R/D ficlet - A Flying Commentary

[mamalaz.livejournal.com]

Hey, about time I posted this here :D Also - Simmy is the best person ever and I promise to give her all of my money for the next month. Ok, that's enough of that. :D

Right, it's based on Simmy's fantastic bunny, no.36 - Draco gets kicked off the Quidditch team, but manages to get a job as the Quidditch announcer. Just like Lee before him, he puts his own personal opinions in what's going on in the game. Ron isn't pleased by this and storms into the announcer box while the game is still on. Dialogue only, if you can manage.

Enjoy! :D



A Flying Commentary

“… This is Draco Malfoy, your commentator for this game and, I’m more than sure, every other game after this trial period is over and my extraordinary oratory skills are displayed to you all. Now, I presume this is where I’m simply forced to welcome you all to the first Quidditch match of the season. So, welcome, even if this is quite likely to be the worst game in the history of Hogwarts…”

“Malfoy!”

“I’m merely telling it how it is, Professor McGonagall.”

“Especially considering the abysmal make up of a certain team…”

“Thank you for your thoughts, Severus, but you are not helping the matter! Mr Malfoy, you will either commentate impartially or have the microphone taken away…!”

“And what a tragedy that would be. Oh, all right! So anyway, Madam Hooch – who is wearing last season’s dragonhide gloves with little to no shame at all – releases the Quaffle and begins a game that will probably – I said ‘probably’, Professor – be a bigger disappointment than the Chudley Canons’ entire career span. How much did they lose by again last week? 300? Hey, Weasley, you’d know, wouldn’t you? You support those pathetic losers who couldn’t even score if they had the goalposts attached to their hands, don’t you…? – Ooooh, waving your fist – I’m so scared – going to hand gesture at me to death, are you? – ”

“Mr Malfoy!”

“ – And the Quaffle immediately claimed by Harry Potter – strange, considering that the seeker is usually exempt from passing and goal scoring. Then again, Potter never shirks from an opportunity to show off –”

“Malfoy…”

“He has a fair point, Minerva.”

“– and he passes rather shoddily to the newest member of the team, Creevy who… ha, clumsily throws it straight to Flint and into the possession of Slytherin – idiot. Incompetent Slytherin captain Marcus Flint – who incidentally, boys and girls, still rides upon the Nimbus 2001 generously donated by my father four years ago because he can’t afford his own – charges fiercely up the middle stretch of the pitch and towards the Gryffindor goal posts – done so in an amazingly straight line considering that the simpleton usually gets confused with uncomplicated directions. Flint – who has also been Quidditch captain for the eighth consecutive year in a row now – looking extremely tired and wheezing up there… but I suppose you would be, at his age – Hey, Marcus, how many years have you flunked now? About sixty, right? Maybe you should apply with Weasley to that ‘special school’ for ‘special young adults’ that we were talking about just yester – HEY! Watch it!”

“Mr Flint!”

“– Outrageous behaviour! A deliberate attack on the commentator by throwing – and missing by miles, I may add – a Quaffle! Did you see that, Professor!? That could have killed me! Well, his feeble sense of aim has finally come in use for something, hasn’t it? – Never could score for us, could you, Marc – YOU KEEP THAT THING AWAY FROM ME!”

“Mr Flint, really! Put that beater bat down and hand it back to Mr Goyle at once!”

“ – And a relieved Goyle gets his bat back safely as Hooch flies over to Flint – who is practically foaming from the mouth like a dog – and… what’s Hooch saying? Aaaaaah – Flint’s given away a penalty due to his hideous temper – tsk tsk… hold it in, old boy. Hold it in. So, Creevy flying forward to take the penalty – a ridiculous look of concentration on his rodent-like features as he gets into position – are only ugly people allowed to play in this match? – He shoots – ”

BAM!

“ – Right into Goalkeeper Baddock’s cow-like stomach! And – wait! – the Quaffle is rebounding and – oh, there is a God – ”

BAM!

“– hits Creevy so hard in the face that his broom has spun around three… four… five… six times in succession! And would you look at that? – Better get that face cleaned up, Creevy! Get Pomfrey to transform it, too, while she’s at it! After all, that’s the biggest emergency you have and – Can I help you, Weasel? Yes, you keep glaring at what you’ll never manage to be, poor boy. What was that? ‘Thank fuck’? Professor Snape, Weasley’s hurling abuse at me!”

“Ten points from Gryffindor!”

“Severus! Mr Malfoy, stop insulting the players and focus on the game!”

“ ‘Insulting’? Me, Professor? But I wouldn’t ever dream…”

“MALFOY!”

“Err… yes, right away, Professor McGonagall. So… oh yes, a winded Baddock now with the ball and passes to Flint straightaway who is – well… my, my, tearing up the pitch, almost taking new Gryffindor chaser McDonald’s arm with him as she makes an idiotic swipe for the Quaffle – I’m surprised he didn’t use his teeth and tear it from her socket… What a shame. He’s losing the little touch he had. But anyway, Flint still going strong – looking rather uncannily like a charging, and particularly ugly, troll – swerving from a bludger directed by Finnigan that wouldn’t even knock out a snidget – smashing hard into Potter just for the hell of it – understandable – and finally moving into a good position to score for Slytherin and… Ha! Saved by a particularly bungled attempt by the Gryffindor Keeper, Ronald Weasel – oh, my mistake, Professor – Weasley. Still not entirely sure how he managed to save that, but one supposes that that’s when those abnormally giant limbs of his come into good use. So, Weasley now with the Quaffle and… heh, turning a remarkably unattractive shade of red – which I’m not even slightly endeared by – and directing vulgar finger gestures towards the Slytherin commentator…”

“Weasley!”

“…And Madam Hooch blows the whistle for the second time today. She seems to be waving her arms about and is currently… oh, yes, currently cautioning Weasley for inappropriate behaviour towards a spectator… Quite right. Anyway, the game continues. Weasley, still as maroon as a decomposing tomato, throws the Quaffle back into play to his Chaser sister and – ooooh, nice arm, Weasel! Good for a Hufflepuff! – misses and goes careering straight towards Zabini – Flint’s appalling new find who only happened to get appointed as seeker over yours truly just last week out of sheer idiocy… which I’m not bitter about since I merely got thrown out of a team full of imbeciles, my skill quite obviously being an over qualification…”

“Malfoy, get on with it!”

“Certainly, Professor. Anyway, the Quaffle narrowly misses from taking off Zabini’s head – what a pity – as Gryffindor beater Finnigan nearly kills fellow beater Thomas with a misdirected hit of a bludger, which could have happened to any talented player, I’m sure… if they were raised backwards by muggles. Gryffindor now in possession – which I highly doubt will last long – girl Weasley passes to McDonald – back to girl Weasley – McDonald – girl Weasley – McDonald – what is this, ‘Pass the Howler?’ – finally! Creevy with the Quaffle – which happens to look bigger than his entire puny body – driving up fast towards the goal posts – bang your head on them, Gryffindork midget! – Of course I didn’t mean it, Professor – Creevy closing in – like hell he’s going to score, might as well give up and… oh. 10-0 to Gryffindor. Well, that was an incredibly unexpected fluke. I’m sure someone cheated along the way. You’d think, with that obese giant Baddock for a Goalkeeper, that the Quaffles would just bounce right off of his flab – Oh, for Lucifer’s sake, are they still celebrating? Somebody shut them up! Trust the Gryffindors to milk a goal for all it’s worth… Yes, Weasley, you go ahead and celebrate a goal that you couldn’t have saved even if your lowly, poor little life depended on it! Oooh, what’s that Weasel? Better put that finger down before Hooch sees it! – Oh, finally! The game resumes and – ah, nice touch from the Slytherin beater Goyle there – sadly, he only nearly knocked girl Weasley off of her broom and – what?! A foul?! He barely grazed her! Ugh, favouritism. It makes me sick.”

“Quite right, Draco.”

“Why thank you, Professor Snape. So, Gryffindor with the Quaffle – taken by a still woozy (yet permanently facially challenged) McDonald – who passes to girl Weasley – McDonald – Cree – ah, intercepted by beak-nosed Slytherin Chaser Fenwick with a particularly nasty challenge – nice. Quaffle to Flint – Bentley – Fenwick – Hey, Weasel! Weird how they don’t let you play too much in the game, isn’t it?! – Flint again – Bentley – Fenwick – Flint – Beater Crabbe accidentally hits Goyle with his bat, easy mistake – Fenwick – Bentley – Flint – Flint aiming for the shot – Oh, yes, Weasley, throwing your arms about like a complete moron will really keep the goals out. What, did your boyfriend Potter teach you that? Don’t think we don’t all know that you suck up to him in more ways than one…”

“MR MALFOY! I will not have vulgar language used during this or any other match! Now, you are already on extremely thin ice as it is and I am only allowing you to continue, against my better judgement, since you have a right to finish your trial! So, I suggest you begin to improve spectacularly and stop insulting your fellow students if you wish to pass and escape a week’s worth of detentions in the process! For heaven’s sake, I’ve warned you time and time again! If you can’t hold an impartial tongue…”

“That’s hardly fair, Minerva.”

“Severus, I am barely in the mood for this…”

“Then forgive my bluntness, but his predecessor could hardly be called impartial.”

“That’s not the point and well you know it! Mr Malfoy here is rude…!”

“To both teams. Unlike your precious Jordan, Minerva, he equally loathes them both. I do not see how he is not a perfect candidate to succeed the previous commentator. And, in any case, he is highly amusing.”

“Thank you, sir. Slytherin just scored, by the way.”

“Good, good.”

“Fine. You may continue, Malfoy, but this is your final chance. I hardly know why I’ve let you carry on for this long but you had better thank your head of house’s faith in you. I, personally, have none whatsoever.”

“Thank you for your confidence in me, Professor McGonagall.”

“Don’t push your luck, Draco.”

“… uh… yes, sir. And anyway, yes, that was just a goal to Slytherin. Amazing how witnessing Weasley’s face didn’t seem to hinder the Quaffle at all – now that’s a quality ball… Available at all Quality Quidditch Supplies stores. And remember, mention my name at the door of any of the branches and you’ll get a discount – hear that, Weasel? Discount – your favourite word! Quick, go! Tell your fat mother! – Oh, really, Weasley? Why don’t you come over here and say that to my face?! What was that? ‘Fuck me’? Ha, you wish, fag. Unlike some, I don’t have to give head to my best friend to get a position in a team – no, Professor, ‘head’ doesn’t mean anything rude at all! – So, McDonald with the ball – fine catch from the unattractive Gryffindor considering that the positively awful Gryffindor keeper threw it like a complete and utter Hufflepuff girl… And still no sign of either seeker spotting the snitch at this stage – something, by the by, I personally had no trouble doing – lost your touch, eh, Potter? Or is touching the thing you only reserve for certain redheaded best friends? Hey, has everyone heard the one about the Weasel and the Potty? It’s a song. ‘The Weasel clawed over the Potty’s rim then turned around and slipped himself in…’ ”

“THAT… IS… IT! No, Severus, don’t even try to defend him! This has gone on long enough, I should have stopped it earlier! He’s been rude, off topic, opinionated and – oh for heaven’s sake, Weasley! No! Fly back and continue the game this instant!”

“You lying, sick little bastard!”

“Why, hello, Weasel. Like my joke, did you?”

“Why you little…!”

“Eeep! Professor Snape!”

“Ten points from Gryffindor for foul language and trying to throttle a fellow student, Weasley! Let go, idiot boy, before I double it to twenty!”

“Mr Weasley, for goodness sake! Go back and resume the game before I – Potter, no! I refuse to allow this during an official match! Detention for the both of you if you don’t get back to your positions!”

“But Professor-!”

“No, Potter! I refuse to hear any of this! Get back and play! And, for God’s sake, take Weasley with you!”

“Awww, need your boyfriend to take you away from the ‘Big Bad Slytherin’, hmm Weasel? Can’t take me on your own?”

“Mr Malfoy, that is quite enough!”

“I can so take you anytime, you evil ferrety git!”

“Mr Weasley!”

“Ron!”

“Ooh, big words from an insignificant pauper! Why don’t you put your money where your overly large mouth is? Oh! I forgot! You don’t have any, do you?!”

“AHHHHH!”

“WEASLEY!”

“Ron! Professor McGonagall, you have to listen…!”

“Not now, Potter! Mr Weasley, remove your hands from his throat this instant!”

“Get him off! He’s trying to kill me…!”

“A hundred points from Gryffindor!”

“SEVERUS! For God’s sake, Potter, hold him back, boy!”

“I’m trying to… OUCH! Ron!”

“AHHH! Geroff me, Harry! I’m going to KILL the little bastard!”

“Did you hear that, Professor?! He’s trying to murder me! That’s a premeditated attempt on my life!”

“I’ll do more than murder you, you fu-!”

“THAT IS ENOUGH! POTTER! WEASLEY! GET BACK TO THE GAME RIGHT NOW OR I’LL DOCK FIVE HUNDRED POINTS EACH!”

“But Professor McGonagall…!”

“NO, Potter! Resume play this instance or…!”

“But I’ve already caught the Snitch, Professor! See? And the other players have left the pitch!”

“… oh.”

“Curses.”

“Cheater.”

“… be quiet, Malfoy. I… well, err… Well. You’re free to go, Potter. And Weasley, go by the infirmary and get that cut seen to. No arguments! Well, what are you waiting for? Go! Both of you, out of my sight! I’m disgusted with you both! And you, Malfoy… I can’t even begin to express how I feel about your commentary! Offensive, crude, abusive and spiteful, all at once… You’re lucky to even escape a detention!”

“I know, Professor. I know. So, same place, next match?”