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Hogwarts, and Pictures!
After over a month of having trouble getting Flickr uploader to work right, I discovered yesterday that, in fact, it has been working right the whole time and the only deficiency has been in my patience. Sigh. So, as a result, I've finally gotten all the pictures I took in HK and Singapore posted! They're all sorted into sets, so it's possible to tell in a general sense what they are, but I haven't done the individual labeling and tagging yet. I also want to do a post where I'll just point out some of the nicer ones and spare you all, since there are a rather horrifying number of pictures (over 1000) and I don't expect anyone in their right mind to actually want to look at even most of them. :) Still, if anyone wants to take a quick tour and glance over a few, the link is, as always, flickr. Or, the HK pics are at HK; the Singapore at Singapore. Creative, ain't I?
(I've started the labeling process which, as it always does, will involving deleting many of the pictures - I always go through them once before uploading, and always finds loads more to delete when I'm actually labeling them. So, for reference for meself, I started at 4415 pictures up, in total, on flickr. I want to see how many I delete. ;) )
A bunch more of the horrible cheating Hogwarts writing. Looks like one more day of it after this, too, and then back to the stuff I actually have to, you know, remember and stuff.
Urgently, in a corner, I heard the Lunari’s explaining something to Lydia; all I caught were the words, “think round, not gold,” before Magnus Ogilvie – our usual Quidditch announcer – spoke in a voice that filled the entire arena. “May I present Phineas’ favorite, the Priestess of Potions, and newly appointed Head Girl, Hogwarts Keeper…” I mounted my broom – bright red, brand new, a gift from Sereminia Gaunt’s family for the match – and kicked off, flying out into the crowd as Ogilvie finished. “…Delia Prince!!!” The roar from the crowd was almost great enough to knock me from my broom. And what a crowd it was! Every student from the school who wasn’t on a team was there, of course, but they barely began to fill the seats. There were adults, though, a sea of color filling every row of the stadium, filling the rows that – I noticed for the first time – had been added to accommodate them. I wondered desperately why the Keeper was always the first team member announced. Out there by myself, I felt the weight of the crowd with a sort of blind terror.
It was either a minute or forever while Ogilvie announced the others with as much pomp and circumstance as he had announced me, and then the entire team was assembled on one end of the arena, followed soon after by the Durmstrang students, who looked even larger and scarier on broomsticks than they had on the ground. We lined up, facing each other, and then the strangest snitch I had ever seen – if it could be called a snitch – flew out between us. It was large and spikey, with wyvern-like wings instead of the delicate ones of a modern snitch. It spoke in a high pitched voice that I recognized as that of “Eratas, snitch of yore.” It didn’t speak now, though – instead, it presented the quaffle, and in moments the match had begun.
I immediately turned and flew to maintain my post as keeper, and so I missed the early action. I had only just turned around, though, when I was knocked so hard that tears welled from my eyes and I nearly fell from my broom. A bludger had taken me full in the back of the head, and while I tried to regain my balance, Mathilde, the only girl Durmstrang, a chaser, put the quaffle easily through the hoop – though not before kicking Reginald in the face when he tried to stop her. Ogilvie waxed eloquently, the crowd moaned, and I felt bitterly disappointed in myself, the moreso because my head would not stop swimming and the ground seemed to occasionally be above me. At least, I noticed as I got my sense of direction back, Maya had managed to hit Mathilde with a bludger.
It was an inauspicious start to the match,and things did not get better from there. Aya got the quaffle, passed to Sereminia and back again, as the Durmstrangs followed. It looked like they might succeed – helped by a marvelous save by Reginald – until Ubelwalt, the 8 foot tall Beater, sent a bludger at the lot of them, forcing them to scatter. Aya would probably have been killed, had not Reginald darted in front of her and taken the full force of the bludger at nearly point blank range. He was knocked unconscious instantaneously, and tumbled limply from his broom.
“Impedimenta!” the Headmaster’s voice echoed through the stadium as he arrested Reginald’s fall mere feet from the ground, and a brief break was called as Professor Potts hurried out on to the field, clutching her hat against the wind, followed by Merethe and Candy, to administer first aid and – finding him unrevivable – place Reginald’s body on a stretcher. So now we were down a player!
I had little time to think about that, though, for in moments the quaffle was coming back towards our hoops, and Silberholz was moving towards me fast. Suddenly, another bludger struck me in the arm, and I moved to block Silberholz despite it, but he passed it to Gregor Langhaar, who scored. “Fraulein,” Silberholz saluted me with a smirk. My arm smarted, and I could do nothing but stare hatred at both of them, even as the bludger came towards me again.
Suddenly, a vast roar filled the stadium, and I saw Lars, the little (if only relatively) Durmstrang seeker – diving. Lydia’s scream of “no!” was loud enough to fill the stadium as she tried to catch up, but she was too late, and Lars was swooping up with a face filled with triumph. I felt so utterly disgusted, so disappointed in myself in particular, that I almost burst in to tears – the crowd had gone silent in shock that it was all over so quickly – and so everyone heard as Lars gave a howl of pain, shaking his hand. A fairy, glowing brightly now, golden, flapped her wings in an affronted fashion before flying off. Ogilvie’s laughter filled the stadium, and he wasn’t the only one.
I believe what I have said so far, however, gives far too good an idea of how the match was to proceed for some time afterwards. The Durmstrangs did not play fair and did not care when penalties were assessed against them. The Beater’s had no compunction about launching bludgers in attack at any of us, and one of their favorite strategies was to attack me with both while attempting to score. This strategy had the unfortunate bonus of being highly effective; pain was a very effective way to distract me from my duties as keeper, and my growing sense of shame didn’t help. As a break was called, after nearly an hour, the score stood at 120 points for Durmstrang while Hogwarts – unwilling to revert to the strategies of the other – scored merely 10. Acutely, I felt that this was my fault.
A break was called after four hour, and I got down dejectedly. My hands were numb from the cold, my legs cramped from gripping my broomstick against every jolt that I had to fight when bludgers it me, and my body ached all over from the merciless bludger attacks. I had lost count of how many times I had been hit at 10; Maya Lunari and Deletrius had taken to trying to defend me, but even that extra care had been insufficient, and the looks of sympathy they sent my way now were appreciated but hardly enough to make up for the pain I was in. Fighting back tears, I made my way to the Hospital Tent, hoping that surely something could be done; at least they could stop the bleeding from the handful of times that the balls had struck hard enough to break the skin.
Reginald was awake, I saw as I went in, with Merethe tending him, her eyes closed as she performed some sort of strange magic, involving gestures and such, over the huge contusion that the bludger had left on Reginald’s head. Professor Potts hurried over to me and began to fuss, but for all the noise that she made there seemed to be little she could do. Behind a curtain, she had me remove my robes – even that was difficult! – and I was literally covered in contusions, cuts, bumps, and angry purple bruises. I lamented to imagine that, given how much they hurt now, I should be quite unable to move the next day. I cursed whichever of the Durmstrangs had decided that a good strategy would be to attack her in particular. Professor Potts fussed, but she had me put my robes back on. I assured her that under no condition would I withdraw from the match, and though she did what she could, I knew that it would not abate the pain that I felt. She settled me on a cot, and told me to rest for the remainder of the time out.
I was staring intently at the tip of the Professor’s wand – she was checking my eyes for some reason or other – when I heard the tent flap move. “May I come in?” asked Marcus, sounding completely concerned. The professor nodded, and he came over to me, sitting beside me on the cot, offering strong and silent sympathy. I smiled wanly.
It was mere moments later when the flap moved again, and we all looked over to see Dietrich Ubelwalt, one of the two beater’s who was to blame for my condition, bending nearly double in order to enter the tent. “If…you will permit?” he asked humbly. He glanced at me, and at Reginald, and started to move over to the little Gryffindor.
“What, coming to finish what you started?” I demanded, with all the anger that I felt, all the pain he had caused me and Reginald.
He stopped, and turned back towards me. His expression mystified me, for he looked…well, he looked truly worried. “No,” he rumbled sadly, “I come to see if he is alright.” Reginald smiled, though he looked terrified, and gave a weak thumbs up. “Very brave, what you did,” continued Ubelwalt, “Also, perhaps…very stupid. But brave. I am glad you are not dead. I am sorry to hit you so hard.” It was strange to hear the huge man apologize as if he wasn’t quite sure what an apology was but he was very certain that he meant to give one. Though I was hardly prepared to be sympathetic, I still realized I was looking at him in wonder. He started to move towards me, too, and continued. “I am also sorry I hit you so hard. That I…continue to hit you hard. You are so small,” he added, all gentleness, cupping a hand around the side of my face that was nearly the size of my head. My eyes must have been as wide as tea saucers, I was so taken aback.
I didn’t have a clue how to react, but I was spared coming up with anything by Marcus. He stood up, looking furious, and forcibly interjected himself between Ubelwalt and myself. “That’s enough,” he snapped, his voice tight with anger. “You’ve done more than enough here already.” And he glared at Ubelwalt until the huge man, still looking utterly sympathetic, and a little bewildered by his own sympathy, ducked back out of the tent, glancing behind himself the whole time.
(I've started the labeling process which, as it always does, will involving deleting many of the pictures - I always go through them once before uploading, and always finds loads more to delete when I'm actually labeling them. So, for reference for meself, I started at 4415 pictures up, in total, on flickr. I want to see how many I delete. ;) )
A bunch more of the horrible cheating Hogwarts writing. Looks like one more day of it after this, too, and then back to the stuff I actually have to, you know, remember and stuff.
Urgently, in a corner, I heard the Lunari’s explaining something to Lydia; all I caught were the words, “think round, not gold,” before Magnus Ogilvie – our usual Quidditch announcer – spoke in a voice that filled the entire arena. “May I present Phineas’ favorite, the Priestess of Potions, and newly appointed Head Girl, Hogwarts Keeper…” I mounted my broom – bright red, brand new, a gift from Sereminia Gaunt’s family for the match – and kicked off, flying out into the crowd as Ogilvie finished. “…Delia Prince!!!” The roar from the crowd was almost great enough to knock me from my broom. And what a crowd it was! Every student from the school who wasn’t on a team was there, of course, but they barely began to fill the seats. There were adults, though, a sea of color filling every row of the stadium, filling the rows that – I noticed for the first time – had been added to accommodate them. I wondered desperately why the Keeper was always the first team member announced. Out there by myself, I felt the weight of the crowd with a sort of blind terror.
It was either a minute or forever while Ogilvie announced the others with as much pomp and circumstance as he had announced me, and then the entire team was assembled on one end of the arena, followed soon after by the Durmstrang students, who looked even larger and scarier on broomsticks than they had on the ground. We lined up, facing each other, and then the strangest snitch I had ever seen – if it could be called a snitch – flew out between us. It was large and spikey, with wyvern-like wings instead of the delicate ones of a modern snitch. It spoke in a high pitched voice that I recognized as that of “Eratas, snitch of yore.” It didn’t speak now, though – instead, it presented the quaffle, and in moments the match had begun.
I immediately turned and flew to maintain my post as keeper, and so I missed the early action. I had only just turned around, though, when I was knocked so hard that tears welled from my eyes and I nearly fell from my broom. A bludger had taken me full in the back of the head, and while I tried to regain my balance, Mathilde, the only girl Durmstrang, a chaser, put the quaffle easily through the hoop – though not before kicking Reginald in the face when he tried to stop her. Ogilvie waxed eloquently, the crowd moaned, and I felt bitterly disappointed in myself, the moreso because my head would not stop swimming and the ground seemed to occasionally be above me. At least, I noticed as I got my sense of direction back, Maya had managed to hit Mathilde with a bludger.
It was an inauspicious start to the match,and things did not get better from there. Aya got the quaffle, passed to Sereminia and back again, as the Durmstrangs followed. It looked like they might succeed – helped by a marvelous save by Reginald – until Ubelwalt, the 8 foot tall Beater, sent a bludger at the lot of them, forcing them to scatter. Aya would probably have been killed, had not Reginald darted in front of her and taken the full force of the bludger at nearly point blank range. He was knocked unconscious instantaneously, and tumbled limply from his broom.
“Impedimenta!” the Headmaster’s voice echoed through the stadium as he arrested Reginald’s fall mere feet from the ground, and a brief break was called as Professor Potts hurried out on to the field, clutching her hat against the wind, followed by Merethe and Candy, to administer first aid and – finding him unrevivable – place Reginald’s body on a stretcher. So now we were down a player!
I had little time to think about that, though, for in moments the quaffle was coming back towards our hoops, and Silberholz was moving towards me fast. Suddenly, another bludger struck me in the arm, and I moved to block Silberholz despite it, but he passed it to Gregor Langhaar, who scored. “Fraulein,” Silberholz saluted me with a smirk. My arm smarted, and I could do nothing but stare hatred at both of them, even as the bludger came towards me again.
Suddenly, a vast roar filled the stadium, and I saw Lars, the little (if only relatively) Durmstrang seeker – diving. Lydia’s scream of “no!” was loud enough to fill the stadium as she tried to catch up, but she was too late, and Lars was swooping up with a face filled with triumph. I felt so utterly disgusted, so disappointed in myself in particular, that I almost burst in to tears – the crowd had gone silent in shock that it was all over so quickly – and so everyone heard as Lars gave a howl of pain, shaking his hand. A fairy, glowing brightly now, golden, flapped her wings in an affronted fashion before flying off. Ogilvie’s laughter filled the stadium, and he wasn’t the only one.
I believe what I have said so far, however, gives far too good an idea of how the match was to proceed for some time afterwards. The Durmstrangs did not play fair and did not care when penalties were assessed against them. The Beater’s had no compunction about launching bludgers in attack at any of us, and one of their favorite strategies was to attack me with both while attempting to score. This strategy had the unfortunate bonus of being highly effective; pain was a very effective way to distract me from my duties as keeper, and my growing sense of shame didn’t help. As a break was called, after nearly an hour, the score stood at 120 points for Durmstrang while Hogwarts – unwilling to revert to the strategies of the other – scored merely 10. Acutely, I felt that this was my fault.
A break was called after four hour, and I got down dejectedly. My hands were numb from the cold, my legs cramped from gripping my broomstick against every jolt that I had to fight when bludgers it me, and my body ached all over from the merciless bludger attacks. I had lost count of how many times I had been hit at 10; Maya Lunari and Deletrius had taken to trying to defend me, but even that extra care had been insufficient, and the looks of sympathy they sent my way now were appreciated but hardly enough to make up for the pain I was in. Fighting back tears, I made my way to the Hospital Tent, hoping that surely something could be done; at least they could stop the bleeding from the handful of times that the balls had struck hard enough to break the skin.
Reginald was awake, I saw as I went in, with Merethe tending him, her eyes closed as she performed some sort of strange magic, involving gestures and such, over the huge contusion that the bludger had left on Reginald’s head. Professor Potts hurried over to me and began to fuss, but for all the noise that she made there seemed to be little she could do. Behind a curtain, she had me remove my robes – even that was difficult! – and I was literally covered in contusions, cuts, bumps, and angry purple bruises. I lamented to imagine that, given how much they hurt now, I should be quite unable to move the next day. I cursed whichever of the Durmstrangs had decided that a good strategy would be to attack her in particular. Professor Potts fussed, but she had me put my robes back on. I assured her that under no condition would I withdraw from the match, and though she did what she could, I knew that it would not abate the pain that I felt. She settled me on a cot, and told me to rest for the remainder of the time out.
I was staring intently at the tip of the Professor’s wand – she was checking my eyes for some reason or other – when I heard the tent flap move. “May I come in?” asked Marcus, sounding completely concerned. The professor nodded, and he came over to me, sitting beside me on the cot, offering strong and silent sympathy. I smiled wanly.
It was mere moments later when the flap moved again, and we all looked over to see Dietrich Ubelwalt, one of the two beater’s who was to blame for my condition, bending nearly double in order to enter the tent. “If…you will permit?” he asked humbly. He glanced at me, and at Reginald, and started to move over to the little Gryffindor.
“What, coming to finish what you started?” I demanded, with all the anger that I felt, all the pain he had caused me and Reginald.
He stopped, and turned back towards me. His expression mystified me, for he looked…well, he looked truly worried. “No,” he rumbled sadly, “I come to see if he is alright.” Reginald smiled, though he looked terrified, and gave a weak thumbs up. “Very brave, what you did,” continued Ubelwalt, “Also, perhaps…very stupid. But brave. I am glad you are not dead. I am sorry to hit you so hard.” It was strange to hear the huge man apologize as if he wasn’t quite sure what an apology was but he was very certain that he meant to give one. Though I was hardly prepared to be sympathetic, I still realized I was looking at him in wonder. He started to move towards me, too, and continued. “I am also sorry I hit you so hard. That I…continue to hit you hard. You are so small,” he added, all gentleness, cupping a hand around the side of my face that was nearly the size of my head. My eyes must have been as wide as tea saucers, I was so taken aback.
I didn’t have a clue how to react, but I was spared coming up with anything by Marcus. He stood up, looking furious, and forcibly interjected himself between Ubelwalt and myself. “That’s enough,” he snapped, his voice tight with anger. “You’ve done more than enough here already.” And he glared at Ubelwalt until the huge man, still looking utterly sympathetic, and a little bewildered by his own sympathy, ducked back out of the tent, glancing behind himself the whole time.