Birds of all type picked at worms in the soft dirt from last nights rain. Deer emerge from the woods to graze on the tree's fallen fruit.

A perfect scene of serenity, that is until the stadium erupted in thunderous applause.

The birds jumped off the ground and took flight, the deer ran for cover in the trees.

An announcer's voice wells up above all the noise. "Hello and welcome to the very first game of the quidditch season in '06."

Teams in green fly out onto the large football-field-sized playing grounds. They fly multiple times around the field, their appearance getting met with boos and jeering from the crowd. "Let me introduce you to this years Irish team. Macnab, O'Brien, Farland, Trinaday, Laden, Hinderet, and finally, their seeker O'Connely!"

Another team emerged, in uniforms of red, white, and blue. This one being met with cheers and sparks from wands. "Let me introduce... Team USA." People stomped there feet in beat as others chanted USA, USA, USA. "Hewitt, Riggs, Mercer, Holiday, Berny, Nott, and finally, there seeker and team captain, Jonathon Frontier!" This name rang out and echoed as a tall lanky black man flew out and performed a few flips.

The referee flew out, dressed in black and white. A whistle shrill and loud rang from the official, time to start the game. Frontier and Hinderet flew out to the center of the field to shake hands.

The players readied themselves in the center ring. Another shriek from the whistle sent the players flying out to their posts. Hewitt, Riggs, and Mercer flew twenty feet in the air forming a circle around the ref.

Holiday and Berny flew to the left and right of the chasers.

Nott flew back to the goal post, ready to save anything that came at him.

Finally Frontier flew up in the air, ready to catch the Snitch.

The Bludgers were released, as was the Snitch. The Quaffle flew in the air. Rotating slowly in Riggs' eyes analyzing quickly in mis mind when to attack and grab the ball. He looked at the opposing chasers all with the same glint in their eyes, ready to seize the moment and take victory.

"Not today Ireland." The words echoed into Frontier's head as the Quaffle reached level with his line of vision. His Firebolt jolted with the speed of a full fledged air craft. The Quaffle slid into his grasp fitting snug within the joint of his arm and shoulder. The crowd cheered as he sped toward the golden hoops fifty feet in the air.

Farland flew his green Firebolt toward Riggs, trying to punch the quaffle out from his grip. Riggs ducked down and swerved to the left avoiding the incoming impact. But sadly flying right into the path of an incoming Bludgers hit at him by Laden.

The Quaffle flew out of his grasp and bounced as it struck the ground. Macnab sped forward and grabbed the Quaffle from right above the soft earth. He flipped in the air and repositioned himself in front of the hoop. He dodged two Bludger and three players trying to knock him off his broom. He sped to the right and through the Quaffle through the top-most hoop. 0-10 lit up the score-board as the crowd booed loudly at the Irish player.
"Hey Riggs!" Frontier flew to his side "what the hell is wrong with you, get your head in the game!" Riggs gave him a dirty look as he flew off.

But that was only the beginning, one after the other, mistake after mistake. Dropped Quaffles, missed Bludger Frontier started to lose it.

He stared up at the black board which now displayed a startling 0-90. A feeling of hopelessness sank in. "I had to become the seeker". He swerved upward in desperation, hoping for a glimpse of gold. In his mind it was up to him, a win is a win, and he planned on winning.

Berny grunted loudly as he hit a Bludgers particularly hard at the opposing chaser. He diverted his gaze toward Frontier who was busy yelling at his other players. He tilted his broom forward, flying toward Frontier. "Hey, leave everyone else alone and do your own damn job!"

"Berny go back with your little club and do yours. I am doing my job, it's me that led us to the World Cup last year, and it'll be me to bring us there this year." He flew away and started to circle the field again.

"Bastard." Berny looked at him with ferocity and then went back to his defensive position.

Frontier looked again at the scoreboard. During the last scuffle two more goals were let in. 110-0. Again Frontier went to a player to criticize, this time it was Nott's turn. "Nott! If your going to stand in front of the Rings why don't you go ahead and try to block something?"

Nott flew forward and caught the quaffle before throwing it back to Hewitt. Hewitt flew back and scored a goal.

Nott looked back at Frontier in a dignified manor. "Now that thats taken care of..." Frontier circled back and began to circumnavigate the field in search of a glint or clue of the snitch's where-a-bouts."

The crowd cheered Frontier on in his search.

O'Brien had the quaffle as he sped to the three gold hoops. Berny unleashed all his frustrations toward Frontier in a huge and impressive hit that struck O'Brien in the left shoulder. Hewitt managed to grasp the quaffle and head straight toward Ireland's goals. Trinaday flew right in the path of the quaffle and he grabbed it right into his chest.

Frontier continued frantically in his search, but his panic was getting in the way. Beads of sweat fell from his long black hair and his boyish face. His intense light blue eyes scanned the field above and below.

Twenty minutes passed and neither Frontier nor O'Connely have spotted the snitch. But plenty has happened with the chasers. The game was a near shut out at 10-170. Frontier just wanted to catch the snitch, he didn't care about winning anymore.

He didn't even know the score, he just kept looking for the snitch. He was about to spin around and search in the other direction when a glint caught his eye. He shot forward, the wind catching his hair whipping it back. His eye lids squinted together, eyes watering. Hand shot forward, groping the air, hoping to close it around the walnut sized, golden ball.

O'Connely was on his tail, just as ready but not as desperate to catch the snitch. That was O'Connely's downfall. He lost the race as Frontier grabbed the snitch out of the air.

He circled the field in celebration, the snitch struggling in his hands. But something was wrong, no one was cheering. He stopped and looked at the score-board. "160-170"

Riggs stared as Frontier stormed off the field, but not before shouting loudly "Shit! No fuckin' way!" And Riggs knew, when the went to practice tomorrow, they were gonna get it.