"Watch out Minerva!" The tall, slender witch darted out of the way of the bludger just in time. The skies above were an endless blue; the crowd below a sea of gold and scarlet. The icy autumn air burned her lungs as she flew here and there, searching, searching, searching for the elusive snitch. In all her seven years at Hogwarts, she was, unsurprisingly, still the only witch to fly for one of the house teams. After all, even a glimpse of stocking was looked on as something shocking yet it was unavoidable in a game of Quidditch.

As she spotted her quarry at the far end of the pitch, all thoughts of propriety fled Minerva's mind. Racing, diving, spiralling, downwards, downwards, downwards towards her prey. With a final burst of speed, with more than a glimpse of stocking showing as she flattened herself against the broomstick, Minerva stretched out then claimed victory for her house for the very last time.