Quidditch
The day of the Quidditch match had arrived, and the entire Hogwarts grounds seemed to hum with the energy of the event. The sun was bright, casting a warm glow over the pitch, while just a few clouds hung lazily in the sky, offering a faint contrast to the brilliant blue expanse above. The smell of freshly mown grass mixed with the lingering scent of excitement in the air, and the cheers of students, already gathered in the stands, created an atmosphere so electric it almost felt like a tangible force.
Hermione sat in the Gryffindor section, her heart racing with the blend of nerves and excitement that always accompanied Quidditch matches. She had a front-row view of the action, her Gryffindor scarf draped snugly around her neck and her fingers tightly gripping the edges of the bench. Beside her, Luna and Neville sat eagerly, both of them equally as absorbed in the spectacle unfolding before them. Luna was leaning slightly forward, her wide, dreamy eyes trained on the sky above, and Hermione could already tell that a peculiar comment was on its way.
“Do you think the Bludgers get lonely when they don’t have anyone to chase?” Luna asked, her voice floating up with the soft clarity of someone who was lost in thought, her head tilted upward as if contemplating some grand cosmic truth.
Hermione blinked, momentarily taken aback by the question. She glanced from Luna to the game in front of her, where the players were already flying in the air, and then back to her friend. “Luna…” Hermione began, her voice holding a note of confusion but also a touch of fond exasperation, “I don’t think Bludgers can feel loneliness.”
Luna, completely unfazed, continued to squint up at the sky, her expression unreadable yet full of wonder. “But how do you know, Hermione?” she asked, her voice rising ever so slightly with the genuine curiosity that was so characteristic of her. “Maybe they just don’t like to talk about it.”
Hermione’s brows furrowed in thought for a moment. She opened her mouth to reply, but found herself momentarily speechless, trying to wrap her head around Luna’s logic. Hermione sighed, shaking her head with a smile that couldn’t help but tug at her lips. She had long stopped trying to make sense of Luna’s thoughts in any conventional way.
“I suppose it’s possible that you’re right, Luna,” she said. “Maybe the Bludgers do get lonely. It’s just that I can’t imagine them sitting around, talking about their feelings when they’re busy attacking players.”
Luna nodded thoughtfully, her eyes still scanning the sky, perhaps pondering a whole new layer to her theory. “You’re probably right,” she said, her voice trailing off as if the idea had been settled for now, but not completely ruled out. "It could be that they just want someone to talk to before they fly off in a rage."
Hermione’s mouth opened to respond to Luna, but she was interrupted by a loud cheer that erupted from the crowd. Her head snapped toward the pitch, where the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams were emerging from the locker rooms. The sunlight caught the gleam of their robes as they took their places on the field, the air thick with excitement. The Gryffindor team, with Harry, Ron, Ginny, and the twins—Fred and George—grinning widely from their positions on their brooms, looked like a force to be reckoned with. Hermione’s heart skipped a beat as she spotted Fred and George, their beaming faces searching the stands. As if on cue, Fred waved energetically at her and Luna, causing Hermione to smile and wave back.
Hermione’s eyes flicked over to the Slytherin side, and she caught sight of Draco Malfoy hovering near the goalposts. His pale face was set in a determined scowl, his blonde hair blowing back in the wind. As if sensing her gaze, Malfoy’s eyes flicked toward the Gryffindor stands, and for a moment, their gazes locked. He smirked, his expression daring her to doubt his skills. Hermione’s heart quickened in her chest, though she didn’t know if it was from the intensity of his gaze or the anticipation of the game.
The Slytherin team was just as formidable. Besides Malfoy, there was the tall, broad-shouldered Blaise Zabini, who was playing Chaser alongside Pansy Parkinson. Parkinson, as usual, was trying to look her best, her dark eyes sharp and calculating, but it was clear she was a skilled player. The Slytherin Keeper, Adrian Pucey, was poised at the goalposts, looking completely unbothered by the tension of the match. His cold eyes flicked briefly toward Ron as he adjusted his gloves, as if sizing up his opponent.
The whistle blew, cutting through the noise of the crowd, and the game erupted into action.
"Here we go!" Neville shouted, eyes wide with awe as the players rocketed into the air, soaring through the sky like a swarm of bees, darting and weaving in perfect synchronization.
"Look at them," Luna said softly, her eyes tracking the players with a faraway expression. "It’s like watching a ballet, only with more crashes and a lot more violence." She nodded as though this was an entirely logical observation.
Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head. "I don’t know if I'd call it a ballet, Luna, but—"
"Look out!" Luna suddenly shouted, pointing up at the sky, and Hermione followed her gaze just in time to see a pair of Bludgers streaking toward the players.
"Incoming!" Fred called out from the field, his eyes flashing with excitement. He and George, both Beaters for Gryffindor, were immediately on the offensive. They darted toward the Bludgers, their brooms gliding smoothly through the air as they lined up their shots. With a swift swing of their bats, the Bludgers were sent hurtling toward the Slytherin players, forcing them to dodge and swerve as the dangerous balls streaked by.
"Nice hit, Fred!" Hermione shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth to be heard above the roar of the crowd.
Fred, never one to miss a chance for attention, shot her a wink as he zoomed past. "Thanks, Hermione! Keep watching, it gets better!" He grinned, looking back at her as he swung his bat again, knocking a Bludger directly toward Pansy, who yelped and barely managed to swerve out of the way.
On the opposite side of the pitch, Ginny had the Quaffle and was charging toward the Slytherin goalposts. She was fast, weaving through the Slytherin Chasers with ease, her hair flying behind her like a banner of determination. Ginny passed the Quaffle to Ron, who was positioned at the other end of the field, guarding the goalposts. He caught it with one hand, barely missing a Bludger in the process, and quickly lobbed it back to Ginny, who was already preparing for another attempt.
Ron was having a hard time keeping up with the fast-paced action, but his focus was unwavering. He was ready, his arms outstretched as he kept a careful watch on the incoming Quaffles. He had always been a bit clumsy with his broom, but he was a brilliant Keeper, and Hermione knew he’d rise to the challenge when it counted. He shot a quick, encouraging glance at Ginny, who nodded and darted back into the fray.
As the match progressed, the tension in the air grew thicker with each passing second. The crowd was on the edge of their seats, fully invested in the high-speed chase that unfolded before them. Hermione found herself gripping the edge of the stands, her heart pounding in sync with the intensity of the game. It was incredible to watch—each move was more breathtaking than the last, and every pass, every dodge, had her holding her breath.
The Quaffle flew between players like a flash of red, zipping from one Chaser to another. Gryffindor and Slytherin were locked in an all-out battle, neither side willing to yield. It felt like a tug-of-war, with each team trying to gain an inch, only to have the other snatch it away.
Ginny Weasley was an absolute force on the field, darting between players with fluidity and grace, her eyes sharp with determination. She had just made a quick pass to Ron when Millicent Bulstrode, one of Slytherin's Chasers, came barrelling toward them. Ginny didn't hesitate—she swung her broom hard to the left, narrowly avoiding Millicent’s attempt to block her path.
Hermione could practically feel Ginny's focus from the stands, her jaw set with that fire Hermione knew so well. Ginny’s next move was a quick and deft manoeuvre—she passed the Quaffle to Fred, who sent it zipping toward Oliver Wood, their Keeper, in an attempt to block Slytherin’s latest offensive.
Then, a loud cheer erupted from the Slytherin side of the pitch as Millicent Bulstrode had made an impressive goal. The scoreboard flickered and flashed: Slytherin 70 – Gryffindor 60. The crowd gasped, and then the Gryffindor side quickly retaliated with a chorus of disappointed groans.
Ginny’s expression was a perfect mix of fury and focus. She gripped her broom tightly and flew into the fray, chasing the Quaffle down as though her life depended on it. “We’re not letting them win that easily!” she muttered to herself, her voice barely audible through the roar of the crowd.
Hermione felt a swell of pride for her friend. Ginny was a force to be reckoned with, and she was pushing herself harder than ever to make sure Gryffindor had the upper hand. The Chasers passed the Quaffle with precision, each one cutting through the air like a blade, never pausing for a moment’s rest.
The game intensified with each passing second, but it wasn't just the Chasers who had the crowd captivated. Fred and George, both Beaters for Gryffindor, were doing their best to make sure the Slytherins didn’t get any easy shots. With a perfect synchronicity, they worked together, sending Bludgers hurtling through the air toward the Slytherin players, forcing them to duck and weave in order to avoid the heavy, enchanted balls.
“Nice hit, Fred!” Hermione called out, her voice rising above the crowd’s cheers and gasps.
Fred grinned as he sent another Bludger toward Millicent. “Thanks, Hermione!” he called back, flashing her a wink as he zoomed past. “This is just the beginning!”
But Hermione barely had time to respond before Neville’s voice rang out, sharp with excitement.
“Look! It’s the Snitch!” Neville pointed toward the sky, and Hermione’s gaze snapped upward.
There it was, fluttering near the farthest reaches of the pitch: the Golden Snitch. It glimmered in the sunlight, catching the wind with a delicate flutter of its wings. Harry’s eyes locked on it instantly, and the Seeker’s face became a mask of intense concentration.
From the opposite end, Draco Malfoy—Slytherin’s Seeker—had seen the Snitch too. His broom shot forward like a rocket, cutting through the air with alarming speed. Harry followed suit, his broom seeming to hum with power beneath him as he surged forward, inching closer to the Snitch with every beat of his broomstick.
The entire pitch seemed to hold its breath as the two Seekers raced toward the tiny golden ball. The crowd’s roars faded into a buzz of sound, the only thing that mattered now was that flickering speck of gold and the two Seekers desperately vying for it.
The wind whipped past Hermione’s face as she watched the scene unfold, her heart in her throat. Harry and Draco were neck and neck, each of them determined to be the one to catch it. The distance between them and the Snitch grew smaller with each second, their brooms gliding just inches from one another, neither of them willing to give an inch.
Then, with a swift and daring maneuver, Harry pulled ahead of Draco by a fraction of a second. His fingers stretched out toward the Snitch, his eyes locked on it with unwavering focus. For a split second, Hermione’s heart stopped—then Harry’s fingers closed around the Golden Snitch with a sharp, triumphant tug.
The crowd went wild. A loud, deafening cheer exploded from the Gryffindor side as Harry held the Snitch aloft, his face beaming with pride and exhilaration.
“We won!” Hermione shouted, jumping to her feet, her hands clapping together in excitement. Her voice rang out, but it was nearly drowned out by the sheer roar of the crowd.
Luna, still seated beside her, grinned widely. “It’s always nice when things work out, isn’t it?” she said dreamily, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and peace, as if the victory was just another bit of natural order in her wonderfully strange world.
Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. It was hard to contain the joy that had surged within her at that moment. The team had done it—Gryffindor had won the match, and Harry had clinched the victory in true Seeker fashion.
As the players began their descent toward the ground, Hermione caught sight of Fred and George waving at her, their grins wide and their faces flushed with the thrill of the win. She waved back, her heart soaring with pride for her friends. Today had been nothing short of perfect, and she couldn’t wait to celebrate with the rest of the team.
The match had been intense, thrilling, and full of surprises, but in the end, it was Gryffindor who had triumphed once again.