A tiny, winged golden blur went swooshing past Hermione's head, zipping upwards and disappearing in the blink of an eye. Hearing a muffled cry from behind her, she turned in her seat and looked back. A pale-skinned woman had curled into a ball in her seat- an interesting feat, considering the size of quidditch tower seats. Hermione couldn't see what the woman looked like- her long, stick-straight mahogany hair hung forward, hiding her face.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, concerned. "The Snitch didn't hit you, did it?" The woman straightened, showing herself to be young- probably somewhere in her mid-twenties- and attractive. She had sharp cheekbones, midnight blue eyes, high arching eyebrows, and a large, dark freckle under her left eye. "No, it didn't hit me. I was just taken by surprise, that's all," she answered with a distinct accent.

"American?" Hermione said, more stating the obvious than asking a question.

The woman grinned. "Yes. Quidditch isn't nearly as popular at home as it is here. I've never seen it played this fast bef…….WATCH OUT!" she cried, curling into a ball once more as a Bludger skimmed over her head.

Hermione ducked slightly, and Snape, who had previously been watching the game, oblivious to his wife's near miss with the snitch and subsequent conversation with the American, turned and looked at her. "Can't understand why that Bludger came so close," he muttered. "They aren't supposed to come near non-players. And I thought these were spell-protected towers."

"Is that how you avoid having a lot of injured bystanders?" the American asked.

Hermione answered for him. "Well, normally, a Bludger won't attack the crowd. It's just not in its nature. The only time I've ever seen them do that is when they were hexed."

The American looked oddly guilty. "Oh. Well, this is the first actual Quidditch match I've been to, so I guess I wouldn't really know."

Hermione stared at her. Is it just me, or did she sound rather apologetic? Her curiosity piqued, she leaned further over her seat back, extending her hand. "I'm Hermione Snape, by the way. And this is my husband, Severeus." Snape nodded shortly.

The woman's eyes widened. "The Minister of Magic?" she said incredulously. "Wow. It's great to meet you." She grasped Hermione's extended hand and shook it. "I'm Rachel Winde. From Massachusetts."

"Pleasure," Hermione stated. "And why are you visiting England?"

Rachel's smile faded slightly. "Family."

Hermione drew back a bit, confused. About to ask what she had done to upset Rachel, she was distracted by a familiar figure. She watched in admiration as Oliver pivoted swiftly and deflected the Quaffle that had been hurtling towards the posts back out towards the oncoming players. The crowd, who for a second had been absolutely sure this would be a goal for Ireland, erupted into noise- cheers from the English supporters, moans from the Irish contingent.

"So fast I couldn't make him out at all," Snape murmured.

"He's amazing," said Hermione proudly.

"Who is he?" Rachel inquired.

"That's Oliver Wood, the English team Keeper. He captained the team to World Cup glory only weeks ago."

"He's very quick. He seems to be very good." Rachel noted, eyes on Oliver

"Yes, he's excellent."

Oliver was now flying back and forth in front of the goal posts while the other players fought a battle for Quaffle possession high above him.

Hermione looked up to watch him, only to see another Bludger zooming straight towards her. Only inches away from her face, it flew upwards, then dove straight at Rachel. This time, Rachel lifted a hand almost imperiously; a cool breeze washed over Hermione and Snape. The Bludger veered away and shot back towards the players.

Rachel heaved a relieved sigh, then caught Hermione's puzzled look. "That was a close one," she said lightly. Hermione nodded slowly and turned around to watch the game.

She watched as Brauck, the English Seeker, made a sudden dive towards the ground. "Looks like he's spotted the snitch," Snape remarked. Hermione leaned forward excitedly. Just when it seemed he would crash into the ground, Brauck pulled out of the dive and swooped upward, shaking his fist. The crowd erupted into cheers and groans, until they realized that the gesture was one of frustration, rather than of victory. The tiny ball had escaped capture.

The Irish Chasers had possession of the ball. The Chaser on the right, a short, stocky woman, passed the ball towards her teammate, a lanky redheaded man. Just as the man was reaching out to the side to grab the ball, a female English Chaser rose up from beneath him till she was just beneath his outstretched arm, so it looked as though his arm was draped over her shoulders. "Bit fresh, aren't we?" she asked perkily. She flashed a grin right into the Irishman's surprised face, grabbing the ball just half an inch from his fingertips. She peeled away form him, and zoomed towards the opposite end of the pitch, where the English goalposts waited. The third Irish Chaser flew at an angle, trying to intercept her. She lobbed the Quaffle over his head, where it was neatly caught by one of her teammates. He in turn passed it to the third English Chaser, who hurled the Quaffle through the goalposts, just barely skimming it over the Irish Keeper's shoulder. The crowd screamed in delight.

On the opposite side of the field, Oliver's face was split by a huge grin.

There was a sudden, collective gasp. Brauck, who had been flying slowly around on the north side of the field, made a sudden pivot to the right and flew swiftly forward, the Irish Seeker on his tail. They both swerved around the goalpost, then headed towards the center of the field. By now everyone had spotted the Snitch, flying through the air a few feet before Brauck's outstretched hand. The Irish Seeker, Fergan, pulled closer and closer to Brauck, 'til they were nearly neck and neck. Chaos swept through the stands as hundreds of screaming fans rose to their feet. Oliver was yelling encouragement at the top of his lungs.

The Seekers drew nearer and nearer to the Snitch. Which suddenly disappeared, causing everyone to quiet in shock. Then, suddenly, it appeared that Brauck was going to be sick. Until he spit up…the Snitch! He stared at it in shock for a few moments, then a huge grin split his face. Raising his hand in the air, he held up the Snitch for everyone to see. The noise from the crowd built quickly to a roar as everyone jumped to their feet, tossing their hats in the air in jubilation.

"Bloody Hell, he's pulled a Potter!" a red-faced fat man in front of Hermione bellowed. Hermione laughed in pure joy as other members of the crowd also started cheering. "A Potter! A Potter! He's pulled a Potter!" Brauck made a victory lap.

Oliver flew giddy loop-di-loops on his broom- only to stop in shock. As two fat raindrops fell out of the clear sky to hit him squarely on the face.