Quidditch, Quidditch, Quidditch

Get ready to dive into the fast-paced and unpredictable world of Quidditch, where broomsticks soar and anything can happen! In this chapter, we’ll zip through Brooms, Blunders, and Bumps, watching flyers take some not-so-graceful tumbles. We’ll dodge a rogue Bludger in The Bludger's Revenge as it wreaks havoc on the pitch, and finally, we’ll see the man who was in Snitches and Snacks. Buckle up, because these Quidditch tales are filled with sky-high thrills!

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Brooms, Blunders, and Bumps

On a blustery day on Hogwarts' field,
With brooms and bludgers, resolve revealed.
The players soared, driven by pride,
But not all took flight, some struggled and cried.

Elric dodged, then lost his grip,
Spiralling down, fate took a dip.
Maddy ascended, her focus intense,
Until she was caught in a dense, swirling suspense.

Bumps and collisions, no moment to spare,
Quidditch demands all, each player must dare.
With every mishap, the stakes only grew,
For the spirit of battle is tested anew.

In the clash of the brooms, with hearts racing fast,
Every challenge faced forged a bond that would last.
So rise with conviction, embrace the fight,
In the heart of the game, true courage ignites.

22

The Bludger’s Revenge 

Beware the Bludger, fierce and untamed,
Unfazed by players, it cannot be tamed.
One rogue Bludger, seeking to fight,
Broke free from the match and took to the height.

It darted past Greg, then raced towards Bree,
Striking at Beaters with wild, vengeful glee.
Around the stands it twisted and turned,
Hunting its targets, their anger was earned.

The Seeker ducked low, barely evading its might,
While the Keeper stumbled, caught off in fright.
With a final defiance, it crashed through the air,
Leaving the crowd in astonishment, a tremor of fear.

For this Bludger, once bound by the game,
Had unleashed its fury, igniting the flame.
With chaos unleashed, the match took a toll,
In the heart of the pitch, it regained its control.

23

Snitches and Snacks

A Snitch cradled gently in his hand,
While snacks surround him in a half-eaten band.
He takes a bite, the sweetness a thrill,
Yet memories of glory linger, yet chill.

Once, he soared high, a hero of the pitch,
Chasing the Snitch, his heart full of grit.
The roar of the crowd, the rush of the game,
Each victory tasted like fire to the flame.

Now, the apples sit untouched on the plate,
While he reminisces, feeling the weight.
He recalls each match, each triumphant score,
Yet all that remains are snacks on the floor.

“Ah, the Chasers were swift, the Beaters so bold,
I caught the Snitch, my legacy told.”
But in the quiet, he feels the decay,
As chips crumble softly, and dreams slip away.

The thrill of the game now a distant refrain,
Replaced by this cycle of hunger and pain.
Bloating with snacks, he sits in despair,
A washed-up Seeker, lost in the air.

He wipes crumbs from his shirt, with a sigh of regret,
For glory has faded, and his life’s a duet.
With the Snitch in his hand, he gazes around,
At the remnants of dreams scattered on the ground.

As he takes one last bite, he feels the weight press,
In the glow of his past, he’s a grand success—
But the truth lingers close, as he stares at the snacks,
A fleeting reminder of what he now lacks.

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