3rd March, 1888
Dear Diary,
Am exceptionally tired from watching the quidditch match today. Hufflepuff lost to Gryffindor, unfortunately. Gryffindor were ill-deserved winners. But I suppose I would say that.
Nevertheless, watching the game - even school games - is always so thrilling that I am almost inclined to try out next year. (I bet J would take notice of me, if I did.) I don't know that I'd be good enough, though - I have always liked flying, but I can't pretend I have the coordination for the sport. I'd be fumbling all over the place. Of course, I say that - but Miss Browne, of Gryffindor, is even more ungainly than me on the ground, and seems to fare perfectly well on the pitch. Mind you, she has no hope of marriage, if she continues on in her tomboyish ways... But does playing quidditch ruin a lady's chances of marriage and respectable womanhood, or does one only take to quidditch because they have already realised their doomed chances? A chicken or egg question!
See, Miss Browne has always been terribly queer, since the first year I met her. Watching her in etiquette classes is always spectacularly entertaining! I don't say this to be mean - the poor thing has more limbs than she knows what to do with; she is one of the few girls who makes me relieved to be in my own skin - but I would have tried my best to offer her kind words of encouragement if it ever seemed like she had any desire to try. But one cannot make princesses out of pigs if they would rather be rolling around in the muck, so it has always seemed kinder not to say a word and let her be.
I admire her a little, strange as she is. But I had better not grow set on playing quidditch, all the same.
Love, Jemima
