A/N—This chapter contains most of the play by play from the Gryffindor/Slytherin game from Philosopher's Stone.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, neither 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-
Harry had been done and gone for an hour, yet Sarra was still in the classroom, sitting on one of the benches, staring at the blackboard.
"So, how did it go?" Oliver was leaning on the door frame, hands in his pockets, one leg crossed in front of the other.
"What? How long have you been there?" Sarra stood up and shouldered her school bag.
"About five minutes. You seemed deep in thought, so I didnae want to bother ye. Let me help." He offered to take bag from her, but she refused.
"I'm fine, thank you."
"Sarra, c'mon." He offered again to take her bag.
"What are you doing? Why are you here?" She had no idea why he was back here. She had practically thrown him out of the classroom earlier, surely he wasn't still interested? She loosened her grip on her bag, and let Oliver take it from her. They began to walk to the Slytherin dormitories, Sarra pretended not to notice that the back of Oliver's hand brushed the back of hers every once in a while.
"So, how was the tutoring?"
Sarra sighed, "It was alright. Potter really needs to focus on his school work. I'd hate for him to have to resign from quidditch just as he was getting started."
"Mm." Oliver nodded. He was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his mind clear. The tingling he felt in his hand, and it brushed against hers was making his brain fuzzy. "Yes, th' would be a wee bit unfortunate for us."
They continued to walk in silence. Both trying to act as if they weren't trying to avoid thinking about the prickling feeling on their hands. When they made it to the stairs leading down to the dormitories, they stopped.
"Well, I suppose this is my stop." Sarra's voice wasn't nearly as decisive as she had hoped it would be. She tried to make some sort of noise to indicate humor, but found her throat to be a bit dry. 'Why is this such a big deal?' She cleared her throat, and extended her hand for her bag.
Oliver was just staring at her.
"Oliver?"
"Hm? Oh. Yes. Yer rooms. Yeah, here." He handed her back her school bag.
"I guess I'll see you on the pitch tomorrow?" Sarra smiled. "I'll try to make sure that the ending score isn't too embarrassing for you." She turned to walk to the entrance to the dormitories, but Oliver grabbed her wrist, pulling her back around.
"Who is yer favorite team?" He was determined to learn something about her.
"I'm sorry?"
"Quidditc. Your favorite quidditch team."
"Oh! Equipe Le Havre?"
Oliver smiled, and released her wrist. "Really? I wouldae expected Quiberon, or Versailles."
"Well, they aren't the most popular team, and they are rather newly formed, but they played at the first match my grandparents took me to." She looked away. She couldn't continue to fall into his dark, beautiful eyes. "Uhm, what about your favorite?"
"I have a lot of pride for th' Scots National team, but as far as the regional teams, I hafta say Puddlemere United."
"I see. Well…" Sarra trailed off. She didn't want to have to leave his company, but it was getting rather late. Filch could amble by at any moment.
"Well, Miss Evans. As I said earlier this evening, I would like t'get to know ye better. Breakfast tomorrow? Maybe not in the Great Hall, fer obvious reasons." He gestured to their surroundings, indicating that it probably wouldn't do for them to be seen together the day that their teams were set to face each other on the the pitch.
Sarra gave Oliver a small smile, "How about the courtyard overlooking the lake? You nick the jam, and I'll get toast."
"Cheers." Oliver returned her smile, and watched as she entered the dimly lit corridor which led to the Slytherin dormitories. Putting his hands in his pockets, he headed out of the dungeons and to his own room in Gryffindor Tower.
The next morning was brisk and a bit windy, so Sarra pulled her cloak around her tight as she walked outside to the courtyard. She was a bit disappointed that there were a few students out here, but they seemed to be younger Ravenclaw students furiously completing homework, or reading rather large books. 'It is somewhat late-ish' She looked at her watch, '10:30. I hope he hasn't been waiting long. We didn't really specify a time.'
She looked around, until she spied Oliver sitting on a bench, looking out over the lake-the giant squid raising a tentacle out of the water to splash around a bit every once in a while, scaring the divers and geese on the lake's shores.
"Budge up!" Sarra sat next to Oliver, but not too close, "I hope you weren't waiting long."
"Oh no, not at all!" He scooted over to make room.
"Beautiful day isn't it?"
He turned to her and grinned, "Aye, that it is. A beautiful day for Gryffindor tae win!" He proffered the bowl of jam he had stealthily grabbed from the Great Hall. "Nothing fancy, just strawberry. I wanted tae grab the blackcurrant an' raspberry, but Lee and Alicia seized the lot."
"Pfft. Sure." Sarra returned his smile and handed him two slices of toast, and she picked the spoon up out of the bowl and began to spread the jam on her slices.
They ate their jam and toast quietly for a few moments. Oliver was the first to break the growing tension.
"So, yer from France? Yer English is pretty good-hardly an accent at all."
Sarra gave him a look, "I'd say my English is a mite better than yours!"
Oliver rolled his eyes, "Aye, yer probably right. But seriously, if you're from France, why did ye transfer from Bauxbatons? Awfully far away, surely, yer parents miss ye?"
"Oh, uhm," She fought valiantly against the tears that began to prick at the corners of her eyes. "Actually my parents died in a car crash when I was very little." She turned her face away from Oliver. Hoping that she could continue to keep her tears at bay. "So, I went to live with my mother's parents. Grandad got a job in Dunkirk, so we moved to Lille…" She trailed off, choosing to focus on the squid flinging geese into the air. They honked incredulously as they tried to fly during their plummeting descent back to the water.
"So, you're English! Ah. And, uh, I didnae mean to make you sad." His hand stuttered in the air as he tried to figure out how to comfort her. He decided on an awkwardly platonic pat on the shoulder. She didn't say why she transferred, but he didn't pry. She was clearly upset. He pulled a handkerchief out of his trouser pocket, and offered it to her.
Sarra took the handkerchief, as a few tears spilled over, and then a few more, until she was sobbing.
"It's alright. Shh. There, there." Without really knowing what he was doing, he pulled her into a hug, her tears soaking into his jumper. They sat there for a few minutes, Oliver with his arms around Sarra's shoulders, and Sarra with her face buried in Oliver's chest.
After a few minutes, Sarra moved to sit up out of Oliver's embrace. She dabbed at her eyes, and sniffed. "I'm sorry. It's hard to talk about…" She cleared her throat. "And to answer your question, Grandad retired from his job, and Gran really missed Cokeworth. So here I am." She sniffed again, and looked down at her watch.
'11:45 . Shite! Marcus wanted to meet at noon for a team lunch.'
"I have to go. Uh, sorry about your jumper. See you on the pitch" She stood, and adjusted her cloak over her shoulders, and quickly made her way back into the school.
Oliver gazed after her. Did he know anymore about her than he did before? Some, but not enough. 'Oh, well,' he thought. 'Suppose I better rally the troops and get ready.'
"Alright, men," Oliver was facing his team.
"And women." corrected Angelina.
"Aye, and women."
"This is it." said Alicia and Katie.
"The big one," said Fred and George.
"The one we've all been waiting for," said everyone.
"We all know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred whispered to Harry. George added, "He says it at every game."
Oliver rolled his eyes. Sighing, he continued. "This is th' best team Gryffindor's had in years. We are gonnae win. I know it."
From the locker rooms, they could hear Madam Hooch's warning whistle.
"Alright, gang. It's time." Oliver lead the team out onto the pitch, stopping almost nose to nose with Flint.
Madam Hooch looked both captains in the eye. "Now, I want a nice, fair game, all of you," she said.
The two captains glowered at each other, but shook hands in response to the glare they were receiving from Madam Hooch.
"Mount your brooms, please." Madam Hooch raised her whistle to her lips, and then gave a loud blast indicating that the game had begun. Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.
"And the quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor - what an excellent chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too -"
"JORDAN!"
"Sorry, Professor."
Lee Jordan, a fifth-year Gryffindor student, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.
"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve - back to Johnson and - no, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the quaffle and off he goes - Flint flying like an eagle up there - he's going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the quaffle -that's chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and - OUCH - that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a bludger - quaffle taken by the Slytherins - that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second bludger - sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which - nice play by a Gryffindor beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes - she's really flying - dodges a speeding bludger - the goal posts are ahead- come on, now, Angelina - keeper Bletchley dives - misses -GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"
Sarra was livid. Flint and Pucey hadn't even once tried to pass her the quaffle. They were getting tackled right and left, but they still wouldn't run any of the plays that they had practiced. "OI! FLINT! These aren't the plays we ran yesterday!"
Flint glared at her, "You just stay out of the way! Adrian and I can handle it!"
She rolled her eyes.
Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. He heard the exchange between Evans and Flint, and it sort of reminded him of what Oliver had said to him earlier in the week.
"Keep out of th' way until you catch sight of the snitch. We dinnae want you attacked before ye have to be."
When Angelina had scored, Harry had done a couple of loop-the-loops to let off his feelings, but now he was back to business, searching for the snitch.
"Slytherin in possession," Lee was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks two bludgers, two Weasleys, and Katie Bell, and speeds toward the - wait a moment - was that the Snitch?"
Pucey dropped the quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had just passed his left ear.
Harry saw it. In a great rush of excitement he dove downward after it. Terence Higgs had seen it, too. And the two of them zoomed off to try and snatch the snitch. All the chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch. All that is except for Sarra.
When Pucey dropped the quaffle, Sarra immediately dove after it, and caught it before it hit the ground. She zipped across the pitch to the Gryffindor side hoops; easily scoring due to Oliver's attention on Harry. Sarra couldn't help but feel a bit offended. She checked the scoreboard. 10-10. Well, at least someone was actually paying attention to the game.
WHAM!
A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below. Sarra whipped around to see what had happened.
Marcus Flint had rammed Harry on purpose, and Harry's broom spun off course, with Harry holding on for dear life.
Madam Hooch shot up to Flint, and spoke angrily him, and then ordered a free shot at the hoops for Gryffindor.
"So - after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating…"
"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.
"I mean, after that open and revolting foul…"
"Jordan, I'm warning you -"
"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure. A penalty shot for Gryffindor, taken by Alicia Spinnet, who… puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."
Suddenly, people were gasping and pointing up at Harry, all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on.
Sarra gasped as well.
Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and he swung off it; dangling from it, holding on with only one hand. The Weasley twins flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good - every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. So, they dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell.
Marcus Flint sneered, and seized the quaffle from the ground-where it had landed after Sarra had scored-and scored five times without anyone noticing.
Even though the trouble with Harry's broom seemed to last for several minutes, it had only lasted for perhaps three. Suddenly, Harry was able to clamber back on to his broom. He immediately took off towards the ground.
Sarra watched in horror thinking his broom was still jinxed. She watched as her brother clapped his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick - he hit the field on all fours. She thought for certain he had broken his legs. She quickly landed near him, but daren't rush to his side.
Harry coughed, and something gold fell into his hand. "I've got the Snitch!" he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended nearly as quickly as it had begun.
"He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it," Flint was howling at Madam Hooch, who had her hand up continuously signaling that she didn't care to listen.
Harry hadn't broken any rules and Lee was still happily shouting the results. Gryffindor had won by 160 points to 60.
This might be the only time in her life that Aster Sarra Evans Potter was glad that she had lost a game of quidditch. She couldn't keep her admiration and pride from reaching her smile.
-end-
A/N- Hey all! Thanks for continuing to read this dribble that I thought up seeeeeveraaaaaaal years ago! Please remember to Favorite and Follow if you haven't! Also please review! I am always very interested in what you all think of the story thus far! 3
K M Rose