"The Quidditch Match"
Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize.
Harry Potter, aboard his Firelbolt, searched for the snitch. He was the seeker for the Chudley Cannons, in the Quidditch World Cup. Ireland was up by one hundred-forty points. The only real chance of the Cannons winning was him, catching the snitch. Now!
The match had started normally enough. Neither side had scored for the first hour of the match; it went completely down hill from there. They were now in the tenth hour of the game. Harry was tired, hungry, and sore. (Bludgers hurt.) Being tailed by the Ireland seeker didn't help much either.
The game was rolling into the eleventh hour, when he saw it. The snitch was hovering a few inches above the ground.
"Huh?" The announcer quizzed, "Harry Potter has seen the snitch! Down he's plummeting! Take that Ireland! Erm… sorry Minister."
Harry was oblivious to all things, except for the golden speck wavering against a background of green. He was now inches away, and could sense everyone's eyes on him, and the Ireland seeker. He was now less then an inch, when it took off into the air at an unnatural speed. He pulled up one hundred-eighty degrees to follow the snitch, his head bobbed violently as he did so.
Up he flew higher and faster then he ever had before. Harry was now one foot away. Eleven, ten, nine inches. He pulled his hand off of his broom, and reached for it. Three inches left.
"Harry."
Two inches.
"Harry!"
His fingers were closing around the gold winged ball.
"Harry wake up!" Ron Weasley swung his pillow as hard as he could, trying to wake his best friend up.
"Hunf!?" Harry said as he hit the floor. "It was only a dream? Damn."
Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize.
Harry Potter, aboard his Firelbolt, searched for the snitch. He was the seeker for the Chudley Cannons, in the Quidditch World Cup. Ireland was up by one hundred-forty points. The only real chance of the Cannons winning was him, catching the snitch. Now!
The match had started normally enough. Neither side had scored for the first hour of the match; it went completely down hill from there. They were now in the tenth hour of the game. Harry was tired, hungry, and sore. (Bludgers hurt.) Being tailed by the Ireland seeker didn't help much either.
The game was rolling into the eleventh hour, when he saw it. The snitch was hovering a few inches above the ground.
"Huh?" The announcer quizzed, "Harry Potter has seen the snitch! Down he's plummeting! Take that Ireland! Erm… sorry Minister."
Harry was oblivious to all things, except for the golden speck wavering against a background of green. He was now inches away, and could sense everyone's eyes on him, and the Ireland seeker. He was now less then an inch, when it took off into the air at an unnatural speed. He pulled up one hundred-eighty degrees to follow the snitch, his head bobbed violently as he did so.
Up he flew higher and faster then he ever had before. Harry was now one foot away. Eleven, ten, nine inches. He pulled his hand off of his broom, and reached for it. Three inches left.
"Harry."
Two inches.
"Harry!"
His fingers were closing around the gold winged ball.
"Harry wake up!" Ron Weasley swung his pillow as hard as he could, trying to wake his best friend up.
"Hunf!?" Harry said as he hit the floor. "It was only a dream? Damn."