31 Days of Fic: Eleven
Two hours early... ha!
In other news, Stardust is an incredible movie. I didn't think that it would be able to do justice to Neil Gaiman's writing, but it very much does. Plus, Robert DeNiro plays a gay, cross-dressing pirate, and does a fantastic job. I'm not kidding.
Go see the movie. Trust me on this one.
And now? The airspeed velocity of a flying Sirius.
May 11, 1976:
Two minutes before the whistle, and Sirius is tense with anticipation, trying desperately to clear his mind of the million and one things crowding into it. Beside him, James is fidgeting restlessly, eyes alight with the anticipation of the game. Fabian Prewett is pacing in front of the team, shouting his final instructions over the roar of the crowd.
"We're this bloody close!" he shouts. "Now, I want you to go out there and smash their heads in! Up Gryffindor!"
"Up Gryffindor!" everyone shouts, and then they're lining up as Gideon Prewett starts calling out names, his magically amplified voice seeming almost to shake the stands. Ravenclaw takes the field first; then it's their turn.
"Lewis," the announcer calls; "Abbott...Brown..." Then it's "Potter", and Sirius has one last second for the stomach-churning nausea he always feels pre-game before it's his last name booming around the field, and he takes off, airborne into brilliant sunlight. As the ground falls away behind him, so does the nausea, and the clutter of conscious thought falls like a weight from his shoulders, vanishes into the wind on his face; into the tension of muscles required to turn, to bank, to glide. The sheer joy of flight, of the game, overwhelm all of the myriad concerns that being land-bound brings, and Sirius brings his broom around as Madame Montremorcy releases the Snitch.
The game itself seems to go by in a blur, as always: in passes to James and Reynold Brown, in Bludgers whizzing by his ear, his shoulder, his knee; in goals scored and shots missed. It seems like no time at all before Gideon is shouting exultantly: "Prewett has the Snitch! Prewett has the Snitch! The game is over! Gryffindor wins! Gryffindor wins the Cup!", and the next fifteen minutes is a crush of bodies in red-and-gold uniforms, all of them screaming in triumph.
***
(Day One) * (Day Twelve)
Author's Notes: This one is short. I had a very, very busy day at work. Tomorrow it's off to Savannah, Georgia, where I'm sure it's even hotter than it is here in D.C.
In other news, Stardust is an incredible movie. I didn't think that it would be able to do justice to Neil Gaiman's writing, but it very much does. Plus, Robert DeNiro plays a gay, cross-dressing pirate, and does a fantastic job. I'm not kidding.
Go see the movie. Trust me on this one.
And now? The airspeed velocity of a flying Sirius.
May 11, 1976:
Two minutes before the whistle, and Sirius is tense with anticipation, trying desperately to clear his mind of the million and one things crowding into it. Beside him, James is fidgeting restlessly, eyes alight with the anticipation of the game. Fabian Prewett is pacing in front of the team, shouting his final instructions over the roar of the crowd.
"We're this bloody close!" he shouts. "Now, I want you to go out there and smash their heads in! Up Gryffindor!"
"Up Gryffindor!" everyone shouts, and then they're lining up as Gideon Prewett starts calling out names, his magically amplified voice seeming almost to shake the stands. Ravenclaw takes the field first; then it's their turn.
"Lewis," the announcer calls; "Abbott...Brown..." Then it's "Potter", and Sirius has one last second for the stomach-churning nausea he always feels pre-game before it's his last name booming around the field, and he takes off, airborne into brilliant sunlight. As the ground falls away behind him, so does the nausea, and the clutter of conscious thought falls like a weight from his shoulders, vanishes into the wind on his face; into the tension of muscles required to turn, to bank, to glide. The sheer joy of flight, of the game, overwhelm all of the myriad concerns that being land-bound brings, and Sirius brings his broom around as Madame Montremorcy releases the Snitch.
The game itself seems to go by in a blur, as always: in passes to James and Reynold Brown, in Bludgers whizzing by his ear, his shoulder, his knee; in goals scored and shots missed. It seems like no time at all before Gideon is shouting exultantly: "Prewett has the Snitch! Prewett has the Snitch! The game is over! Gryffindor wins! Gryffindor wins the Cup!", and the next fifteen minutes is a crush of bodies in red-and-gold uniforms, all of them screaming in triumph.
***
(Day One) * (Day Twelve)
Author's Notes: This one is short. I had a very, very busy day at work. Tomorrow it's off to Savannah, Georgia, where I'm sure it's even hotter than it is here in D.C.