I was born Amelia Weasley on July 17, 1848 to Rufus and Adelle Weasley of Ottery St. Catchpole, England. On that day, Scotland defeated Portugal in a landside score of 300:290 after a grueling five day match at the three hundred and fourteenth Quidditch World Cup hosted in Bosnia. Another important event was the three hundredth anniversary of the International Code of Quidditch Decree # 815. Decree #815 simply states "All females are hereby banned from playing professional Quidditch with men under the pain of banishment from the Wizarding World."
Generally speaking, a bunch of bureaucratic big wigs thought that women should not play Quidditch since Quidditch is a rough sport that will ruin the softness and delicacy of ladies. Delicate my ass.
All Weasley are born with two things; one is our bright red hair. The other is our incredible talent in the fine sport of Quidditch. My father, being a man ahead of his time, believed that all women should be allowed to do the same things as men, thus allowing me to play Quidditch with my brothers. My brothers, Peter, Desmond, Bilius, Bernard, and Theodore, didn't think so. They put me down, they told me that it was improper for a woman to play a man’s sport and then made me sit out on the sidelines. But I didn't care: all I wanted was to play Quidditch.
Over the years, I tried and failed to play the sacred game. I tried to disguise myself as a boy to try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but I lucked out when that klutz of a Chaser, Jack Potter aimed a bad shot. The Quaffle missed the hoop by a mile, instead knocking off my cap and revealing my long, red hair. When the boys saw that their Keeper-hopeful was a girl, they chanted;
Oh Mistress Mia,
Wanted to play a game.
She came as a boy,
But left as a girl,
And now is branded in shame!
That rhyme echoed in my ears as I ran out of the pitch with tears spilling down my scarlet cheeks. Even afterwards, I could not get that annoying rhyme off of my mind.
My opportunity didn't come till I was twenty. The three hundred and eighteenth Quidditch World Cup in Italy was coming around, and my eldest brother, Theo, now Seeker for Puddlemere United, was picked to represent England as Seeker in the Cup. I was the only Weasley left to congratulate him; my mother and father had long since passed away, Peter and Desmond had joined the cavalry and were now stationed in India, and Bilius and Bernard had left dreary England for the gold fields of California. Wanting some adventure, I decided to accompany Theo to Italy to watch the Cup. After all, there was nothing for me in England except for marriage and having babies. Little did I know what was going to happen next.
While dining at a restaurant in Verona, Theo ate a rich cake that contained candied berries, walnuts, and had been soaked in brandy for a period of two weeks. That cake must have not agreed with Theo for he could not stop throwing up and complaining of stomach cramps for the rest of the day. It wasn't until the hotel doctor arrived that the rest of the British team learned what the situation was. Theo had a bad case of indigestion and was not permitted to play "or else aggravate the delicate digestive system," as the doctor ordered. Now England was short of one man and a valuable player.
Everyone was in an uproar. We had no alternate, no replacement and no one could be found to take Theo's place. As I watched Theo's teammates yelling, crying, moaning, and cursing Heaven, Hell, and the Prussian National Quidditch team, an idea dawned on me. I could take Theo's place on the team.
I offered my suggestion to Holloway, Lee, Ashmore, Connery, Hopkins, and Keen, but was met with incredulous stares. Six pairs of British eyes looked me up and down, from my fiery red hair piled under a wide straw hat, to my yellow dress, to my sensible white shoes. They intently scanned my face, brown from all my years in the sun, and they searched my fierce brown eyes. The six men took notice of my gloved fist, ready to punch the first person who spoke a word. This time, I was ready. This time, I wouldn't let "'cause you're a girl'" let me down.
The men expressed their doubts. The shouted and called me crazy, stupid, man-woman, tomboy, a wild child. Every insult known to mankind was hurled at me. I kept my stance though. I wanted to prove to them that I was tough and that I was ready, thus I didn't break down and shed tears. That was when Abraham Hopkins came to my defense.
Abraham Hopkins was in my year at Hogwarts, and was a Gryffindor as well. I'm sure he remembered watching me try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team as children. Abe had always been a powerful speaker and was able to calm down the unruly team. Highly respected as Abe was, the team listened as he spoke his piece and called for a vote. When the vote was cast, six hands rose into the air. I was in. Then they went out to the stadium to brief their new recruit on what they knew.
Now the day of the Cup had arrived. The long-awaited call of "WEASLEY!" echoed outside the tent. Lining up with the other members of my team, I mounted my broom. All around me, I could hear the cheers from the English and the insults and boos from the Prussians. In my red, white, and blue uniform of the British National team, with a canvas flight helmet strapped at my chin to hide my hair and goggles fastened over my eyes, I was no longer Amelia Weasley; I was her brother Theodore Weasley, the star seeker and the best in the British Isles.
By the light of the lamps that were set up in the stadium, I could see my seven opponents. They were big, burly Prussian men clad in red, yellow, and black who went by the names Schwartz, Weinberger, Braun, Holtz, Hertzman, Schwarzenegger, and Weiss. Their faces were distorted with crooked smiles that were meant to be welcoming, but hid maliciousness. Their greedy eyes penetrated me, and, for a moment, I was afraid that they could see through my robes and then shout into the audience "Check the boy, Theodore. He is a woman! Theodore is a woman!" Thankfully, they didn't and the game began with the blow of the referee's whistle.
I rose into the air, frantically looking for the golden Snitch. The Prussian seeker, Braun, followed suit. Beneath us the game began to play out. My sense of hearing shut down on me. I could not hear the commentary that was going on. My perception narrowed to finding the snitch and ending the game before my secret was released to the world.
I spun my head around. Then, there it was, a flash of gold at Lee’s wrist. I dived down to where Robert was before finding out, to my dismay, that it was only a flash of light from his wristwatch.
I went back to systematically circling, searching for the Snitch. But where was it? I zoomed around the perimeter of the stadium, passing by blurs of people for that tiny ball. Where was that bloody Snitch?
Somewhere, a whistle blew. Weinberger had aimed a Bludger at Kenneth's head, making him drop the Quaffle. Kenneth was now allowed to take a penalty shot. According to the scorekeeper, the score was now Prussia 160: England 50.
I looked down to rest my eyes for a moment. Then I saw it! Another flash of gold, but this time, I was sure it was the Snitch. There it was! The Snitch, jerkily hovering above the ground. Without a second's hesitation, I did a nosedive and sped towards the ground and the Snitch.
I felt a jab in my side. I turned around to see that oafish bully, Braun. His mean face broke into a crooked smile, revealing a mouth of yellow and broken teeth. Then he rammed into my side again. We were now in the middle of a battle. Weasley vs. Braun, another David and Goliath story unfolding as we raced to get the Snitch and glory for our home countries. With all of my strength, I threw myself against the Giant, trying to throw him off course.
It was no use. That man reminded me of a strong man at the circus, so strong, not even a tornado could knock him down. He was Goliath, I was David, and the Snitch was going to be the stone that changed the course of history. Then Braun the Giant pulled out and flew into the air. I looked up, one hand clutching the smooth handle of the Silver Bullet, the other groping the air in front of me.
A million little thoughts burst into my brain. Did the Snitch fly into the air? Am I too late? Before anything could register, I brutally crashed headlong into the ground, flying off of my broomstick and skidding several agonizing meters on the slick, grassy field. A collision with the foot of the goal posts brought me to a complete halt. You never really realize how extraordinarily solid a goal post is until you slam into one going forty miles an hour.
All around me, I could hear people screaming and shouting and crying. The words "Weasley got the snitch. England wins! 200:160! Weasley got the Snitch. He's hurt. Weasley is hurt! Weasley... is a woman?" raced through my head.
Murmurs rose from the crowd that had assembled over the broken body of Quidditch extraordinaire Amelia Weasley, alias Theodore Weasley. I raised my sore head a few inches. In my numb and shattered hand was a small, golden something. So they were right, I did catch the Snitch! Then I noticed several strands of long, red hair spilling out of my askew cap and fanning out on the grand and across my chest. I knew I should've cut my hair the night before, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. My hair was something I was proud of, and cutting it meant disgracing my honor. I felt the same shame that I had felt all those years ago on the Quidditch field at Hogwarts, with everybody staring at me in disbelief and those immature boys led teasing me mercilessly. So it was a mixed bag, really. I still had my pride tarnished just by one foolish desire to play a sport illegal to many. Then I fainted.
I didn't wake up for another three days. On the third day of my coma, I woke up to find myself in a private ward in an Italian Wizarding hospital, the room was brimming with get well cards and flowers. Theodore, now well, was at my side. He told me everything.
The Wizarding World was in an uproar. The bureaucrats and the politicians and the Cup officials couldn't believe that a woman somehow managed to cut through the layers of red tape to find the loop hole that would guarantee her a position in an elite sports team in a prestigious competition. They didn't want to believe it. They didn't want to believe that their plans of excluding women from playing Quidditch. They had just been outwitted by a lady.
Theo told me that I had sustained numerous injuries. I had broken my right arm and both my legs, cracked my skull, shattered several ribs, and dislocated my jaw. I would have to return to England for further medical treatment. But not before the Awards Ceremony and Dinner.
England was still allowed to bring the Quidditch Cup back home. At the Ceremony, the Head of the International Department of Games, Mr. Johnson Kettleburn made a long and boring speech about how the times were changing and about the loyalty, determination, and teamwork that both Prussia and England had placed to make it this far. Now we were being honored for the determination we had put into making it to and winning the World Cup.
I came to the ceremony in a wheelchair, with my arm in a sling. I had on my best dress, a dark wine-coloured silk gown, my red hair in ringlets. When I was wheeled onto the stage by Theo, I shook hands with the British Minister of Magic, Magnus Dumbledore, and Prussian Minister of Magic, Hans Hasselhoff, as well as the Head of the International Department of Games.
Afterwards, I was offered a position to play for the National Reserves, but declined. After all, I had already gotten what I wanted: a chance to play with the big boys.
A year later, Decree #815 was rewritten to allow women to play professional Quidditch for the first time in three hundred and twenty years. Now, it is referred to as Amelia's Law, in honor of the woman who brought back the ladies' right to play sports in the Wizarding World.
I want to thank my friends, Atarwyn, Jen, my creative writing teacher, Ms. Lacie, and the members of The Tall Tales club who read my story and critiqued it before submission. You guys are the best! Also to Trucker, for last minute revisions.
A note of historical accuracy, Prussia was indeed Germany and was an empire stretching across central Europe. The Prussian Empire was overthrown by the Nazi's in 1934, and replaced with the nation known as Germany.