The Pitch.
When taking the post of Gryffindor House Head, I was told that a certain amount of enthusiasm was required for the school sport of Quidditch. Having never attended a game or match or whatever it’s called, I was relatively unenthused about the idea of playing a cheerleader. The only games I enjoy are games of wits. Save me a seat at the International Chess Tournament, now there’s a good time!
Yet for all my misgiving’s about the sport and the ridiculous notion of riding around on brooms, I none-the-less hiked up my skirt and trudged to the “Pitch,” as they call it, to show support for my students in their athletic endeavors. I was a little taken back by the crowds of screaming students, each cheering on their own team. What surprised me more was to see screaming professors as the balls (which I later learned are Bludgers, Quaffles, and a Snitch) were released.
At first, I felt a little bored, nothing but a bunch of people flying about in matching uniforms, much like a Muggle football match, a game I find equally boring. However, just as I was about to settle back and snooze a bit, I heard a loud crack. I opened my eyes in time to see a great hurdling ball screaming, literally screaming as it headed straight for the section of stands I was seated in. What did I do? I screamed like a little girl. I thought for sure, this is it, the moment, my last action will be screaming like a child before a large blunt object ends my life. But just as I speculated my death, one of my students, flew up and swung a large bat at the ball, sending it screaming off in the other direction. “Sorry ‘bout that,” the girl turned super hero said nonchalantly and flew off with her bat toward the game. I stood there, blinking, my mind trying to comprehend the events that transpired; my boredom, the sound of a breaking bone, my impending death, and then salvation. I did something I did not expect, I stood up, put my hand in the air and screamed “GO GRYFFINDOR!” as loud as my lungs would allow. Not satisfied, I charmed myself to project like a loud speaker and yelled once more “GO GRYFFINDOR!” in deafening tones.
I was instantly hooked! I saw a dizzying display of red and gold fly past me again, this time carrying a larger ball under her arm, she threw it at the middle of three hoops and it sailed through. “Ten Points for Gryffindor,” I heard the announcer say. I jumped with the rest of the patrons in my stands, clapping and hollering. I was having so much fun! This sport was not pointless and trite like I had imagined, but exhilarating and electrifying.
Gryffindor won the game, and by the end I had managed to glamour a lion’s head onto my body and charmed a frightening roar to come from my lips. I’m pretty sure I made a First Year cry, but it was all in good fun. After the game I stayed behind, roaming the Pitch after everyone had left, I think I could play this game, maybe I should see if the other professors would be interested in starting our own league. Then again, maybe we would just be a poor imitation of the youth and athleticism of our students as we flew on our unsteady brooms back and forth. We’d cast spells to deflect the impending bludgers, and summon the snitch to our hands. It would be a boring game, a very boring game indeed. Best leave the actually playing to the students who are young enough to value athletics and leave the crowd building to house heads.
I’m making a lion suite. Next game, I’ll be the idiot on all fours roaring into the cool Fall morning. Merlin’s Beard I love this job.