Does Quidditch divide us?

Harry was sitting in the great hall with his best friends in the world. He was sitting next to Hermione, helping himself to a serving of bacon and egg, when the morning mail delivery became apparent as a flurry of activity started overhead.

Ron, who was sitting opposite them, grabbed the Daily Prophet as soon as the owl landed.

“Do you mind?” he asked Hermione, but quickly opened it and began reading before she had an opportunity to reply.

“Sure, help yourself,” she said, rolling her eyes in disgust.

“Thanks,” he said absentmindedly as he continued to read the paper. As he reached a page toward the back, he chocked, and spit out some of the pumpkin juice he had been drinking.

“Are you ok?” Harry asked as he wiped the pumpkin juice off his glasses.

Ron seemed to be ok, but looked as if he was momentarily speechless as he read something quite intently.

“What’s so interesting?” Hermione asked, after Ron appeared to have finished reading.

“You wrote something to the Prophet?” Ron stammered out.

“I did what?” Hermione demanded.

“She did what?” Harry, who was quite surprised at this said, “Let me see that.”

“Oh, it’s nothing really,” she said as she tried to grab the paper back, but Harry was too fast for her, and as she tried to plead with him to give it back, he found what Ron was talking about. It was in the editorial section.

It had the headline, “Does Quidditch divide us?”

“I’ll kill her,” she muttered.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Hermione, who looked uncharacteristically flustered, said

Harry looked at Hermione for a moment, before turning back to the paper and starting to read.

I once said that Quidditch wasn’t important, that it divided us while we need to unite. I can see now that I was wrong.

You don’t understand? Don’t worry, you will.

My name is Hermione Granger, and for the first three years of my academic career at Hogwarts I would never have dreamed of missing a second of one of Gryffindor’s House, my house’s, matches.

It is true that I didn’t really watch the whole match, and if you asked me what happened, or what the score was, I’d have to admit I really wouldn’t know.

You still don’t understand? Don’t worry, you will.

I suppose it is important to start by telling you the only reason I even attended my first match was because my friend, Harry, who was my first real friend, was playing. Most people liked him because he was famous, and some of the girls liked him because they said he was cute, but he was my friend.

We were in our first year in school and Harry was the first first-year student to make a house team in nearly a hundred years. If he was anywhere as nervous as I was, I am shocked he was able to get onto his broom that day.

The match started out innocently enough. Harry spent most of his time searching the field for the elusive snitch, but then something happened; he lost control of his broom.

It became obvious that someone was jinxing his broom, and after seeing Professor Snape mutter an incantation, I had to do something. I went over to where he was sitting and was able to break his concentration, and Harry was freed to continue to play.

It wound out that he wasn’t the one jinxing his broom, but regardless, Harry was able to recover and catch the snitch, winning the match.

The next match was even worse, if that were possible, because in addition to all the usual pressure that comes along with an inter-house match; we believed someone may attempt to harm Harry, as they had done in the first match.

The match was short, and he was safe, and needless to say he won, that is to say we won. I was happier then I had ever been to that point, and although that was short lived, I always remember that moment fondly.

Harry didn’t, or that is couldn’t, play in the last match that year. Naturally, we lost, and from what I heard it was the worst defeat in a long time. I would not know, because I had no desire whatsoever to see the match. I spent that time in the hospital wing, hoping to see any sign that he was getting better.

Do you understand yet? No, I don’t suppose you do.

The next year started out as a nightmare. When I heard a persistent rumor that he had gotten expelled with my other friend, Ron, well, I could hardly stand it. I searched for them all over the train, and when I couldn’t find them I searched the train station looking for them, but I knew they weren’t there because if Harry had been there, he would have found me. Then when I heard the rumor as I entered the great hall…

Well, eventually I did find him, I mean them, and to my immense relief they were not expelled, even though they came too close to being so.

But I digress; this is, after all, about Quidditch, right?

We played our regularly scheduled first game against or rival house, Slytheryn. As if that wasn’t reason enough to be nervous, it became immediately evident that a rogue Bludger was pursuing Harry exclusively. That is something that should not happen

Despite this he managed to somehow find a way to capture the Snitch, and win the game. Harry, however, paid the price for his heroism with a broken arm. To make things even worse one of our professors had inadvertently removed all the bones in his right arm.

Shortly before the next match, I was petrified in my efforts to help clear my Harry’s, err, I mean Harry’s name. I found out later that they had canceled the remainder of the matches that year.

Do you understand yet? No, I guess I still haven’t made it clear.

The next year we were supposed to start of against Slytheryn again, but because of Malfoy, we started against Hufflepuff instead. I sat there and watched as Harry seemed to be lost in a monsoon, and, not entirely certain of what I was going to do, I ran to the field when they called a timeout. I am pretty sure that Ron had asked me what the hell I thought I was doing, but I had more pressing things on my mind.

I ran as quickly as I could to Harry’s side, where I found him, along with the rest of the team, frantically discussing the predicament they found themselves. I had to think of something quickly. As I looked at Harry, with his glasses fogged up, I knew what I needed to do. I took his glasses and performed an impervious charm on it. I walked happily back to my seat to watch the remainder of the match, unperturbed that my robes where almost completely soaked through.

As I reached my seat, things were started to look good for a while, but just as it looked like the match was going to end in victory, as had always been the case, it went completely wrong.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing; Dementors entering the pitch. What were they doing there, I thought to myself. I watched in horror as I saw Harry plummet toward the field. I pulled out my wand, but I was powerless to do anything. He was dropping too fast and was too far away.

I watched as Dumbledore slowed Harry’s descent, but it was still a long way down. It took what seemed like an eternity for him to finally land. When he finally did, with a sickening thump, I ran to Harry’s side, and followed his unconscious body to the hospital wing.

“Don’t be dead, please don’t be dead,” I repeated over and over again. The very last thing on my mind was that we lost the stupid match. That was the first time that I felt that Quidditch wasn’t worth while, because I felt that I lost, well, someone very special to me.

When he finally came around I actually felt a little light headed, but I wasn’t able to say anything. I wanted to tell Harry to quit the team, to stop playing, but I knew he never would. I could see it in his eyes, his soulful green eyes. Anyway, the next match was against Ravenclaw, and since we had lost our last match, things didn’t look too good, but we still had a chance if things broke just right.

We scraped a close victory and I found my interest in the sport return to me, even though it wasn’t the same after what had almost happened. As it transpired, things were breaking exactly as we hoped for us to still have a chance to capture our first cup in seven years.

I guess things do find a way of working out in the end, because our rescheduled match against Slytheryn was going to decide who would win the cup that year. I must confess that Harry’s excitement was contagious, and that I could barely contain my own enthusiasm for the forthcoming match.

I knew that we needed to win by 60 points, and I watched as Harry did everything in his power to make sure the match did not end until we were in position to win. It was pretty remarkable to be honest.

Then when we had a big enough lead and he made his move, catching the Snitch from right under Malfoy’s clutches, I was a Quidditch fan, if for only that moment.

Do you understand what I’m talking about now? No? Well that’s ok, you will when I’m done.

While the next year was interesting, and was challenging in several different ways, we eschewed the usual Quidditch matches for the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Before the semester, however we had an opportunity to see the Quidditch World Cup, where the best players in the world competed, and while I never told this to anyone, I couldn’t help but think that Harry was as good, if not better than, what I saw on the pitch that day.

After a year off, the entire school, myself most definitely included, was even more excited than usual for the first match of the season. This year my other friend, Ron, finally made the team, although he was not, what is the word, not as adept a Quidditch player as Harry.

Despite Ron’s poor performance, Harry was able to help us scrape out yet another victory. Instead of it being a reason for celebration though, things went as badly as they could, because in addition to Ron sulking about his lackluster performance, Harry, and Ron’s brothers Fred and George were goaded into a fight after the match that led into their lifetime banishment from the house team.

Although I had no real desire to attend the next match, it was the first time that I had an opportunity to watch a Gryffindor match with Harry accompanying me. I could tell this was killing him, and we were both relieved that the match was brief, even though it was painful. I have to admit that it was the first time that I watched the whole match as opposed to concentrating all of my attention on one player.

The final match was looking to be just as painful as the previous, but when our friend Hagrid told us he needed us, we didn’t protest too vehemently at being dragged away. In retrospect of what we had to do, perhaps it would have been a good idea if we had.

When we came back the match was over, and as we reached the castle we found out, much to our surprise, that we won that match, and our second consecutive Quidditch Cup, but for some reason it just wasn’t the same.

Harry had told me once that I just didn’t understand Quidditch, and that may have been true, but as I sit here, writing this, wearing a set of Quidditch robes bearing the legend Potter on the back with a large number one underneath it, a set of robes that Harry had discarded upon his expulsion from the team, I can say with absolute certainty that I do understand Quidditch players, and while I still believe that it may cause enmity among the houses, I can also say that I understand why Quidditch is important.

The fact that Harry is back on the team, and that they are close to winning their fourth straight Quidditch cup, doesn’t exactly hurt either.

So, do you understand now? I knew you would in the end.

As Harry finished reading the article, he folded the paper and placed it in front of Hermione, and he looked into her eyes, uncertain of exactly how to react. After a moment he gave a small grin to Hermione who returned it at once, apparently relieved that Harry didn’t freak out at an article that she must have assumed he would never read.

She placed her hand down next to her plate, and Harry, learning from previous experience, took hold of it at once. Hermione placed her other hand on top of that, and Ron immediately got up.

“If you are going to do that again, I’ve got to go,” and he stormed away from the table. Harry was fairly certain he saw Ron heading toward the Ravenclaw table out of the corner of his eye. Needless to say, neither Harry nor Hermione made any attempt to prevent him from leaving as they continued to look into each others eyes.

“I really didn’t send that to the Prophet.” Hermione admitted.

“You didn’t? Then how did it get there?”

“I wrote this after our last match. I never thought anyone else was ever going to see it, but I do have an idea of who sent it in.”

“Who was it?” Harry asked anxiously.

“I’m not really sure, but I have a sinking suspicion,” Hermione said, as she exchanged a look with Ron’s sister Ginny, who just happened to be walking past them by at that moment.