The Doctor and River play some Quidditch.
The Doctor reached. He stretched out his arm as long as he could and wiggled his fingers. He almost had it!
Suddenly his weight shifted and he rotated 180 degrees vertically. He found himself hanging underneath his broomstick, the landscape flashing by. The golden snitch flew around him in a mockingly whirr, practically laughing.
He swiped at it, setting himself to swinging. He hastily grabbed his flying broomstick with both hands as he zoomed over the Quidditch pitch.
“Heads up, Sweetie!” River yelled and smashed a bludger toward him with her beater’s bat.
“Hey!” He clamped himself close to his broomstick, dodging the bludger which flew under him, too close. “You’re on my team!” he pointed out hotly, his hair streaming in the wind, bowtie fluttering.
“No I’m not, honey, I’m a Gryffindor.”
“I’m a Gryffindor too!” he yelled.
“Nope,” she zoomed in on her broomstick, at his head level. “You’re a Ravenclaw.” She grinned at him and kissed his cheek.
His mouth dropped open, and he stared at her, upside down. “Who decided that?”
She shrugged elegantly, upright on her broom, and gave a superior smirk. “The Sorting Hat.”
He glared at her. The one hat she wouldn’t shoot. The thing practically had a crush on her. He remembered how it looked sitting on her head in the Great Hall. She’d looked the epitome of beautiful mature witch with her bumpy nose and witchy curls boiling out from under the hat.
They’d practically had to pry the hat off her, it had been clinging to her curls.
He did remember it looking awfully smug and besotted. He also remembered it pinching him. He was sure there was a pin in it somewhere.
River leaned casually sideways on her broom as a bludger flew by, ruffling her hair. She pointed at him with her bat. “You better get a leg up, Sweetie. Don’t you have a snitch to catch?”
Suddenly she flashed up directly in front of him, blocking him with her body and slamming the approaching bludger back in the direction it had come from. “Oh no you don't!” she yelled.
She swooped her broom down and away in a slick sweeping curve as she gave chase. The opposing beater gulped and sped away.
The Doctor watched his wife’s elegant flight, as always, delighted by her form. But she wasn’t exactly a team player.
Suddenly a small golden ball blurred up in front of him, silver wings buzzing, practically kissing his nose.
He grabbed at it. It chuckled and zipped away.
It had to be related to River.
He climbed back on his broomstick, an awkward proceedure, that made him bless whoever had come up with the spell to make them stay upright. A greased log spin he did not need at this height!
He peered around the pitch, the wind plastering his bow tie against his neck, his jacket flaring in the breeze. He’d slowed to a drift, fortunately, otherwise he’d have flown out of the pitch long ago.
He didn’t see the snitch anywhere. He pulled out the sonic and scanned.
“Cheating, Sweetie!” River yelled down to him as she flew by overhead. He ignored her.
He caught sight of the golden glint and sped off.
River landed beside him where he sprawled facedown on the pitch. He looked up with a mouthful of dirt and grass. The horn blared, indicating the end of the game.
Something wiggled under his stomach. He reached down and dug a hand under him.
He dragged out the hard little golden ball, it folded its wings and sat docilely in his hand.
“Gotcha!” he yelled triumphantly. He held it up for River to see.
The rest of the teams gathered around them in a flying circle.
She shook her head at him.
“Sweetie, you’re not supposed to tackle the snitch.”