Flying By Too Fast

Ah, Quidditch. My source of passion, my source of pleasure. This sport is one of the things that have kept me sane all of these many years. If I hadn't had this beautiful obsession, I wouldn't be the person I am today. Granted, that person might have been a lot saner, but who really cares.

It all started in my first year of school. Sure, in the first part of that year, flying was just something that older years did, something that would take forever to learn. I can proudly say that it didn't. I was the youngest seeker in a century.

I was a celebrated seeker, a star of the field. Everyone watched when I mounted my broomstick. There was one girl, however, that kept her nose buried in a book, even at one of the games. One of MY games. She was Hermione Granger, a friend that I held dearly.

She, though she didn't know it, was my inspiration. It is all because of her that I am the wonderful Quidditch pro that I am today. Her nose in that book only pushed me to try harder, to make the crowd scream louder so she would finally look up. She never did.

Hermione always congratulated me on my performance. She said that she was watching intently. But she didn't know that I was watching her the whole time. So Hermione dug herself into a hole. I don't believe that I ever told her about those times I gawked at her from the air.

We graduated from Hogwarts, Hermione top in all of her classes. No one was surprised. Ron and I went to the Ministry for a few years, helped along by Ron's father. We were shoved into a lower division of Magical Games and Sports. Hermione went on to a magical finishing school in Japan.

Our paths didn't cross again, even though we wrote letters back and forth often. She moved to France and became an Auror. I heard she was quiet good at it. Ron met Lindsay, a friend of his sister Ginny, and they moved off to America. I think he writes a news column over there.

I went on to play for the Puddlemere United. We won the European cup four times when I played for them. It was during one of those games that I got the news that Hermione had been killed in a Death Eater march. It had been half time, with our team behind and the snitch yet to be seen. I remember crying as I hopped back on the broom and flew my hardest.

The funeral took place that Friday. Ron, Lindsay, and his two children, Samantha and Katie, came and gave their last respects. I was the last one in line to see her before they closed up the lid. Her face was smooth and perfect, just as it always had been. I was one of the men, along with her father, Ron, and her boyfriend Renard, to carry the casket to the cemetery. Her parents wanted a muggle burial.

After that day, I never rode my broomstick again. I was asked to join many teams, but I refused them all. So here I sit, holding my old and battered Firebolt EXP from the good days of Quidditch. Quidditch has played an important role in my life.

And I also can't help but think; on that last day, did she finally set down that book at watch me play Quidditch from Heaven? I guess I may never know. I can only pray that she knows that I loved her deeply. Even more than I loved my Quidditch.