Printer Friendly Version ] [ Report Abuse ]

Eyes on the Quaffle by Heartplague
Chapter 1 : My Father
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 10

Background:   Font color:  



{by the lovely Sixx @ tda}

“Barclay Meyrick has caught the snitch! Yet another outstanding victory for the Magpies, who wins 160 – 340,” The commentator practically screamed the announcement, as the crowd had gone wild. “Newly made captain of Puddlemere United ‘Quick’ Quigg doesn’t look too happy. Puddlemere have had a bad season after Roderick Pottinger had to leave…”

The radio died out and I turned my attention back to my father who had remained in the same position throughout the entire match. His once golden hair, which had led to his nickname ‘Golden Pot’, was looking grey and his signature smile was replaced by a frown. At least he was showing some emotion, most days he just starred into nothing or mumbled to himself.

“They will do better next year,” I said, hoping to cheer up the suddenly older man next to me. He turned his head towards me but didn’t change his expression.

“I thought your favourite team was the Montrose Magpies,” For a second I thought he had said it with a hint of disgust in his voice, but like a blink of the eye it was gone.

“They are, but Puddlemere was always second,” I gave him a smile, which he returned. At least the corners of his mouth went up by almost quarter of an inch.

My father had always been my hero, so it pained me to see him acting like a stone, it just wasn’t my father. I was never supposed to be born as my father had never wanted kids, he had a bright future and when I arrived, everyone was afraid I would ruin his entire career. You see, my father used to be a professional Quidditch player, playing for Puddlemere United and named ‘Player of the Year’ 4 times in a row. When I was six he was made captain and led his team to European League victory 2 times. Last year it all collapsed. My father was at the height of his career, Puddlemere was set to win the World Cup and if they did my father would be offered the captain position on the British national team. In the World Cup final against Polish Grodzisk Goblins, my father lost balance when he was hit by a Bludger and fell off his broom, he fell from a height of almost 2,000 feet. The fall killed him, not literally but mentally, he spent 7 months at a hospital and when he was released he was told he would never be able to fly again.

“Quigg should have remembered Rowe’s blind spot,” My father muttered, mostly to himself. He turned his attention to a dirty spot on the wall and I knew that this was the last thing he would say in a while and therefore left him to do some catching up with my friends.

My first year at Hogwarts had a horrible start as the Puddlemere had won European League a week before school began and everyone immediately knew who I was. It didn’t help on the situation that my father had insisted on seeing me off, because he drew more attention than a troll would have done and I didn’t fancy the idea of my future schoolmates asking for my father’s autograph. A group of 4th years had insisted on me joining them in their compartment, so I spent the first half an hour answering their questions until I excused my self to go the bathroom. Naturally I didn’t go back, instead I found Lily, who I hit it off with within the first minute of conversation, mainly because she had absolutely no idea who my father was, as she was a muggleborn.

I opened the first letter which I had roughly thrown on my bed earlier that day; it had been before the Quidditch match and I hadn’t had time to read them. Sure enough the letter was from Lily who gave a detailed account on her family holiday in France and sent a picture of the French broomstick Manche 30, set to be released October that year. It was the fastest broom made and could go from nought to fifty in ten seconds and the French National team had according to rumours already bought one for all players, including the reserve team.

Lily’s letter ended with a ‘good luck getting the captain position’, and my heart started beating nervously again.

The second letter on my bed was from fellow teammate James Potter, who –like me- was hoping for the available position as Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. Like Lily he wished me good luck and ‘must the best player win’, there was nothing else in the letter.

I looked at my empty bed and then the calendar which had a big red circle on today, my Hogwarts letter was arriving today. In a few hours I would know if my sucking up to last years Captain and professor McGonagall had been a waste of time, I certainly hoped not as I had done some embarrassing things. For one week I had washed all of Gary Whisp’s clothes and I even did some tutoring with the first years, which almost gave poor professor McGonagall a heart attack. I hadn’t been the only one to fawn on the captain and professor, though. James had given professor an apple every single day all of last year (which changed flavour depending on what she wanted), did some extra practice before each match AND made sure he wasn’t given as much detention as he normally had. At some point we even had a contest on who could get Professor McGonagall to smile, which turned out to be a difficult task, unfortunately James had won that one when he received an O on an assignment for the first time in Transfiguration.

I spent the next few hours sorting my school notes, though it was done half-hearted as I kept checking the window, I even noticed at some point that I had mixed my Potion notes with Charm and had to do it again. I could have done the pointless sorting by magic but the whole reason for during it was to distract myself, and I couldn’t wait to show it to Lily who had been pestering me about my horrible organized notes since 2nd grade. She would be so proud of me.

After what seemed like forever an owl finally appeared at my windowsill carrying a big brown letter which I immediately recognized. I left my halfway organized notes to tend to the owl that went straight for the food bowl after I took the letter.

Dear Miss Eleanor Pottinger,

I frowned, no body called me Eleanor – I repeat no body – I went by Effie, or simply Pottinger. Not even the professors called me Eleanor; they referred to me as miss Pottinger or when less formal, Effie Pottinger. Eleanor had been my mother’s name, and I wanted it to stay like that.

The first part of the letter including the regular ‘you are now entering your final year etc. etc.’, but right after the many expectations had been mention a sentence caught my attention.

… We are pleased to inform you that you have been chosen as Gryffindor Quidditch Captain 1976-77.

Authors note: I have 7 chapters written so far and I really enjoy the process, so I hope you all like this story as well. Apart from a few short stories, this is the first time I'm focusing around Gryffindor and not Slytherin, so I'm extremely exicited about the outcome. Oh well, review if you like it and enjoy:)

Next Chapter

Favorite |Reading List |Currently Reading


Other Similar Stories

No similar stories found!