smart, witty, and completely in love with quidditch—again, he wasn't quite sure, though that was the impression he got from her. She had been very emphatic about being on the Sytherin team. He really should try and talk to her again.

Sarra's love of Potions came at a very low second to quidditch. Even though she had her mother's knack for them, quidditch was her heart.

Today, her class had to choose a potion to brew that included ten out of the fifty mundane plants they were supposed to have written about, a month ago. Once the entire class had more or less halfway succeeded, they were allowed to leave.

"I need to have a word with you, Miss Evans" Snape was sitting at his desk, shuffling through some papers. "I would like to ask you if you wouldn't mind being a tutor for a few of my first year students."

"Tutor? Professor, I'm at minimum barely passing your class!" She inwardly cringed because she knew her low marks were due to boredom, and distracted daydreaming about quidditch. And perhaps also a particular keeper.

"Only because you don't try. Now, you will be tutoring Harry Potter at after dinner on Wednesdays, and Draco Malfoy on Thursdays. Understood?"

"Whoa, Potter and Malfoy? Sir, you can't be serious! I can't tutor them!" Sarra honestly felt that she couldn't, being related to the "Boy-Who-Lived" and remembering the interaction with the little blond prat, from the Gryffindor/Ravenclaw game. Tutoring them would end badly for all involved. "Isn't there anyone else? What about Bradford? He's great at Potions, why not use him? Or Haskett, or that one Ravenclaw girl… What is her name… Julia something—?"

"Miss Evans…. I have made up my mind. You have your instructions. Report to my office on Wednesday after classes to get their curriculum. Now, be on your way."

"Yes, sir."

-end-