Do you believe in love at first sight?
Muse: Minerva McGonagall
Fandom: Harry Potter
Question: Do you believe in love at first sight?
Spoiler: Quidditch Through the Ages
Words: 225
Catch-up
It was a glorious match. There is nothing quite to compare with Quidditch, the furious pace, the danger, the daring. I was all of nine years old when my mum and dad took me to see my first professional game, Montrose versus Chudley.
I remember watching Eunice Murray as she sped through the air like a demon on fire. It was the beginning of her career, and she had lots to prove. My eyes were like saucers as she whizzed and whirled around players, bludgers, and the odd spectator in pursuit of the tiny fluttering holy grail--the Snitch.
My dad was not a huge fan, having been raised with his Muggle parents to prefer football and cricket, but mum was a madwoman for Quidditch. I remember her talking me through the game, pointing out when this bloke was cobbing, or how that beater there had once managed to stay the course through seventeen bludger hits in a single match.
It was poetry to my ears, a musical, magical language of sport that I've never learned to tire of. To this day, when I watch my students playing their matches, I can still see Eunice Murray, her broom practically ablaze with speed, hair wild about her face, catching that first snitch, the first victory I ever tasted, even vicariously.
It was love at first sight.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Question: Do you believe in love at first sight?
Spoiler: Quidditch Through the Ages
Words: 225
Catch-up
It was a glorious match. There is nothing quite to compare with Quidditch, the furious pace, the danger, the daring. I was all of nine years old when my mum and dad took me to see my first professional game, Montrose versus Chudley.
I remember watching Eunice Murray as she sped through the air like a demon on fire. It was the beginning of her career, and she had lots to prove. My eyes were like saucers as she whizzed and whirled around players, bludgers, and the odd spectator in pursuit of the tiny fluttering holy grail--the Snitch.
My dad was not a huge fan, having been raised with his Muggle parents to prefer football and cricket, but mum was a madwoman for Quidditch. I remember her talking me through the game, pointing out when this bloke was cobbing, or how that beater there had once managed to stay the course through seventeen bludger hits in a single match.
It was poetry to my ears, a musical, magical language of sport that I've never learned to tire of. To this day, when I watch my students playing their matches, I can still see Eunice Murray, her broom practically ablaze with speed, hair wild about her face, catching that first snitch, the first victory I ever tasted, even vicariously.
It was love at first sight.