Baseball Slash: The Fifth Inning
Sep. 4th, 2006 08:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mijanTitle: "Baseball Slash: The Fifth Inning"
Author:mijan
Rating: PG-13 (some foul language)
Previous Installment: The Fourth Inning
The tide finally starts to change for our favourite team, Draco finally takes an interest in baseball, and Harry finally has that one beer too many.
Grab a beer, and enjoy!
Author:
mijanRating: PG-13 (some foul language)
Previous Installment: The Fourth Inning
The tide finally starts to change for our favourite team, Draco finally takes an interest in baseball, and Harry finally has that one beer too many.
Grab a beer, and enjoy!
*********
The Fifth Inning
“How many segments are there in this game?”
Harry turned towards Draco’s seat, which had been empty only moments ago, but was now occupied again by a familiar blond wizard. Harry blinked a couple of times. He hadn’t noticed Draco’s return. The alcohol definitely seemed to be getting to his head. He’d just finished his third beer at the end of the previous inning. Wait, no, it was his fourth beer, wasn’t it? “Segments?” For a moment, he was picturing a multi-segmented insect, and had a bizarre mental image of Derek Jeter, charging around the bases with a body like a millipede.
Draco frowned. “Yes, segments. One segment is when both teams have gone up to bat, and –”
“Innings!” came the reply from behind. “They’re called innings.”
Harry, glanced back over his shoulder to see Yvette looking at Draco the way Snape had often glared at Neville. He could almost feel Draco bite his tongue.
“Yes. Innings. Those things.” Draco forced a smile. “How many are there in this game?”
“Nine,” Michelle said, sounding rather tired. “There are nine innings. The first half is called the ‘top’ of the inning, and that’s when the visiting team goes up to bad. The ‘bottom’ of the inning is the second half, and that’s when the home team bats. We’re in the top of the fifth inning right now. Got it?”
Much to Harry’s surprise, Draco merely nodded and gave a simple, yet authentic, “Yes, thank you.” And then he turned his attention back to Harry, and to further Harry’s surprise, presented a frosty cup of beer and a well-dressed hot dog. “I brought your beer and Fenway Frank, Harry.”
Too surprised to say anything else (or perhaps too drunk to think of anything else to say), Harry blinked again and sat up a bit straighter. “Who are you, and what did you do to my boyfriend?"
“He was being a proper arsehole and driving you mad, so I cornered him in the bathroom and killed him with a bag of peanuts.”
Harry grinned, enjoying the warmth of the alcohol flowing through his bloodstream, and the pleasure of one of Draco’s rare moments of congeniality. The world was spinning slightly in a most pleasant way. The Muggles seemed to be a bit placated, Draco was behaving, and more beer was at hand. Harry reached for the offerings, only to have the beer pulled out of his reach.
“Harry, maybe you should have the hot dog first. You’ve never had the best alcohol tolerance, and... well... it’s only two o’clock and you’re already decidedly tipsy.”
For some reason, this seemed quite funny. Harry leaned against Draco’s arm and looked up over the rims of his glasses in what he hoped was an imploring manner. “Please, Draco... it’s my birthday. Nothing bad is going to happen if I get a little drunk.”
“Yeah, Yankee Boy, give him his beer! It’s not like he hasn’t earned it, putting up with you.”
Before Draco could quip a comeback, Michelle interceded. “Yvette, now you’re pushing it! He was just looking out for his boyfriend’s well-being. It’s getting old – leave it alone.” She looked at Harry appraisingly. “Actually, if you drink much more right now, you’re probably not going to remember the rest of the game, you know.”
“But I want the beer.” Some part of Harry’s brain told him he sounded pathetic, but the rest of him was too tipsy to care. It was amazing how quickly that last cup of beer had completely gone to his head.
“Yeah, he wants the beer, Blondie,” Yvette said smugly.
In that moment, the potential showdown was interrupted by the collective groan of 35,000 fans as the ball sailed off Soriano’s bat. For a moment, it was lost in the sun, but then –
“Fuck!” Yvette pounded her fist into her thigh once. “Two-nothing. Thank god nobody was on base, but still… shit! That has to be your fault,” she snapped at Draco. “Bad luck, not giving the birthday boy his beer.”
This time, Draco seemed authentically taken aback. “What? How the hell could that be my fault?”
“I told you, you wouldn’t get it. Ball park superstitions. Obviously, the concept of the supernatural influences on the great game of baseball is beyond your ability to comprehend. Yankee boy.”
“Yvette, drop it! Shit, the score is bad enough!” She leaned her elbows heavily on her knees. “It’s days like this I wish I could wave my magic wand and make the world shut up.”
“Magic wand?” Beer was suddenly forgotten as Harry spun around.
Michelle waved him off. “Figure of speech. Wishful thinking. Go back to blissful drunkenness whilst I mourn the score.”
Although mildly thrown for a loop by the sudden shifts in conversation, Harry’s brain finally managed to catch up. “Draco, give me the beer.”
“Okay…” Draco answered hesitantly, but he held the beer out. Harry took it and passed it back to Michelle.
“Wha…?” She looked at the beer as if she wasn’t quite sure it was there.
Harry grinned. “One good turn deserves another. It’s not exactly a magic wand, but, you know, sometimes it’s just as good. And I think you need this one more than I do right now.”
Michelle gave a tired smile and accepted the beer. “Well, a bad day at Fenway beats a good day anywhere else, right?”
Before she could take a sip, there was a change in the tone of the crowd, and everyone looked back out at the field.
“They’re changing pitchers!” Yvette yelled. “God bless Wakefield! See? Generosity with the beer is always a good thing in Fenway Park.” She turned towards her sister and eyed the cup of beer greedily. “Right?”
Michelle nodded, and took a deep swig. “Yep. Too bad my generosity ran out with my budget for the game. You’re on your own, kid.”
“But didn’t we just observe that denial of beer is bad luck? If you withhold beer, we’ll lose!”
“I’ll take my chances. And this one is a Sam Adams. Excellent choice, Draco. I just might have to forgive you for your earlier transgressions.”
Draco smiled slightly, then furrowed his eyebrows and crooked his arm over the back of his seat to turn around towards Yvette. “You don’t honestly believe that something like a beer will influences the outcome of the game, do you?”
“Listen, Yankee Boy,” Yvette said, but with no real rancor, “Red Sox fans will believe just about anything, if there’s any chance in hell it will reverse this freaking curse. If you didn’t grow up with it, you can’t understand. Steinbrenner is the Evil Emperor, and as far as we’re concerned, Jeter might as well be the Dark Lord himself.”
“What?” Draco choked, plainly shocked.
“Darth Vader… the analogy is that the Yankees are the Evil Empire… haven’t you ever seen Star Wars?”
Draco swallowed, looking a bit peaky, and shook his head. “Can’t say that I have.”
“I should have guessed. Well, until the Red Sox win the World Series, the battle to reverse the curse will rage on. Evil powers. There’s no other explanation.” Yvette nodded sagely. “And in the meantime… peanuts?” She held out the bag, which was more than half empty.
Draco shook his head again and turned back to Harry. “These Muggles…”
Harry occupied himself by stuffing half the hot dog in his mouth at once, and pointed at the field. Wakefield had finished his warm-up pitches, and with one man out and one on, he had his work cut out for him.
“Whether he’s the starting pitcher, or coming in for long relief, Wakefield is a god, I’m telling you,” Yvette mumbled around a mouthful of peanuts. “The man can do it all. Hail the Mighty Knuckleball.”
“What’s a knuckleball?” Draco asked. He sounded authentically curious.
“It’s a curve ball that doesn’t give a damn,” Michelle said with a grin.
“Huh?”
Harry swallowed his bite of hot dog and answered for her. “It’s all about how the pitcher releases the ball. Putting different spins on the ball makes it go straight, or in a curve.”
“See, he knows his baseball,” Yvette asked Draco, pointing to Harry. “Why don’t you?”
“Er… never realized just how intricate and fascinating the game could be?” Draco peeked sideways at Harry, a questioning look on his face.
Harry nodded in approval. Good answer.
“So… knuckleball?” Draco prodded.
“Well, you’d have to understand the dynamics of a thrown ball rotating in the air,” Michelle interjected. “Depending on the direction and rate of rotation, the ball will deviate from the expected parabolic curve, such that its path will bend to the right or to the left, will drop suddenly, or even rise in mid-air.” She sounded too much like Hermione for Harry’s comfort.
“Do you have a cousin in England named Hermione?” Draco asked, as if reading Harry’s mind.
“No, why?”
Draco shook his head. “Never mind. And… knuckleball?”
“Oh yes, of course. A knuckleball has no rotation at all. No spin. As such, there’s no way to predict where it’s going to go. Up, down, sideways, perfectly straight – could be anything. Very hard to release a ball that way. Even harder to control. Damn near impossible to hit.”
“Really?” Draco said with true interest.
Yvette nodded. “A great man once said, ‘There are two theories on hitting a knuckle ball. Unfortunately, neither of them work.’ It’s true.”
Draco gave a neutral grin. Harry giggled.
Michelle rolled her eyes and pointed to the field. “Take a look.”
“Here,” Harry said, still giggling lightly, handing Draco the Omnioculars. “These will help.”
Draco focused in on the man standing in the middle of the field, on a slightly raised mound of earth. He adjusted the ball in one hand, hidden by the strange glove on his other hand. He looked back over his shoulder at the… runner? Yes, runner. Then, he did some sort of strange kicking motion, brought his arm back, and –
“How can you see where the ball goes? It moves too fast!”
At that, Harry, Michelle, and Yvette all burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“Wakefield is the slowest pitcher in the league!” Yvette snickered.
“Then why is he pitching when his team is obviously in trouble?”
Harry leaned against Draco’s arm and gently took the Omnioculars. “In case you didn’t notice, the batter missed by a mile. Like they said, you can’t tell where it’s going. Here, let me adjust these.” He flipped a tiny switch, setting the viewer to slow-motion. “Now you should be able to see more clearly.”
Draco took the device, sat back, and waited for the next pitch.
“You’re right! The ball must have shifted paths three different times!”
“It’s like magic,” Michelle said.
It could have been a casual comment, but Harry noticed something odd in her tone of voice. He glanced back at her, and she was staring curiously at the Omnioculars.
“What kind of binoculars are those?”
Harry shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “Just an old pair I got from a friend. British type. Probably can’t get them around here.”
“Huh. I do some bird-watching, and I’m pretty familiar with optics. Could I check them out?”
A slight panic settled into Harry’s chest. “Er… I guess, but –”
“I’m still using them,” Draco said flatly. “You and yours obviously have eyes like hawks. I, on the other hand, would be utterly unable to follow this confounded sport without the aid of prosthetics. Pitiful, I know. I believe it must be something in the water.”
“Whoa, okay, okay!” Michelle held up her hands in surrender. “Just nosey, that’s all.”
Next to her, Yvette sang softly, “Love that dirty water… o-oh, Boston you’re my home…”
Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry nudged Draco. “Maybe you need glasses.”
“Never in a million years.”
They were interrupted by the roar of the crowd as Wakefield struck out the batter in three. Harry jumped to his feet with half the people in the stands, just from the sheer relief of something going right. The feel of the game had changed in that single at-bat. When he sat back down, Draco leaned over and whispered in his ear.
“The Muggle sitting behind you is a bit too perceptive. I didn’t know they made Muggles like that. And too many references to magic.”
“I think it’s all innocent, Draco. I don’t think she really has a clue. Although that was a good excuse there. Thanks.”
Draco made a noncommittal noise in his throat. “Well… I’ll say one thing though.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m still amazed at how that man throws the ball. It bounces around in the air like a Bludger! Are you sure it isn’t charmed?”
Harry smiled. “I’m pretty sure it’s not charmed, yes.”
Draco pursed his lips, then gave one distinct nod. “Maybe…”
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe these Muggles aren’t completely pathetic after all.”
Harry laughed softly. “Maybe I’ll teach you to play baseball when we get home.”
Looking suddenly aghast, Draco gave Harry a sharp glare. “I think I’ll go get you another beer, birthday boy. Your team needs luck, right?”
Laughing even harder, Harry shook his head. “Just call for some peanuts and cracker jacks from the vendor down there.”
Draco scowled. “Okay, but if he throws them at me…”
“I’ll catch them.” Harry grinned deviously. “Who’s the better Seeker around here, right? Hey, where are you going?”
Draco had stood up and was delicately stepping over Harry’s legs. “To get you a beer. Not that you need one, my inebriated attachment. And we’ll see if you can catch that.”
“Thank you, darling.” Harry batted his eyelashes. “And don’t forget my cracker jacks!”
Grumbling, Draco walked away down the stairs towards the concession.
Michelle leaned forward and tapped Harry on the shoulder. “He’s really not so bad, is he?”
“No, he’s not. Not at all,” Harry said softly.
“How long have you two been together?”
“Technically, almost two years. But it really started when we were seventeen. Or, in a strange way, even before that.”
“Schoolmates?”
Harry felt a half-smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “Something like that. Mortal enemies might be a closer description.”
“Keeps it interesting, I suppose.”
The smile turned into a chuckle. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“Will you two shut up?” Yvette snapped. “In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a ballgame out there, and Wakefield is one pitch away from – nope, I won’t say it. Not gonna jinx it now.”
A moment later, Wakefield had closed the top of the inning, and the Red Sox cleared the field. Harry grinned. Good luck and superstitions and magic indeed. And why not? He was still feeling a little warm and cozy from the beer, and this was definitely one of those things that could warrant the use of a tiny scrap of magic, right? Just a little?
As Manny Ramirez stepped up to the plate, Harry delicately slid his wand out from the long, thin pocket that had been sewn into his jeans. Very handy place to keep a wand, and it was barely distinguishable from the seam. Moody had approved – more than the back pocket, at any rate. Keeping the wand out of sight of the surrounding fans, who were completely focused on the field anyway, Harry got ready.
In the meantime, in the concession area, Draco was struggling with himself not to take out his wand and Obliviate the entire line between himself and the counter. Waiting was so plebian. So Muggle. But, for Harry, he’d be good. Really, this wasn’t too unpleasant. A bit like the Quidditch World Cup, actually, with all the excitement and fans. In fact, he could really begin to enjoy this, if it weren’t for the Muggles, and the colourful plastic balls, and the peanuts, and the Loud One… although she’d actually calmed down, so he supposed even that wasn’t so bad.
And the game itself… if there was that much detail in the simple act of throwing a ball, maybe the sport had some real merit. Granted, there was only one ball, and it wasn’t magical, but that thrower – pitcher, the voice of the Loud One rang in his ear – was rather impressive. Draco could almost imagine himself standing in the middle of the field, doing that strange kick-thing, then sending the ball sailing. And his knuckleball would twist and turn better than anyone’s ever had before, oh yes. It would almost be like being a star Seeker. The crowd would roar – who cared if they were just Muggles? Oh yes, the crowd would roar –
Just then, the crowd did roar. Deafeningly. Even in the queue for the concession, everyone was craning to look at the overhead television screens as the loudspeaker blared.
"Spectacular home run!... Center of the bleachers… Manny Ramirez… Red Sox finally score in the bottom of the fifth… amazing catch by a fan…"
And that’s when Draco saw the replay. It wasn’t the hit itself, although there was something funny about it that Draco couldn’t quite pin down. It wasn’t the slightly twisted path the ball took through the air, even though that was definitely fishy. No, it was the dark-haired, bespectacled man who jumped from his seat in the bleachers, as if he’d been expecting it, and caught the ball as only a Seeker could. A Seeker who’d used an Accio charm on the ball.
And there was Harry, on the screen, jumping around with those two Muggle women, for all the world to see. All the world.
Oh shit…
The beer completely forgotten, Draco abandoned the queue and raced back up to his seat, eliciting several very loud complaints from other fans as he pushed and shoved his way through the crowd. He didn’t care. Things might have just gone very wrong. Very, very wrong.
Harry was still practically jumping in his seat when Draco stumbled to a stop in front of him, breathing hard. “What the hell did you do? What were you thinking?”
“Draco, he caught a home run! That’s awesome!” Michelle laughed. “He got his face on television and everything!”
“I know,” Draco said darkly. “Harry, how drunk are you?”
“I’m not drunk, Draco,” Harry said, but he looked a bit confused by Draco’s behavior. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“If you don’t know what’s wrong, then you’re definitely drunk.” Draco could feel his blood pressure rising by the second. “What did you do?” he hissed.
“Just… you know… got lucky, I guess?”
“Relax, Yankee Boy,” Yvette said, eyeing the baseball in Harry’s hand covetously. “It’s a cool thing. He might even be on the sports wrap up tonight with the catch he made. Not that I didn’t try to tackle him for it. It’s like he knew where it was going to land.”
“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” Draco said. He was still breathing hard, but now, it had nothing to do with his mad dash up the stairs. “Harry, come with me.”
“But Draco, the Sox just scored!” Harry protested. “Trot Nixon is up to bat! I want to –”
“Come here!” Without further ceremony, Draco grabbed Harry by the shirt and hauled him to his feet. “You need to go to the bathroom. Now.”
“Er… okay…” He looked back over his shoulder as Draco led him away. “I’ll be back in a few minutes – easy there, Draco!”
Yvette was sneering at Draco, as if Harry was their new Good Luck Charm that was being forcibly removed from their presence. Michelle was frowning, looking distinctly suspicious. Still, she gave casual wave and looked back out at the field. Harry managed a wave back before he had to focus all his attention on not tripping as Draco dragged him bodily down the stairs.
The rest room was largely abandoned, and in a heartbeat, he’d pulled Harry into one of the large stalls and put up a Silencing Charm. And then, he let loose.
“ARE YOU INSANE?”
Harry winced. “Easy, Draco. It’s just a home run. The Sox needed a little help, and I’m sure after all the stuff we did to jinx them, it was only fair, and –”
“YOU WERE ON TV! Who knows who might have seen you? ANYONE! Harry, you could have just completely blown your cover!”
That finally pierced Harry’s alcohol-hazed brain. His eyes widened in fear, and the blood visibly drained from his face. “Oh no…”
“Oh yes. You had to be the bloody show-off, had to charm the ball, had to plaster your face all over the television!”
Harry wobbled a bit on his feet. “But… Voldemort doesn’t watch the telly, does he? I mean, he doesn’t have a television in his cave in Afghanistan, right?” He looked up at Draco with pleading eyes. “Draco?”
Draco stared at Harry for a long moment, noting the way his lip trembled – something that would never happen if Harry had been sober. But then, Harry had been almost painfully sober for so long. He hadn’t let his guard down once in months. Years. All he’d wanted was some fun on his birthday, and now…
“It’s okay, Harry,” Draco said, pulling Harry into a tight embrace. “I think it will be fine. Really. You just scared me. A lot.”
Harry pressed his face tight against Draco’s shoulder. “And here I was, telling you not to use magic. What kind of idiot am I?”
“A Gryffindor,” Draco said easily. He pulled back so he could look Harry in the face. “No more magic, yes?”
Harry shook his head weakly. “No more beer.”
*********
Deep under the streets of New York City, a phone rang. Not a regular phone. There were no wires that descended this far, nor any cell phone signal that would ever reach this deep, but these phones worked. Yet another innovation the American Magical community. Heath had to admit, the Muggles occasionally had respectable ideas, but the effects were always mediocre without magic.
Heath didn’t particularly want to pick up the phone. The Sox had just scored a run, ruining what little good mood he’d developed over the previous innings. Blasting the TV hadn’t made him feel much better. He really wanted some decent beer, and his Reparo on the television had left the picture a bit fuzzy.
The phone switched over to voicemail, and Lester’s voice came in over the speaker.
“Hey boss, I’m at the game here –”
Heath growled at the machine.
“– and you should have seen this home run –”
Lester was rapidly moving to the top of Heath’s personal hit list.
“ – it was just uncanny… but boss, did you see who caught it? Boss? I know you’re there. This is important. Trust me, you’ll thank me –”
Heath grabbed the phone and snarled into it. “I’ll thank you when you replace my supply of Guiness, Lester.”
“Uh… hi, boss. I’m… uh… sorry about the beer. But listen, did you see that home run?”
“You’re trying my patience. Of course I saw the fucking home run!”
Lester seemed to hesitate. “But… didn’t you see who caught it?”
“No, I didn’t see who caught it! I’d already blasted the TV by then! Do you think I needed to see those damn Sox fans gloating even more?!”
“No, but boss –”
“Lester, you listen to me. Unless you have some damn good news, right now, I suggest you hang up the phone, and not speak to me again until an ice-cold crate of Guiness, fresh from Ireland, is sitting at my feet. GOT THAT?”
“But boss, we’ve found Harry Potter!”
In an instant, Heath felt his heart stop cold and start again. “You what?”
“Harry Potter, boss! He’s here! At the game!”
Heath leaned heavily against the edge of his desk. “Are you sure?”
“Positive, boss. He’s the one who caught the home run. Saw his face close-up on the big screen, and checked it again with the Omnioculars.”
“Is anyone with him? He was last reported leaving Britain with Draco Malfoy. Blond guy. Pointy. Hard to miss.”
“Surrounded by Muggles, boss. Didn’t see any blond guys.”
For a moment, the phone was silent as Heath considered this.
“Boss?”
Another moment passed. “You’ve done good, Lester. I might not Crucio you for drinking my beers this time. I’m going to contact the Dark Lord directly. He’ll want to hear this. Keep an eye on Potter, and let me know if he leaves. Trail him if he leaves the stadium. Got it?”
“You bet’cha, boss!”
“And Lester?”
“Yeah, boss?”
“Don’t fuck it up.”
“Right, boss!”
Heath dropped the phone onto the hook as if it weighed a hundred pounds. The day was definitely not turning out as planned, but this was a twist of fate that he could learn to like very quickly.
But he still wanted his beer.
*********
(*The Sixth Inning*)
The Fifth Inning
“How many segments are there in this game?”
Harry turned towards Draco’s seat, which had been empty only moments ago, but was now occupied again by a familiar blond wizard. Harry blinked a couple of times. He hadn’t noticed Draco’s return. The alcohol definitely seemed to be getting to his head. He’d just finished his third beer at the end of the previous inning. Wait, no, it was his fourth beer, wasn’t it? “Segments?” For a moment, he was picturing a multi-segmented insect, and had a bizarre mental image of Derek Jeter, charging around the bases with a body like a millipede.
Draco frowned. “Yes, segments. One segment is when both teams have gone up to bat, and –”
“Innings!” came the reply from behind. “They’re called innings.”
Harry, glanced back over his shoulder to see Yvette looking at Draco the way Snape had often glared at Neville. He could almost feel Draco bite his tongue.
“Yes. Innings. Those things.” Draco forced a smile. “How many are there in this game?”
“Nine,” Michelle said, sounding rather tired. “There are nine innings. The first half is called the ‘top’ of the inning, and that’s when the visiting team goes up to bad. The ‘bottom’ of the inning is the second half, and that’s when the home team bats. We’re in the top of the fifth inning right now. Got it?”
Much to Harry’s surprise, Draco merely nodded and gave a simple, yet authentic, “Yes, thank you.” And then he turned his attention back to Harry, and to further Harry’s surprise, presented a frosty cup of beer and a well-dressed hot dog. “I brought your beer and Fenway Frank, Harry.”
Too surprised to say anything else (or perhaps too drunk to think of anything else to say), Harry blinked again and sat up a bit straighter. “Who are you, and what did you do to my boyfriend?"
“He was being a proper arsehole and driving you mad, so I cornered him in the bathroom and killed him with a bag of peanuts.”
Harry grinned, enjoying the warmth of the alcohol flowing through his bloodstream, and the pleasure of one of Draco’s rare moments of congeniality. The world was spinning slightly in a most pleasant way. The Muggles seemed to be a bit placated, Draco was behaving, and more beer was at hand. Harry reached for the offerings, only to have the beer pulled out of his reach.
“Harry, maybe you should have the hot dog first. You’ve never had the best alcohol tolerance, and... well... it’s only two o’clock and you’re already decidedly tipsy.”
For some reason, this seemed quite funny. Harry leaned against Draco’s arm and looked up over the rims of his glasses in what he hoped was an imploring manner. “Please, Draco... it’s my birthday. Nothing bad is going to happen if I get a little drunk.”
“Yeah, Yankee Boy, give him his beer! It’s not like he hasn’t earned it, putting up with you.”
Before Draco could quip a comeback, Michelle interceded. “Yvette, now you’re pushing it! He was just looking out for his boyfriend’s well-being. It’s getting old – leave it alone.” She looked at Harry appraisingly. “Actually, if you drink much more right now, you’re probably not going to remember the rest of the game, you know.”
“But I want the beer.” Some part of Harry’s brain told him he sounded pathetic, but the rest of him was too tipsy to care. It was amazing how quickly that last cup of beer had completely gone to his head.
“Yeah, he wants the beer, Blondie,” Yvette said smugly.
In that moment, the potential showdown was interrupted by the collective groan of 35,000 fans as the ball sailed off Soriano’s bat. For a moment, it was lost in the sun, but then –
“Fuck!” Yvette pounded her fist into her thigh once. “Two-nothing. Thank god nobody was on base, but still… shit! That has to be your fault,” she snapped at Draco. “Bad luck, not giving the birthday boy his beer.”
This time, Draco seemed authentically taken aback. “What? How the hell could that be my fault?”
“I told you, you wouldn’t get it. Ball park superstitions. Obviously, the concept of the supernatural influences on the great game of baseball is beyond your ability to comprehend. Yankee boy.”
“Yvette, drop it! Shit, the score is bad enough!” She leaned her elbows heavily on her knees. “It’s days like this I wish I could wave my magic wand and make the world shut up.”
“Magic wand?” Beer was suddenly forgotten as Harry spun around.
Michelle waved him off. “Figure of speech. Wishful thinking. Go back to blissful drunkenness whilst I mourn the score.”
Although mildly thrown for a loop by the sudden shifts in conversation, Harry’s brain finally managed to catch up. “Draco, give me the beer.”
“Okay…” Draco answered hesitantly, but he held the beer out. Harry took it and passed it back to Michelle.
“Wha…?” She looked at the beer as if she wasn’t quite sure it was there.
Harry grinned. “One good turn deserves another. It’s not exactly a magic wand, but, you know, sometimes it’s just as good. And I think you need this one more than I do right now.”
Michelle gave a tired smile and accepted the beer. “Well, a bad day at Fenway beats a good day anywhere else, right?”
Before she could take a sip, there was a change in the tone of the crowd, and everyone looked back out at the field.
“They’re changing pitchers!” Yvette yelled. “God bless Wakefield! See? Generosity with the beer is always a good thing in Fenway Park.” She turned towards her sister and eyed the cup of beer greedily. “Right?”
Michelle nodded, and took a deep swig. “Yep. Too bad my generosity ran out with my budget for the game. You’re on your own, kid.”
“But didn’t we just observe that denial of beer is bad luck? If you withhold beer, we’ll lose!”
“I’ll take my chances. And this one is a Sam Adams. Excellent choice, Draco. I just might have to forgive you for your earlier transgressions.”
Draco smiled slightly, then furrowed his eyebrows and crooked his arm over the back of his seat to turn around towards Yvette. “You don’t honestly believe that something like a beer will influences the outcome of the game, do you?”
“Listen, Yankee Boy,” Yvette said, but with no real rancor, “Red Sox fans will believe just about anything, if there’s any chance in hell it will reverse this freaking curse. If you didn’t grow up with it, you can’t understand. Steinbrenner is the Evil Emperor, and as far as we’re concerned, Jeter might as well be the Dark Lord himself.”
“What?” Draco choked, plainly shocked.
“Darth Vader… the analogy is that the Yankees are the Evil Empire… haven’t you ever seen Star Wars?”
Draco swallowed, looking a bit peaky, and shook his head. “Can’t say that I have.”
“I should have guessed. Well, until the Red Sox win the World Series, the battle to reverse the curse will rage on. Evil powers. There’s no other explanation.” Yvette nodded sagely. “And in the meantime… peanuts?” She held out the bag, which was more than half empty.
Draco shook his head again and turned back to Harry. “These Muggles…”
Harry occupied himself by stuffing half the hot dog in his mouth at once, and pointed at the field. Wakefield had finished his warm-up pitches, and with one man out and one on, he had his work cut out for him.
“Whether he’s the starting pitcher, or coming in for long relief, Wakefield is a god, I’m telling you,” Yvette mumbled around a mouthful of peanuts. “The man can do it all. Hail the Mighty Knuckleball.”
“What’s a knuckleball?” Draco asked. He sounded authentically curious.
“It’s a curve ball that doesn’t give a damn,” Michelle said with a grin.
“Huh?”
Harry swallowed his bite of hot dog and answered for her. “It’s all about how the pitcher releases the ball. Putting different spins on the ball makes it go straight, or in a curve.”
“See, he knows his baseball,” Yvette asked Draco, pointing to Harry. “Why don’t you?”
“Er… never realized just how intricate and fascinating the game could be?” Draco peeked sideways at Harry, a questioning look on his face.
Harry nodded in approval. Good answer.
“So… knuckleball?” Draco prodded.
“Well, you’d have to understand the dynamics of a thrown ball rotating in the air,” Michelle interjected. “Depending on the direction and rate of rotation, the ball will deviate from the expected parabolic curve, such that its path will bend to the right or to the left, will drop suddenly, or even rise in mid-air.” She sounded too much like Hermione for Harry’s comfort.
“Do you have a cousin in England named Hermione?” Draco asked, as if reading Harry’s mind.
“No, why?”
Draco shook his head. “Never mind. And… knuckleball?”
“Oh yes, of course. A knuckleball has no rotation at all. No spin. As such, there’s no way to predict where it’s going to go. Up, down, sideways, perfectly straight – could be anything. Very hard to release a ball that way. Even harder to control. Damn near impossible to hit.”
“Really?” Draco said with true interest.
Yvette nodded. “A great man once said, ‘There are two theories on hitting a knuckle ball. Unfortunately, neither of them work.’ It’s true.”
Draco gave a neutral grin. Harry giggled.
Michelle rolled her eyes and pointed to the field. “Take a look.”
“Here,” Harry said, still giggling lightly, handing Draco the Omnioculars. “These will help.”
Draco focused in on the man standing in the middle of the field, on a slightly raised mound of earth. He adjusted the ball in one hand, hidden by the strange glove on his other hand. He looked back over his shoulder at the… runner? Yes, runner. Then, he did some sort of strange kicking motion, brought his arm back, and –
“How can you see where the ball goes? It moves too fast!”
At that, Harry, Michelle, and Yvette all burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“Wakefield is the slowest pitcher in the league!” Yvette snickered.
“Then why is he pitching when his team is obviously in trouble?”
Harry leaned against Draco’s arm and gently took the Omnioculars. “In case you didn’t notice, the batter missed by a mile. Like they said, you can’t tell where it’s going. Here, let me adjust these.” He flipped a tiny switch, setting the viewer to slow-motion. “Now you should be able to see more clearly.”
Draco took the device, sat back, and waited for the next pitch.
“You’re right! The ball must have shifted paths three different times!”
“It’s like magic,” Michelle said.
It could have been a casual comment, but Harry noticed something odd in her tone of voice. He glanced back at her, and she was staring curiously at the Omnioculars.
“What kind of binoculars are those?”
Harry shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “Just an old pair I got from a friend. British type. Probably can’t get them around here.”
“Huh. I do some bird-watching, and I’m pretty familiar with optics. Could I check them out?”
A slight panic settled into Harry’s chest. “Er… I guess, but –”
“I’m still using them,” Draco said flatly. “You and yours obviously have eyes like hawks. I, on the other hand, would be utterly unable to follow this confounded sport without the aid of prosthetics. Pitiful, I know. I believe it must be something in the water.”
“Whoa, okay, okay!” Michelle held up her hands in surrender. “Just nosey, that’s all.”
Next to her, Yvette sang softly, “Love that dirty water… o-oh, Boston you’re my home…”
Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry nudged Draco. “Maybe you need glasses.”
“Never in a million years.”
They were interrupted by the roar of the crowd as Wakefield struck out the batter in three. Harry jumped to his feet with half the people in the stands, just from the sheer relief of something going right. The feel of the game had changed in that single at-bat. When he sat back down, Draco leaned over and whispered in his ear.
“The Muggle sitting behind you is a bit too perceptive. I didn’t know they made Muggles like that. And too many references to magic.”
“I think it’s all innocent, Draco. I don’t think she really has a clue. Although that was a good excuse there. Thanks.”
Draco made a noncommittal noise in his throat. “Well… I’ll say one thing though.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m still amazed at how that man throws the ball. It bounces around in the air like a Bludger! Are you sure it isn’t charmed?”
Harry smiled. “I’m pretty sure it’s not charmed, yes.”
Draco pursed his lips, then gave one distinct nod. “Maybe…”
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe these Muggles aren’t completely pathetic after all.”
Harry laughed softly. “Maybe I’ll teach you to play baseball when we get home.”
Looking suddenly aghast, Draco gave Harry a sharp glare. “I think I’ll go get you another beer, birthday boy. Your team needs luck, right?”
Laughing even harder, Harry shook his head. “Just call for some peanuts and cracker jacks from the vendor down there.”
Draco scowled. “Okay, but if he throws them at me…”
“I’ll catch them.” Harry grinned deviously. “Who’s the better Seeker around here, right? Hey, where are you going?”
Draco had stood up and was delicately stepping over Harry’s legs. “To get you a beer. Not that you need one, my inebriated attachment. And we’ll see if you can catch that.”
“Thank you, darling.” Harry batted his eyelashes. “And don’t forget my cracker jacks!”
Grumbling, Draco walked away down the stairs towards the concession.
Michelle leaned forward and tapped Harry on the shoulder. “He’s really not so bad, is he?”
“No, he’s not. Not at all,” Harry said softly.
“How long have you two been together?”
“Technically, almost two years. But it really started when we were seventeen. Or, in a strange way, even before that.”
“Schoolmates?”
Harry felt a half-smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “Something like that. Mortal enemies might be a closer description.”
“Keeps it interesting, I suppose.”
The smile turned into a chuckle. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“Will you two shut up?” Yvette snapped. “In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a ballgame out there, and Wakefield is one pitch away from – nope, I won’t say it. Not gonna jinx it now.”
A moment later, Wakefield had closed the top of the inning, and the Red Sox cleared the field. Harry grinned. Good luck and superstitions and magic indeed. And why not? He was still feeling a little warm and cozy from the beer, and this was definitely one of those things that could warrant the use of a tiny scrap of magic, right? Just a little?
As Manny Ramirez stepped up to the plate, Harry delicately slid his wand out from the long, thin pocket that had been sewn into his jeans. Very handy place to keep a wand, and it was barely distinguishable from the seam. Moody had approved – more than the back pocket, at any rate. Keeping the wand out of sight of the surrounding fans, who were completely focused on the field anyway, Harry got ready.
In the meantime, in the concession area, Draco was struggling with himself not to take out his wand and Obliviate the entire line between himself and the counter. Waiting was so plebian. So Muggle. But, for Harry, he’d be good. Really, this wasn’t too unpleasant. A bit like the Quidditch World Cup, actually, with all the excitement and fans. In fact, he could really begin to enjoy this, if it weren’t for the Muggles, and the colourful plastic balls, and the peanuts, and the Loud One… although she’d actually calmed down, so he supposed even that wasn’t so bad.
And the game itself… if there was that much detail in the simple act of throwing a ball, maybe the sport had some real merit. Granted, there was only one ball, and it wasn’t magical, but that thrower – pitcher, the voice of the Loud One rang in his ear – was rather impressive. Draco could almost imagine himself standing in the middle of the field, doing that strange kick-thing, then sending the ball sailing. And his knuckleball would twist and turn better than anyone’s ever had before, oh yes. It would almost be like being a star Seeker. The crowd would roar – who cared if they were just Muggles? Oh yes, the crowd would roar –
Just then, the crowd did roar. Deafeningly. Even in the queue for the concession, everyone was craning to look at the overhead television screens as the loudspeaker blared.
"Spectacular home run!... Center of the bleachers… Manny Ramirez… Red Sox finally score in the bottom of the fifth… amazing catch by a fan…"
And that’s when Draco saw the replay. It wasn’t the hit itself, although there was something funny about it that Draco couldn’t quite pin down. It wasn’t the slightly twisted path the ball took through the air, even though that was definitely fishy. No, it was the dark-haired, bespectacled man who jumped from his seat in the bleachers, as if he’d been expecting it, and caught the ball as only a Seeker could. A Seeker who’d used an Accio charm on the ball.
And there was Harry, on the screen, jumping around with those two Muggle women, for all the world to see. All the world.
Oh shit…
The beer completely forgotten, Draco abandoned the queue and raced back up to his seat, eliciting several very loud complaints from other fans as he pushed and shoved his way through the crowd. He didn’t care. Things might have just gone very wrong. Very, very wrong.
Harry was still practically jumping in his seat when Draco stumbled to a stop in front of him, breathing hard. “What the hell did you do? What were you thinking?”
“Draco, he caught a home run! That’s awesome!” Michelle laughed. “He got his face on television and everything!”
“I know,” Draco said darkly. “Harry, how drunk are you?”
“I’m not drunk, Draco,” Harry said, but he looked a bit confused by Draco’s behavior. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“If you don’t know what’s wrong, then you’re definitely drunk.” Draco could feel his blood pressure rising by the second. “What did you do?” he hissed.
“Just… you know… got lucky, I guess?”
“Relax, Yankee Boy,” Yvette said, eyeing the baseball in Harry’s hand covetously. “It’s a cool thing. He might even be on the sports wrap up tonight with the catch he made. Not that I didn’t try to tackle him for it. It’s like he knew where it was going to land.”
“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” Draco said. He was still breathing hard, but now, it had nothing to do with his mad dash up the stairs. “Harry, come with me.”
“But Draco, the Sox just scored!” Harry protested. “Trot Nixon is up to bat! I want to –”
“Come here!” Without further ceremony, Draco grabbed Harry by the shirt and hauled him to his feet. “You need to go to the bathroom. Now.”
“Er… okay…” He looked back over his shoulder as Draco led him away. “I’ll be back in a few minutes – easy there, Draco!”
Yvette was sneering at Draco, as if Harry was their new Good Luck Charm that was being forcibly removed from their presence. Michelle was frowning, looking distinctly suspicious. Still, she gave casual wave and looked back out at the field. Harry managed a wave back before he had to focus all his attention on not tripping as Draco dragged him bodily down the stairs.
The rest room was largely abandoned, and in a heartbeat, he’d pulled Harry into one of the large stalls and put up a Silencing Charm. And then, he let loose.
“ARE YOU INSANE?”
Harry winced. “Easy, Draco. It’s just a home run. The Sox needed a little help, and I’m sure after all the stuff we did to jinx them, it was only fair, and –”
“YOU WERE ON TV! Who knows who might have seen you? ANYONE! Harry, you could have just completely blown your cover!”
That finally pierced Harry’s alcohol-hazed brain. His eyes widened in fear, and the blood visibly drained from his face. “Oh no…”
“Oh yes. You had to be the bloody show-off, had to charm the ball, had to plaster your face all over the television!”
Harry wobbled a bit on his feet. “But… Voldemort doesn’t watch the telly, does he? I mean, he doesn’t have a television in his cave in Afghanistan, right?” He looked up at Draco with pleading eyes. “Draco?”
Draco stared at Harry for a long moment, noting the way his lip trembled – something that would never happen if Harry had been sober. But then, Harry had been almost painfully sober for so long. He hadn’t let his guard down once in months. Years. All he’d wanted was some fun on his birthday, and now…
“It’s okay, Harry,” Draco said, pulling Harry into a tight embrace. “I think it will be fine. Really. You just scared me. A lot.”
Harry pressed his face tight against Draco’s shoulder. “And here I was, telling you not to use magic. What kind of idiot am I?”
“A Gryffindor,” Draco said easily. He pulled back so he could look Harry in the face. “No more magic, yes?”
Harry shook his head weakly. “No more beer.”
*********
Deep under the streets of New York City, a phone rang. Not a regular phone. There were no wires that descended this far, nor any cell phone signal that would ever reach this deep, but these phones worked. Yet another innovation the American Magical community. Heath had to admit, the Muggles occasionally had respectable ideas, but the effects were always mediocre without magic.
Heath didn’t particularly want to pick up the phone. The Sox had just scored a run, ruining what little good mood he’d developed over the previous innings. Blasting the TV hadn’t made him feel much better. He really wanted some decent beer, and his Reparo on the television had left the picture a bit fuzzy.
The phone switched over to voicemail, and Lester’s voice came in over the speaker.
“Hey boss, I’m at the game here –”
Heath growled at the machine.
“– and you should have seen this home run –”
Lester was rapidly moving to the top of Heath’s personal hit list.
“ – it was just uncanny… but boss, did you see who caught it? Boss? I know you’re there. This is important. Trust me, you’ll thank me –”
Heath grabbed the phone and snarled into it. “I’ll thank you when you replace my supply of Guiness, Lester.”
“Uh… hi, boss. I’m… uh… sorry about the beer. But listen, did you see that home run?”
“You’re trying my patience. Of course I saw the fucking home run!”
Lester seemed to hesitate. “But… didn’t you see who caught it?”
“No, I didn’t see who caught it! I’d already blasted the TV by then! Do you think I needed to see those damn Sox fans gloating even more?!”
“No, but boss –”
“Lester, you listen to me. Unless you have some damn good news, right now, I suggest you hang up the phone, and not speak to me again until an ice-cold crate of Guiness, fresh from Ireland, is sitting at my feet. GOT THAT?”
“But boss, we’ve found Harry Potter!”
In an instant, Heath felt his heart stop cold and start again. “You what?”
“Harry Potter, boss! He’s here! At the game!”
Heath leaned heavily against the edge of his desk. “Are you sure?”
“Positive, boss. He’s the one who caught the home run. Saw his face close-up on the big screen, and checked it again with the Omnioculars.”
“Is anyone with him? He was last reported leaving Britain with Draco Malfoy. Blond guy. Pointy. Hard to miss.”
“Surrounded by Muggles, boss. Didn’t see any blond guys.”
For a moment, the phone was silent as Heath considered this.
“Boss?”
Another moment passed. “You’ve done good, Lester. I might not Crucio you for drinking my beers this time. I’m going to contact the Dark Lord directly. He’ll want to hear this. Keep an eye on Potter, and let me know if he leaves. Trail him if he leaves the stadium. Got it?”
“You bet’cha, boss!”
“And Lester?”
“Yeah, boss?”
“Don’t fuck it up.”
“Right, boss!”
Heath dropped the phone onto the hook as if it weighed a hundred pounds. The day was definitely not turning out as planned, but this was a twist of fate that he could learn to like very quickly.
But he still wanted his beer.
*********
(*The Sixth Inning*)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2006-09-05 02:53 am (UTC)Great chapter. I have to admit I love Heath too, cannot wait to see what he does next, especially if he doesn't get his beer.
Thanks for the new chapter, perfect ending to a lousy day! Love it, love it, love it, love it. *Big hugs*
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Date: 2006-09-05 03:01 am (UTC)Great work. Can't wait to read the next segment. XD
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Date: 2006-09-05 01:11 pm (UTC)Where did you fly in from Missy?
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Date: 2006-09-05 03:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-05 03:28 pm (UTC)*sniffs*
*raises eyebrow*
*chugs it down*
Soooo, baseball.... Isn't that just Rounders?
*cackles and runs away*
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Date: 2006-09-05 05:53 pm (UTC)And Flight's been threatening to eat my first born if I don't update mine soon. O____O I just updated two days ago and already she's chasing me with a whip! Save me Du, saaaave me!no subject
Date: 2006-09-05 04:09 pm (UTC)Relax, Du. She's being silly. It's a silly fic. It's okay. :)
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Date: 2006-09-05 04:13 pm (UTC)hokay.
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Date: 2006-09-05 03:19 am (UTC)*Hugs*
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Date: 2006-09-05 06:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-05 01:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-05 02:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-06 10:16 am (UTC)addicted to my Sims2
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Date: 2006-09-05 02:49 pm (UTC)What kind of idiot am I?”
“A Gryffindor,” Draco said easily. -- Heh.
My 4 yr old wanted to play baseball yesterday and he decided to be the Yankees. I may have to disown him, and his Yankee lovin' grandpa.
Random story.
Date: 2006-09-06 05:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-06 05:35 am (UTC)Honestly, I LOVE Heath, he seems interestingly contradictory and has me thinking about if he may be a key player on *dun dun DUN* both sides.
*strokes non-existant beard philosophically*
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Date: 2006-09-06 02:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-06 03:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-06 03:07 pm (UTC)Makes me feel all tingley inside when I run into people I know in places I don't expect. *titters* Love that feeling.
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Date: 2006-09-06 05:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-06 10:15 am (UTC)I got as far as Jeter!theDarkord, and thought, "Wouldn't that be priceless?" At some point, he is polyjuiced to look like Jeter so that he can get close to Harry or Draco...
~luna, who does not have plot bunnies, but rather plot Runespoors...~
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Date: 2006-09-06 01:51 pm (UTC)Have you somehow gotten hold of the rest of this story?
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Date: 2006-09-06 05:01 pm (UTC)LOL
Nope; just have a strange sense of humor... It's what I'd do, actually.