Baseball Slash: The Seventh Inning
Sep. 21st, 2006 01:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mijanTitle: "Baseball Slash: The Seventh Inning"
Author:mijan
Rating: PG-13 (some foul language)
Previous Installment: The Sixth Inning
Notes: The longest of the innings. Harry gets a headache, Jeter gets horny, and... the Yankees get a new shortstop.
Personal Notes: See icon of the day. That's how my day is going. *headdesk*
Author:
mijan Rating: PG-13 (some foul language)
Previous Installment: The Sixth Inning
Notes: The longest of the innings. Harry gets a headache, Jeter gets horny, and... the Yankees get a new shortstop.
Personal Notes: See icon of the day. That's how my day is going. *headdesk*
*********
The Seventh Inning
Harry was depressed. Harry was still tipsy. And Harry had a bloody headache.
“It’s Draco’s fault,” the Loud One said. “He left before the inning was over.”
That certainly wasn’t making the headache any better.
“Shut up, Yvette,” said her sister.
But Harry was definitely starting to appreciate the other one. She patted him lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Harry. It ain’t over till the fat lady sings, right?”
Harry moaned and rubbed his forehead. “That would only make my headache worse right now.”
“Want some Advil?” She began fishing through her backpack, but Harry waved her off.
“I don’t have any water to take it with anyway. But thanks.”
She sighed. “Don’t worry. Your boyfriend will be back soon with snacks, and we’ll all sing ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame’, and the Red Sox will make an amazing comeback.” She smirked. “I just have a funny feeling that this game is going to be unusually exciting. Don’t give up yet. These are the Red Sox. Amazing things happen with this team when you least expect it.”
Harry rubbed his forehead again and didn’t say anything.
“Not to stare, but where’d you get that funky-looking scar? It’s kinda cool.”
Harry couldn’t help but smile a bit at that. It was the first time in years that someone didn’t already know where the scar came from, and the question wasn’t rude, nosey, or insulting. “Car crash,” he said mildly. “When I was a baby.”
“Hmmm, weird. Cool though.”
“Michelle, leave the poor guy alone. The Skankees are coming up to bat. We must begin the Yankees Suck cheer. It’s a moral imperative.”
“I think a group of people down there are already trying. Let’s give them a hand!”
Despite the growing ache in Harry’s head, he cupped his hands around his mouth and joined in the chant, along with the other 35,000 people in the stands.
*********
The door to the Yankees locker room opened with a squeak, and Derek Jeter slipped in, quickly closing the door behind himself. All the tight uniforms, ass-slapping, and phallic symbols had gotten him just a bit… distracted. There are times when a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do. Plus, he’d been the last one to bat, and by his estimate, he had at least fifteen minutes before the bottom of the seventh, even if everyone struck out in a row.
Carefully making sure that he was alone, he went to his locker and grabbed his favourite wanking picture. Alex Rodriguez. Shirtless. Unzipping his pants, he quickly went to work.
*********
Apparition doesn’t take long, but over a distance of several thousand miles, the process is a bit more uncomfortable. Lord Voldemort didn’t mind the discomfort, but to arrive with his left foot in a mop bucket of dirty water didn’t exactly put him in the best mood. At first, he’d thought to go to the Americans for Voldemort headquarters in New York before continuing to Boston, but that would just be one more delay. So he had aimed to Apparate into a relatively abandoned part of Fenway Park. He’d achieved that by having landed in a broom closet. He wasn’t pleased, but at least he hadn’t arrived in the middle of a crowd. Besides, nothing would truly dampen his maliciously high spirits. In only a short time, Harry Potter would be dead.
But first, he had to infiltrate the park. Although eventually all the world would bow and grovel before him, outing himself in the middle of a stadium packed with thousands of Muggles wasn’t the best way to do that. Besides, he had priorities. First, kill Harry Potter. Second, dominate the world. It was a simple plan, really. But before he could kill Harry Potter, he had to get to Harry Potter. And to do that, he’d disguise himself as one of the local Muggles. That should be easy. All he had to do was to find one alone.
Shaking the water off his foot, it took him three squishy steps before he remembered that he had a wand, and a drying charm might be a good idea. He mentally excused his inattentiveness with the fact that he was distracted with his grandest obsession. All he needed to do was to kill Harry Potter, and everything would be right with the world. Third time’s the charm, right? Or was this the fourth time? Seventh?
He was making his way down the deserted hall when he heard a strange noise from one of the doors. It sounded like a moan, in either pain or pleasure. Whichever it was, it had to be a Muggle.
Delighting in his good fortune, Voldemort opened the door to find…
A Muggle man in strange clothes, sitting on a long wooden bench, rapidly pumping his cock. Or, at least, he was until he discovered someone was staring at him. He stood up, his cock still standing upright for the world to see.
“Hey, who the hell are –”
“STUPIFY!”
The man fell over in a heap. Voldemort swooped down on him and yanked three hairs from his head. Then, he withdrew a small flask half-filled with a gooey potion from his robe, popped the cork, and dropped the hairs inside. The glutinous liquid bubbled and sizzled for a moment as a strange smell filled the room. If Voldemort had a nose, he would have wrinkled it. “I hate this stuff,” he grumbled to himself.
Knowing that every moment’s delay was another moment Harry Potter continued to breathe, Voldemort tipped back the potion. There was a gut-wrenching sensation, then the feeling of thousands of tiny spiders crawling underneath every inch of his skin. However, when it finally stopped…
Voldemort appraised himself in the nearest mirror. Not too shabby, he reasoned to himself. It was even rather nice to have a nose again.
And then he felt a strange sensation at his groin. He pulled his robe back and looked down to see the fabric of his trousers significantly tented. He was hard as a rock, just as the Muggle man had left it.
Great, I finally get one of those again, and I don’t have time to use it.
Mentally taking a note that he’d have to Polyjuice himself next time he wanted a romp, he quickly began to disrobe. He looked down at the unconscious Muggle in distaste.
Damn, these Muggles dress even more funny around here than they do back home. But, when in Gaul…
A moment later, he’d removed the man’s clothes, and soon he was dressed like an ordinary local Muggle. Then, he stuffed the hapless Muggle in the nearest cubbyhole and shut the door. Someone would be bound to find him eventually – not that the Great Lord Voldemort cared. But just then, someone did walk in.
“Derek! Where the hell have you been?”
“Wha – ?”
An American Muggle man had just burst into the room, looking distinctly irate. “Down here jacking off again, Derek?” He looked down at the photo on the floor. “A-Rod? Again? Damn it, Derek, we’re still trying to get him in a trade, but in the meantime, there’s a game going on out there, and Steinbrenner is about to blow an artery!”
“Stein… what?” Voldemort shook his head to clear it. This was coming at him way too quickly, and he didn’t want to blow his cover yet. “And who are you?”
The man looked at him strangely. “Joe. Joe Torre, your manager. Last time I checked. And what the hell is with that pathetic British accent? Come here!”
The man, Joe, unceremoniously grabbed Voldemort by the arm and dragged him out of the room. Too startled to protest, Voldemort let himself be led. Perhaps he’d be led directly to where Potter was. For now, he’d sit back and – shit! His wand was still in his robes.
“Wait, I… er… forgot something… I –”
“You’ve forgotten your mind if you think I’m letting you go anywhere but back on the field.” As they walked through several doors, the sound of what must have been hundreds of people talking and yelling began to echo in the corridor. The last door swung wide in front of them, and instead of merely hundreds of people, there were –
“There are 35,000 people out there, and you’ll make a fool of us in front of everyone if you don’t get your ass on the field! NOW!”
Voldemort looked around him in surprise. He was in a small trench-like room a couple of feet below the level of the ground, and in front of him was a large dirt and grass pitch. In the room next to him were about a dozen more people dressed the same way as the man he’d left unconscious, and none of them seemed pleased with him.
“And Derek,” hissed the man who’d led him this far, “next time you go on the field with your cock sticking out like a sore thumb, I’ll suspend you for a game myself!”
With that, the man stuck a strange heavy glove on his left hand, shoved him up the stairs to the pitch, and gave him a solid slap across the arse.
*********
The Seventh-Inning Stretch
“…For it’s ONE! TWO! THREE strikes you’re out at the old ball game!”
The song died out, and everyone clapped and sat back down. Harry, however, more or less collapsed into his seat, holding his forehead. Michelle hopped over the row of chairs and settled into Draco’s seat. “Harry? Are you okay?”
“Just a headache,” he mumbled. “I get them sometimes.”
“Shitty timing,” she said. “Here, I smuggled in a water bottle. Take some Advil.”
“I don’t think it’ll do much good.”
“Migraine?”
“Something like that.” Harry looked down at the doorway to the concession. “Draco should have been back by now. I’m starting to get worried.”
“Well, unless he picked a fight with a Yankees fan, he should be fine. This is Fenway Park, not a back alley. Maybe he went to the bathroom. If he hit the bathroom first, I’ll bet he got stuck in a huge line for the concession.”
Harry nodded, still rubbing his forehead. Maybe the Muggle was right. Draco probably went to the loo, and then got caught in a queue. That’s all. He’d be back any moment, probably with the wrong thing. Harry didn’t have much more time to dwell on it, however, as a murmur swept over the crowd.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Michelle said as she stood up again.
Next to her, Yvette was already on her feet. “I’m not sure. One of the Yankees seems to be missing… I think it’s Jeter! Ha, I betcha he’s in the locker room, jacking off to a picture of A-Rod.”
Fighting the growing ache between his eyes, Harry stood and scanned the field. There was definitely a commotion in the Yankees dugout. The Red Sox batter was already standing by the batter’s box, taking lazy swings at the air with his bat, and half the Yankees’ lineup was on the field, ready to go… but no shortstop.
“This is great!” Yvette laughed deviously. “Jeter’s missing! Sometimes, things just go my way, ya know?” She laced her fingers behind her head and tilted her face up towards the afternoon sun, making a show of basking in the moment.
“I think they found him,” Michelle said flatly.
“Crap!”
Frowning, Harry took out his Omnioculars and zoomed in on the Yankees dugout. There was Jeter, all right, looking somewhat confused. Joe Torre was lecturing him, his teammates were staring at him, but aside from the obvious, there was something strange going on. Harry’s gut instincts were screaming at him, but he couldn’t quite make out the message through his headache.
Then, Torre shoved Jeter up onto the field. The Yankees shortstop stood still as a statue, as if he’d never seen a baseball field in his life.
That’s when Harry’s scar seared in pain.
Shit, crap, hell, fuck, damn…
Half-blinded by the pain, he sank back into his seat, hoping the Muggle women wouldn’t notice. They’d been found. No doubt about it – Voldemort was somewhere in Fenway Park. Harry took a few deep breaths, trying to think clearly through the burning in his head. He needed to find Draco and get the hell out of there, but suddenly, his gut feeling became perfectly clear – Draco had been captured.
In the meantime, Jeter was being steered by his teammates to his position on the field. The crowd was laughing and jeering at him mercilessly. It seemed that the man had never played baseball… or had suffered a hideous head injury in the past ten minutes… or…
That’s not Jeter.
Certainty hit Harry like a wrecking ball, and he knew without a doubt who the man on the field was. The stadium was probably already crawling with Death Eaters. He was surrounded. And as the batter stepped into the box, the bottom of the seventh inning began.
*********
“Lester! Hey, what did ya mean, he’s here?” Tony found Lester down by the beer stand under section sixteen. “You know I don’t do cryptic.”
Lester quickly grabbed Tony by the arm and pulled him aside, shushing him. “Do you want the whole park to hear us? He’s here.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Potter.”
Tony’s mouth fell open. “You’re shitting me.”
Lester shook his head. “Idiot. Didn’t you see that run Ramirez hit? That ball didn’t travel right.”
“I figgered it was the wind,” Tony said blankly.
“Didn’t you see who caught it?”
“Some scrawny Sox fan wearing glasses and… oh fuck.” The light seemed to dawn in Tony’s otherwise dim eyes.
Lester nodded slowly. “Heath’s here already. Rodney and Chuck were here for the game, and Jack, Robertson, and Jones are coming. And the Dark Lord is on his way. Some of the Brit brigade might even show up. Heath said he already contacted Lucius Malfoy.”
Tony seemed both awed and intimidated by this news, but he swallowed and bobbed his head.
“Good. Here’re the rules. Malfoy senior wants his traitor son for himself. I think Heath was gonna try to take him and hold him for Malfoy. The Dark Lord wants Potter intact and unharmed, so whoever gets to him first has to be careful-like. And Heath said no magic where the Muggles can see us. We aren’t ready for a move like that. So…”
“Take Potter without magic, and don’t bust him up.”
“Right. We’re spreading out, blocking escape routes. Last known location for both of them was in the bleachers. Now, get going.” And with a shove, he sent Tony towards the bleacher section.
*********
The Bottom of the Seventh
Think, Harry, think…
He had to find Draco. He had to contact the Order. He had to get the hell out of Fenway Park alive. And he had to get a bit more sober if he wanted any chance of pulling it off. This was all going so terribly wrong, and he didn’t even know where to begin, and the fact that his head felt like it was about to split open wasn’t helping the situation.
He hardly noticed Michelle shaking him by the shoulder until she physically spun him towards her. “That’s it, I’m taking you to the medic station.”
“I… wha… no… I’ve got to wait for Draco… I –”
“You have to take something for that headache before you pass out,” she said sternly. “You’re turning green around the gills. What are you trying to prove? You’re not here to save the world, you know.”
Had the situation been any less dire, Harry might have laughed. But then, that would only make the headache worse. And he knew this Muggle woman wasn’t about to take ‘no’ for an answer. The last thing he needed was to fight with some Muggle he’d just met, so he tipped his head in concession.
She nodded at him grimly. “Hey, Yvette, help yourself to the rest of my beer. I’m gonna take hero-boy to the medic station.”
“Oh gee, thanks… what’s left? Less than half a cup?”
“I could dump it out.”
Yvette quickly grabbed the cup. “Sacrilege!”
Michelle smirked. “I thought so.” She turned back just in time to catch Harry as he teetered on his feet. “Easy there, tough guy. Come on.”
Harry let himself be steered down the stairs. Nobody seemed to be paying attention, as everyone was still completely focused on Jeter’s laughable behaviour. Harry wasn’t paying attention to them because he was too busy scanning the crowd for signs that he was being watched. With all the activity in the stands, it was hard to notice anything out of the ordinary.
They went through the doorway towards the concessions, and steered along the corridor that ran underneath the stands. There weren’t many people down there. Apparently the ruckus on the field with Jeter had drawn most of them back up to watch. It was just as well. That would make it easier to spot suspicious people. Harry let his fingers brush against the slender ridge of his wand, neatly concealed in its pocket on the side of his trouser leg. He could see the small sign for the medic station above the heads of the sparse crowd, but he was more concerned with looking for Draco, and –
“Hey, aren’t you the guy who caught that home run?”
A husky man in a Red Sox jersey had moved up alongside Harry before he’d even seen the guy. “Er… yes.” Harry blinked a couple of times. “Dumb luck and all.”
“Do you have the ball? I’d like t’see it. I never held a home-run ball.”
Too surprised by the man’s sudden appearance, Harry found himself reaching into his pocket for the ball when Michelle edged between them. “Hey, a Red Sox fan from New York? We don’t see too many of those.”
Harry looked down at her in surprise. “How can you tell he’s from New York?”
“Oh yeah, to you, they’re all just American accents. New Yorkers sound way different from Bostonians.”
Harry glanced back at the man, whose expression had darkened significantly in the last few seconds. When he noticed Harry staring at him, he shrugged. “Hey, I like a good team, that’s all.”
Michelle frowned, but nodded. “That’s fair. But this guy –” She gave Harry’s sleeve a tug. “– needs to get to the medic station before his headache lays him out flat. If you stick around, we’ll find you after he’s back on his feet, and you can see the ball.”
“Ah, you let your girlfriend boss you around like that?” the man said disdainfully.
“She is not my girlfriend!”
“He is not my boyfriend!”
The man held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I didn’t mean nuthin’ by it! Maybe once they patch you up in there, you come with me and I’ll by you a beer.”
Harry nodded blankly, still somewhat dazed by the ache in his scar and the alcohol in his bloodstream, but the alarms were starting to go off in his head. And that’s when he noticed the man’s right hand twitch towards his pocket. Like a wizard reassuring himself that his wand is there. Harry forced a weak grin, and willingly let Michelle finish leading him to the medic station. He’d just have to be really careful when he came back out.
The EMT’s seemed quite bored with Harry, which was fine with him. They asked him how much beer he’d had, asked him if he was prone to migraines, asked him if the odd scar was from an old head injury, and gave him a couple of pills and a bottle of water. They suggested he should lie down for a few minutes, but after years of being in and out of infirmaries, Harry had no desire to stick around. Plus, headache or none, he had to find Draco.
“They were right, you know,” Michelle said as they walked out. “You really should have rested for a few minutes. But then, I guess you’re as stubborn as I am.”
“That, and I really need to find Draco.” Harry scanned the concession area, not so much for Draco, but for that man who had approached him before. There was no sign of him, or any other suspicious activity. In fact, the corridor was nearly vacant. And certainly no sign of Draco.
“Any idea where he is?”
“Well, yes, but I don’t think –”
Harry was cut off as he was roughly grabbed by the same thickset man from before. Another man cut between him and Michelle.
“Hey!” Michelle protested. “What the hell do you think –”
“Shut up, woman!” said the new guy. He turned back to Harry. “Potter, if you come with us nice and easy, we’ll leave the Muggle alone.”
“Muggle?” Michelle looked simultaneously offended and confused.
“I thought I told you to shut up,” the man snarled at her.
Michelle took a step backwards. “Let him go, or I’ll call security.”
“I don’t think anyone will notice, little girl.” The man grinned viciously, and he started to reach for his pocket.
In a flash, Harry stayed his hand. “No! I’ll come. I’ll come. Just leave the Muggle out of this.”
The man nodded in smug satisfaction, regained his grip on Harry’s arm, and turned him in place to escort him away.
He hadn’t gone two steps when Michelle yelled from behind.
“Harry, what the hell is going on?”
Harry turned his head over his shoulder as he walked away, firmly flanked by the two American Death Eaters. “Don’t follow me! Just go back and enjoy the game! And if you see Draco –”
The man on his right clapped a hand firmly over his mouth. “We’ve already got your pretty little boyfriend. I hear his daddy’s on the way. Old Malfoy wasn’t too pleased about his only heir running off to shag with his boss’s arch enemy.”
Harry couldn’t stop his eyes from going wide. If Lucius Malfoy got his hands on Draco, Harry would probably never see him again. “Let me see him,” Harry hissed.
“I don’t think so,” the other man growled. “Last thing we want is to put the two of you together. I hear you’re quite the little one-two punch.”
Before Harry could argue again, he was dragged through an obscure doorway, which led to a long, narrow hall. This can’t be good.
*********
(~To Be Continued~)
The Seventh Inning
Harry was depressed. Harry was still tipsy. And Harry had a bloody headache.
“It’s Draco’s fault,” the Loud One said. “He left before the inning was over.”
That certainly wasn’t making the headache any better.
“Shut up, Yvette,” said her sister.
But Harry was definitely starting to appreciate the other one. She patted him lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Harry. It ain’t over till the fat lady sings, right?”
Harry moaned and rubbed his forehead. “That would only make my headache worse right now.”
“Want some Advil?” She began fishing through her backpack, but Harry waved her off.
“I don’t have any water to take it with anyway. But thanks.”
She sighed. “Don’t worry. Your boyfriend will be back soon with snacks, and we’ll all sing ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame’, and the Red Sox will make an amazing comeback.” She smirked. “I just have a funny feeling that this game is going to be unusually exciting. Don’t give up yet. These are the Red Sox. Amazing things happen with this team when you least expect it.”
Harry rubbed his forehead again and didn’t say anything.
“Not to stare, but where’d you get that funky-looking scar? It’s kinda cool.”
Harry couldn’t help but smile a bit at that. It was the first time in years that someone didn’t already know where the scar came from, and the question wasn’t rude, nosey, or insulting. “Car crash,” he said mildly. “When I was a baby.”
“Hmmm, weird. Cool though.”
“Michelle, leave the poor guy alone. The Skankees are coming up to bat. We must begin the Yankees Suck cheer. It’s a moral imperative.”
“I think a group of people down there are already trying. Let’s give them a hand!”
Despite the growing ache in Harry’s head, he cupped his hands around his mouth and joined in the chant, along with the other 35,000 people in the stands.
*********
The door to the Yankees locker room opened with a squeak, and Derek Jeter slipped in, quickly closing the door behind himself. All the tight uniforms, ass-slapping, and phallic symbols had gotten him just a bit… distracted. There are times when a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do. Plus, he’d been the last one to bat, and by his estimate, he had at least fifteen minutes before the bottom of the seventh, even if everyone struck out in a row.
Carefully making sure that he was alone, he went to his locker and grabbed his favourite wanking picture. Alex Rodriguez. Shirtless. Unzipping his pants, he quickly went to work.
*********
Apparition doesn’t take long, but over a distance of several thousand miles, the process is a bit more uncomfortable. Lord Voldemort didn’t mind the discomfort, but to arrive with his left foot in a mop bucket of dirty water didn’t exactly put him in the best mood. At first, he’d thought to go to the Americans for Voldemort headquarters in New York before continuing to Boston, but that would just be one more delay. So he had aimed to Apparate into a relatively abandoned part of Fenway Park. He’d achieved that by having landed in a broom closet. He wasn’t pleased, but at least he hadn’t arrived in the middle of a crowd. Besides, nothing would truly dampen his maliciously high spirits. In only a short time, Harry Potter would be dead.
But first, he had to infiltrate the park. Although eventually all the world would bow and grovel before him, outing himself in the middle of a stadium packed with thousands of Muggles wasn’t the best way to do that. Besides, he had priorities. First, kill Harry Potter. Second, dominate the world. It was a simple plan, really. But before he could kill Harry Potter, he had to get to Harry Potter. And to do that, he’d disguise himself as one of the local Muggles. That should be easy. All he had to do was to find one alone.
Shaking the water off his foot, it took him three squishy steps before he remembered that he had a wand, and a drying charm might be a good idea. He mentally excused his inattentiveness with the fact that he was distracted with his grandest obsession. All he needed to do was to kill Harry Potter, and everything would be right with the world. Third time’s the charm, right? Or was this the fourth time? Seventh?
He was making his way down the deserted hall when he heard a strange noise from one of the doors. It sounded like a moan, in either pain or pleasure. Whichever it was, it had to be a Muggle.
Delighting in his good fortune, Voldemort opened the door to find…
A Muggle man in strange clothes, sitting on a long wooden bench, rapidly pumping his cock. Or, at least, he was until he discovered someone was staring at him. He stood up, his cock still standing upright for the world to see.
“Hey, who the hell are –”
“STUPIFY!”
The man fell over in a heap. Voldemort swooped down on him and yanked three hairs from his head. Then, he withdrew a small flask half-filled with a gooey potion from his robe, popped the cork, and dropped the hairs inside. The glutinous liquid bubbled and sizzled for a moment as a strange smell filled the room. If Voldemort had a nose, he would have wrinkled it. “I hate this stuff,” he grumbled to himself.
Knowing that every moment’s delay was another moment Harry Potter continued to breathe, Voldemort tipped back the potion. There was a gut-wrenching sensation, then the feeling of thousands of tiny spiders crawling underneath every inch of his skin. However, when it finally stopped…
Voldemort appraised himself in the nearest mirror. Not too shabby, he reasoned to himself. It was even rather nice to have a nose again.
And then he felt a strange sensation at his groin. He pulled his robe back and looked down to see the fabric of his trousers significantly tented. He was hard as a rock, just as the Muggle man had left it.
Great, I finally get one of those again, and I don’t have time to use it.
Mentally taking a note that he’d have to Polyjuice himself next time he wanted a romp, he quickly began to disrobe. He looked down at the unconscious Muggle in distaste.
Damn, these Muggles dress even more funny around here than they do back home. But, when in Gaul…
A moment later, he’d removed the man’s clothes, and soon he was dressed like an ordinary local Muggle. Then, he stuffed the hapless Muggle in the nearest cubbyhole and shut the door. Someone would be bound to find him eventually – not that the Great Lord Voldemort cared. But just then, someone did walk in.
“Derek! Where the hell have you been?”
“Wha – ?”
An American Muggle man had just burst into the room, looking distinctly irate. “Down here jacking off again, Derek?” He looked down at the photo on the floor. “A-Rod? Again? Damn it, Derek, we’re still trying to get him in a trade, but in the meantime, there’s a game going on out there, and Steinbrenner is about to blow an artery!”
“Stein… what?” Voldemort shook his head to clear it. This was coming at him way too quickly, and he didn’t want to blow his cover yet. “And who are you?”
The man looked at him strangely. “Joe. Joe Torre, your manager. Last time I checked. And what the hell is with that pathetic British accent? Come here!”
The man, Joe, unceremoniously grabbed Voldemort by the arm and dragged him out of the room. Too startled to protest, Voldemort let himself be led. Perhaps he’d be led directly to where Potter was. For now, he’d sit back and – shit! His wand was still in his robes.
“Wait, I… er… forgot something… I –”
“You’ve forgotten your mind if you think I’m letting you go anywhere but back on the field.” As they walked through several doors, the sound of what must have been hundreds of people talking and yelling began to echo in the corridor. The last door swung wide in front of them, and instead of merely hundreds of people, there were –
“There are 35,000 people out there, and you’ll make a fool of us in front of everyone if you don’t get your ass on the field! NOW!”
Voldemort looked around him in surprise. He was in a small trench-like room a couple of feet below the level of the ground, and in front of him was a large dirt and grass pitch. In the room next to him were about a dozen more people dressed the same way as the man he’d left unconscious, and none of them seemed pleased with him.
“And Derek,” hissed the man who’d led him this far, “next time you go on the field with your cock sticking out like a sore thumb, I’ll suspend you for a game myself!”
With that, the man stuck a strange heavy glove on his left hand, shoved him up the stairs to the pitch, and gave him a solid slap across the arse.
*********
The Seventh-Inning Stretch
“…For it’s ONE! TWO! THREE strikes you’re out at the old ball game!”
The song died out, and everyone clapped and sat back down. Harry, however, more or less collapsed into his seat, holding his forehead. Michelle hopped over the row of chairs and settled into Draco’s seat. “Harry? Are you okay?”
“Just a headache,” he mumbled. “I get them sometimes.”
“Shitty timing,” she said. “Here, I smuggled in a water bottle. Take some Advil.”
“I don’t think it’ll do much good.”
“Migraine?”
“Something like that.” Harry looked down at the doorway to the concession. “Draco should have been back by now. I’m starting to get worried.”
“Well, unless he picked a fight with a Yankees fan, he should be fine. This is Fenway Park, not a back alley. Maybe he went to the bathroom. If he hit the bathroom first, I’ll bet he got stuck in a huge line for the concession.”
Harry nodded, still rubbing his forehead. Maybe the Muggle was right. Draco probably went to the loo, and then got caught in a queue. That’s all. He’d be back any moment, probably with the wrong thing. Harry didn’t have much more time to dwell on it, however, as a murmur swept over the crowd.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Michelle said as she stood up again.
Next to her, Yvette was already on her feet. “I’m not sure. One of the Yankees seems to be missing… I think it’s Jeter! Ha, I betcha he’s in the locker room, jacking off to a picture of A-Rod.”
Fighting the growing ache between his eyes, Harry stood and scanned the field. There was definitely a commotion in the Yankees dugout. The Red Sox batter was already standing by the batter’s box, taking lazy swings at the air with his bat, and half the Yankees’ lineup was on the field, ready to go… but no shortstop.
“This is great!” Yvette laughed deviously. “Jeter’s missing! Sometimes, things just go my way, ya know?” She laced her fingers behind her head and tilted her face up towards the afternoon sun, making a show of basking in the moment.
“I think they found him,” Michelle said flatly.
“Crap!”
Frowning, Harry took out his Omnioculars and zoomed in on the Yankees dugout. There was Jeter, all right, looking somewhat confused. Joe Torre was lecturing him, his teammates were staring at him, but aside from the obvious, there was something strange going on. Harry’s gut instincts were screaming at him, but he couldn’t quite make out the message through his headache.
Then, Torre shoved Jeter up onto the field. The Yankees shortstop stood still as a statue, as if he’d never seen a baseball field in his life.
That’s when Harry’s scar seared in pain.
Shit, crap, hell, fuck, damn…
Half-blinded by the pain, he sank back into his seat, hoping the Muggle women wouldn’t notice. They’d been found. No doubt about it – Voldemort was somewhere in Fenway Park. Harry took a few deep breaths, trying to think clearly through the burning in his head. He needed to find Draco and get the hell out of there, but suddenly, his gut feeling became perfectly clear – Draco had been captured.
In the meantime, Jeter was being steered by his teammates to his position on the field. The crowd was laughing and jeering at him mercilessly. It seemed that the man had never played baseball… or had suffered a hideous head injury in the past ten minutes… or…
That’s not Jeter.
Certainty hit Harry like a wrecking ball, and he knew without a doubt who the man on the field was. The stadium was probably already crawling with Death Eaters. He was surrounded. And as the batter stepped into the box, the bottom of the seventh inning began.
*********
“Lester! Hey, what did ya mean, he’s here?” Tony found Lester down by the beer stand under section sixteen. “You know I don’t do cryptic.”
Lester quickly grabbed Tony by the arm and pulled him aside, shushing him. “Do you want the whole park to hear us? He’s here.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Potter.”
Tony’s mouth fell open. “You’re shitting me.”
Lester shook his head. “Idiot. Didn’t you see that run Ramirez hit? That ball didn’t travel right.”
“I figgered it was the wind,” Tony said blankly.
“Didn’t you see who caught it?”
“Some scrawny Sox fan wearing glasses and… oh fuck.” The light seemed to dawn in Tony’s otherwise dim eyes.
Lester nodded slowly. “Heath’s here already. Rodney and Chuck were here for the game, and Jack, Robertson, and Jones are coming. And the Dark Lord is on his way. Some of the Brit brigade might even show up. Heath said he already contacted Lucius Malfoy.”
Tony seemed both awed and intimidated by this news, but he swallowed and bobbed his head.
“Good. Here’re the rules. Malfoy senior wants his traitor son for himself. I think Heath was gonna try to take him and hold him for Malfoy. The Dark Lord wants Potter intact and unharmed, so whoever gets to him first has to be careful-like. And Heath said no magic where the Muggles can see us. We aren’t ready for a move like that. So…”
“Take Potter without magic, and don’t bust him up.”
“Right. We’re spreading out, blocking escape routes. Last known location for both of them was in the bleachers. Now, get going.” And with a shove, he sent Tony towards the bleacher section.
*********
The Bottom of the Seventh
Think, Harry, think…
He had to find Draco. He had to contact the Order. He had to get the hell out of Fenway Park alive. And he had to get a bit more sober if he wanted any chance of pulling it off. This was all going so terribly wrong, and he didn’t even know where to begin, and the fact that his head felt like it was about to split open wasn’t helping the situation.
He hardly noticed Michelle shaking him by the shoulder until she physically spun him towards her. “That’s it, I’m taking you to the medic station.”
“I… wha… no… I’ve got to wait for Draco… I –”
“You have to take something for that headache before you pass out,” she said sternly. “You’re turning green around the gills. What are you trying to prove? You’re not here to save the world, you know.”
Had the situation been any less dire, Harry might have laughed. But then, that would only make the headache worse. And he knew this Muggle woman wasn’t about to take ‘no’ for an answer. The last thing he needed was to fight with some Muggle he’d just met, so he tipped his head in concession.
She nodded at him grimly. “Hey, Yvette, help yourself to the rest of my beer. I’m gonna take hero-boy to the medic station.”
“Oh gee, thanks… what’s left? Less than half a cup?”
“I could dump it out.”
Yvette quickly grabbed the cup. “Sacrilege!”
Michelle smirked. “I thought so.” She turned back just in time to catch Harry as he teetered on his feet. “Easy there, tough guy. Come on.”
Harry let himself be steered down the stairs. Nobody seemed to be paying attention, as everyone was still completely focused on Jeter’s laughable behaviour. Harry wasn’t paying attention to them because he was too busy scanning the crowd for signs that he was being watched. With all the activity in the stands, it was hard to notice anything out of the ordinary.
They went through the doorway towards the concessions, and steered along the corridor that ran underneath the stands. There weren’t many people down there. Apparently the ruckus on the field with Jeter had drawn most of them back up to watch. It was just as well. That would make it easier to spot suspicious people. Harry let his fingers brush against the slender ridge of his wand, neatly concealed in its pocket on the side of his trouser leg. He could see the small sign for the medic station above the heads of the sparse crowd, but he was more concerned with looking for Draco, and –
“Hey, aren’t you the guy who caught that home run?”
A husky man in a Red Sox jersey had moved up alongside Harry before he’d even seen the guy. “Er… yes.” Harry blinked a couple of times. “Dumb luck and all.”
“Do you have the ball? I’d like t’see it. I never held a home-run ball.”
Too surprised by the man’s sudden appearance, Harry found himself reaching into his pocket for the ball when Michelle edged between them. “Hey, a Red Sox fan from New York? We don’t see too many of those.”
Harry looked down at her in surprise. “How can you tell he’s from New York?”
“Oh yeah, to you, they’re all just American accents. New Yorkers sound way different from Bostonians.”
Harry glanced back at the man, whose expression had darkened significantly in the last few seconds. When he noticed Harry staring at him, he shrugged. “Hey, I like a good team, that’s all.”
Michelle frowned, but nodded. “That’s fair. But this guy –” She gave Harry’s sleeve a tug. “– needs to get to the medic station before his headache lays him out flat. If you stick around, we’ll find you after he’s back on his feet, and you can see the ball.”
“Ah, you let your girlfriend boss you around like that?” the man said disdainfully.
“She is not my girlfriend!”
“He is not my boyfriend!”
The man held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I didn’t mean nuthin’ by it! Maybe once they patch you up in there, you come with me and I’ll by you a beer.”
Harry nodded blankly, still somewhat dazed by the ache in his scar and the alcohol in his bloodstream, but the alarms were starting to go off in his head. And that’s when he noticed the man’s right hand twitch towards his pocket. Like a wizard reassuring himself that his wand is there. Harry forced a weak grin, and willingly let Michelle finish leading him to the medic station. He’d just have to be really careful when he came back out.
The EMT’s seemed quite bored with Harry, which was fine with him. They asked him how much beer he’d had, asked him if he was prone to migraines, asked him if the odd scar was from an old head injury, and gave him a couple of pills and a bottle of water. They suggested he should lie down for a few minutes, but after years of being in and out of infirmaries, Harry had no desire to stick around. Plus, headache or none, he had to find Draco.
“They were right, you know,” Michelle said as they walked out. “You really should have rested for a few minutes. But then, I guess you’re as stubborn as I am.”
“That, and I really need to find Draco.” Harry scanned the concession area, not so much for Draco, but for that man who had approached him before. There was no sign of him, or any other suspicious activity. In fact, the corridor was nearly vacant. And certainly no sign of Draco.
“Any idea where he is?”
“Well, yes, but I don’t think –”
Harry was cut off as he was roughly grabbed by the same thickset man from before. Another man cut between him and Michelle.
“Hey!” Michelle protested. “What the hell do you think –”
“Shut up, woman!” said the new guy. He turned back to Harry. “Potter, if you come with us nice and easy, we’ll leave the Muggle alone.”
“Muggle?” Michelle looked simultaneously offended and confused.
“I thought I told you to shut up,” the man snarled at her.
Michelle took a step backwards. “Let him go, or I’ll call security.”
“I don’t think anyone will notice, little girl.” The man grinned viciously, and he started to reach for his pocket.
In a flash, Harry stayed his hand. “No! I’ll come. I’ll come. Just leave the Muggle out of this.”
The man nodded in smug satisfaction, regained his grip on Harry’s arm, and turned him in place to escort him away.
He hadn’t gone two steps when Michelle yelled from behind.
“Harry, what the hell is going on?”
Harry turned his head over his shoulder as he walked away, firmly flanked by the two American Death Eaters. “Don’t follow me! Just go back and enjoy the game! And if you see Draco –”
The man on his right clapped a hand firmly over his mouth. “We’ve already got your pretty little boyfriend. I hear his daddy’s on the way. Old Malfoy wasn’t too pleased about his only heir running off to shag with his boss’s arch enemy.”
Harry couldn’t stop his eyes from going wide. If Lucius Malfoy got his hands on Draco, Harry would probably never see him again. “Let me see him,” Harry hissed.
“I don’t think so,” the other man growled. “Last thing we want is to put the two of you together. I hear you’re quite the little one-two punch.”
Before Harry could argue again, he was dragged through an obscure doorway, which led to a long, narrow hall. This can’t be good.
*********
(~To Be Continued~)
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