Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Draco Malfoy Harry Potter
Humor Slash
Harry and Classmates Post-Hogwarts
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix Half-Blood Prince
Published: 06/06/2007
Updated: 06/12/2007
Words: 4,232
Chapters: 2
Hits: 2,136

Baseball Slash


Story Summary:
Harry gets drunk on Fenway Park beer. Draco gets in a fight with a Red Sox fan. Voldemort plays shortstop for the Yankees. Fun is had by all. (Crackfic!Warning: Contains Americanisms, beer, peanuts, Highly Improbable Coincidences, more beer, bumbling villains, and a blatant self-insert. Ships are Harry/Draco, and unresolved Jeter/A-Rod. Fic takes place on July 31st, 2001.)

Chapter 01


Baseball Slash

The Pre-Game

The hot July sun blazed down on Harry and Draco as they pushed their way through the crowd. Along the street, venders were selling t-shirts and souvenirs from boxes or from hasty displays on the hoods of cars and folding tables. The rich aromas of sausages with peppers and onions began to overpower the smell of the city. Men were holding up leaflets and free newspapers, or advertising programs, yearbooks, and scorecards, promising lower prices than inside the ball park.

One thin, haggard man approached Harry, holding a sign heralding the apocalypse. "Repent and be saved, young man! Jesus is the way to salvation!" He eyed Draco warily, as though the blond man was the devil himself.

Draco was about to ask what the hell he was staring at when Harry grabbed his arm and pulled him back into the flow of the shuffling throng.

"These Muggle blokes are strange," Draco grumbled in Harry's ear as he let himself be pulled along. "Maybe You-Know-Who really is on to something, at least as far as that one is concerned."

Harry elbowed Draco, knowing full well that the comment was made mostly in jest. "They're not all bad, Draco," Harry said with a wink.

Draco scowled and rubbed his arm where Harry had grabbed it. "Can I hex one? Just for fun? It'll make me feel so much better."

Harry took his hand and gave it a tight squeeze. Draco returned the squeeze, but shot him a skeptical smirk.

"Come on, do this for me," Harry implored. "It's just for my birthday, and then, you can go sequester yourself back in the apartment for the remainder of our stay here."

Draco muttered something inaudible above the crowd.

"Well," Harry said thoughtfully, "it's better than doing nothing while we're holed up here, hiding from Voldemort. If we've got to live as American Muggles, why not act like one? Nothing more American than baseball."

"Because we're supposed to be hiding," Draco stressed. "Parading around like this, in full view, is not the safest move."

"You agreed to it!"

"Only because you begged."

Harry snickered. "Oh, I think I did more than just beg, although I was on my knees for some of it."

A small flush crept into Draco's cheeks, but his eyes were stern. "Listen, if he gets to you before Granger and Lupin dissemble the rest of the curse on that dagger, you'll be dead, and there will be nothing we can do about it."

"Draco," Harry said firmly, "stop for a minute." He grasped Draco by the arm and pulled him to the inside of the sidewalk, against the building and out of the flow of people. "Voldemort has no clue where we are. According to Snape, he's still somewhere in Afghanistan, and he's more than occupied fighting off the Order and the DA, trying to keep his hands on the dagger Horcrux." Harry could barely suppress the shudder than ran through him, but he shook it off. "I still blame Mundungus, but who cares now? Voldemort won't last long, Hermione will crack the curse on the dagger, and then I can finally join the fight again. It's the last Horcrux, and once that's gone, we'll have him. But in the meantime..." He glanced over the rims of his glasses imploringly. "Can't I please forget about this saving-the-world crap and just have some fun on my birthday?"

Draco tried to hold his scowl, but that proved impossible, so he sighed dramatically. "If we must."

Harry smiled innocently. "You might even like it."

Draco rolled his eyes.

Harry smiled, then leaned over and whispered in his ear, "And if you don't, I'll make it worth your while."

A devious smirk stole across Draco's features. "Don't you always?"

Now it was Harry's turn to blush, and Draco chuckled. "Come on," he said, taking Harry's hand and pulling him back into the river of people, "if you're a good boy, I'll even buy you one of those stupid duck-billed hats."

"Baseball caps," Harry corrected automatically.


The smell of greasy venders' cooking wafted through the air, and the steady hum of traffic mixed with the chatter of the crowd, and Draco let himself take a breath and relax. Harry seemed so happy, and he was right. Embedded in a crowd like this, it was the perfect way to hide. Besides, Voldemort didn't watch baseball.

"PROGRAMS HERE!" hollered a Muggle vender, not a foot from Draco's left ear. "GET YOUR PROGRAMS! TWO DOLLARS! THREE DOLLARS INSIDE!"

Draco rubbed his ear and glared at the vender, then gazed at Harry imploringly. "Please? Just one little hex?"

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment, then leaned close to Draco as he guided him away from the vender. "You don't seem to mind it when I scream in your ear."

"You're impossible, you know."

Harry winked. "And you love every minute of it."

They finally turned the corner from Brookline Ave. onto Yawkey Way, and Harry stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly open. Draco couldn't quite decide if he looked like a kid in a candy store, or a religious pilgrim approaching a shrine. Red and white banners adorned the brick exterior of Fenway Park, and everywhere he looked, people were wearing red and blue caps, jerseys, and jackets, carrying signs and trinkets and other paraphernalia.

"Wicked!" Harry breathed, and before Draco could stop him, he'd disappeared into the crowd.

"Harry! Harry, where the hell did you go?!" Draco looked around desperately, and finally saw Harry standing in front of a sales display, poking through a box of cheap plastic souvenirs.

"Harry?" Draco caught up with him and tapped him on the shoulder. "Harry, please don't -"

"RAWR!" Harry snapped around, but instead of his usual big, green eyes, he had a big green plastic face. He quickly adjusted the mask so the eyeholes lined up for him to see, and he spoke excitedly, "I'm Wally! The Green Monster!"

Draco reached over and pulled up the mask, letting it snap down on top of Harry's head. "No, you're Harry, the Green-Eyed Pest. Will you please act your age? You're twenty-one today, not twelve, right?"

Harry kicked the ground sullenly.

Draco sighed. "If you act your age, I'll even..."

"Yes?" Harry asked hopefully.

Looking as though it were the most awful thing he'd ever said, Draco finished the comment. "I'll even buy you a beer."

Harry beamed. "Can I have a Fenway Frank, too?"

Draco suddenly felt a strong desire to beat his head into a wall. "I don't know which is worse, the American thing, or the Muggle thing."

Harry chuckled. "I'm not a Muggle." He pulled the mask back down. "I'm a Monster!"

Draco quickly yanked the mask off Harry's face without another word and steered the birthday boy towards the park entrance. It was still early, but the queue at the gate was already fairly long. Draco found himself having to glare at a pair of Muggle women who were pushing a little too close behind them in line. When they finally reached the turnstiles, he handed his ticket to the woman there, who ripped along the perforation and handed him the stub. Harry did the same, and asked, "So, where do these tickets put us?"

The woman, recognizing the British accent, smiled patronizingly and answered, "The bleachers. Behind center field. You're eight rows back."

"That had better be good," Draco said. "I paid nearly two hundred dollars for the pair of them."

The woman choked back a laugh and quickly waved them through the turnstile.

"APPLY FOR A RED SOX MASTERCARD AND GET A FREE RED SOX SHIRT OR CAP!" hollered a man from behind the counter of a kiosk.

"Ooh!" Harry was at the counter before Draco could stop him. "I'll apply!"


"What if I want both?" Harry asked the man eagerly. "Can I apply twice?"


"Sorry," replied the man. "Only one to a customer."

"Oh, okay. Draco, maybe you could apply for me -"


"What's wrong, Draco?"

Draco started to raise his hands, making odd strangling motions. After a moment, his hands returned to his sides, but continued to twitch noticeably. "Can't we just go find our seats now?" He glanced around, then wrinkled his nose in distaste. "It's dark and damp under here."

"Well, you spent seven years in the Slytherin dungeons. Seven minutes down here won't kill you."

Draco pointed a warning finger at Harry. "Don't insult my house dungeons."

The man behind the counter started to back away, obviously wondering if he was dealing with lunatics.

"I'd never insult them," Harry shot back. "As I recall, I snuck down there often enough during the last few months of our seventh year that it was almost like a second home. Now," he picked up a clipboard from the counter, "fill this out for me, please?"

Grumbling, Draco snatched the clipboard from Harry's hand. "The things I do for you...."

Harry smiled winningly and began filling out his own clipboard.

Of course, all told, Draco was more than happy to see Harry like this. The war had taken an unexpected turn for the worse when Voldemort had created a new Horcrux - the first he'd created since his corporeal resurrection using Harry's blood. The result was a complication in the spell that had rendered Harry incapable of using any magic against Voldemort. Knowing this, Voldemort was more determined than ever to press his advantage and kill Harry, and he'd almost succeeded. Twice. Until the dagger Horcrux was destroyed, Harry couldn't fight. So, he'd been sentenced to a fate worse than death: waiting.

They had been hiding in Boston since the middle of February, and for the first several weeks, Harry had sunk into a depression. He'd spent hours pacing around the apartment, brooding over the war back home, worrying himself sick over Ron and Hermione, wondering what was happening back in the thick of the fight. By the start of April, Draco would have been overjoyed just to see him smile.

So, conceding to Harry's Muggle upbringing, Draco had come home with a television set, and in the absence of Quidditch, Harry had taken a shine to baseball. The Red Sox seemed to be the local favourite, and Harry took up the banner happily. Draco remembered fondly the first real smile he'd seen from Harry since they'd left Britain.


"They're going to win the World Series this year!" Harry informed Draco with a wide grin.

"What's the World Series?"

"It's a bit like the Quidditch World Cup, only it's a different sport."

Draco settled himself on the armchair across from Harry, who was leaning forward on his knees, studying a tarot spread on the coffee table between them. "And just how do you know they're going to win?"

Harry pointed to the cards. "It's obvious."

Draco craned his neck forward and choked back a laugh. "That's the Death Card in the Future position. And the card representing the inquirer is the Fool."

Harry quickly swept the cards into a pile and began stacking them neatly again. "Divination is such a sketchy thing anyway," he said flatly.


A few minutes later, Harry had his shirt and cap, and proceeded to pull Draco up the ramp to the bleachers. They emerged into the bright afternoon sun, overlooking the entire field.

Harry stood, transfixed. "Wow. This is it, in person."

Draco sniffed. "It's not that impressive."

The comment earned him a sharp glare from a passing spectator, who whispered under his breath, "Damn Yankees fan."

Draco glared at his retreating back, then turned to Harry with an incredulous expression. "Yankees?! I am NOT a Yank!"

Harry laughed and shook his head. "No, Draco. Yankees, not Yanks. They're the Red Sox arch rivals, something like the Slytherins are to the Gryffindors."

"So they're better?"

Harry suddenly looked scandalized and cast a quick glance around. "I wouldn't say that around here if I were you."

"Oh? Why not?"

"Because," Harry said slowly, "if the Red Sox are like the Gryffindors, you just walked into the lion's den."

Draco appraised the mischievous glint in Harry's eyes. "Harry, while I agree that this is probably very good for you, aren't you taking this obsession just a little bit far?"

"Not a chance."

Just then, they were approached by a man in an official-looking jacket. "You two can't stand in the walkway like this. Can I help you find your seats?"

Harry held out his ticket stub, and the man pointed up with a nod of his head. "See that section up there? Middle group of seats, eight rows back. Enjoy the game."

The man moved along to the next group of fans. Harry made a move to begin climbing towards his seat, but Draco caught his sleeve.

"All the way up there?" Draco said uncertainly.

"Well sure! You bought the tickets!"

"But... but... that's the common section!"

Harry quickly checked to make sure nobody had heard. "Shh! Don't say that, Draco! It's a fine seat. We'll be able to see everything from there. And I brought the Omnioculars."

Still grumbling, Draco conceded to follow Harry up into the bleachers.

"It smells up here," Draco fussed when they arrived at their seats. He sniffed the air. "Stale beer and..." CRUNCH! He looked down at the crushed peanut shells beneath his feet. "Peanuts. I hate peanuts. Harry..."

Harry sealed his hand over Draco's mouth. "I think it smells wonderful," he said flatly, then released Draco and took his seat.

"You would."

"You're making a spectacle. Just sit down and watch batting practice."

"Practice?" Draco asked as he meticulously wiped his seat with a handkerchief. A few fans glared at him in annoyance, but Draco didn't notice. "Shouldn't they have practiced before the day of the game? What kind of sport is this?"

Harry slouched down in his seat, wishing desperately to turn invisible. "They have to warm up their bats before the game. That's how it works... and give me that!" He snatched the handkerchief from Draco. "Now sit!"

Someone sitting behind them laughed, and Harry had to put his hand on Draco's arm to stop him from turning around. He physically pulled Draco into his seat. "Just relax and enjoy the game."

"I don't see how."

Harry ignored him. "We missed the Sox batting practice, but they'll be taking the field soon enough, plus the starting pitcher will be warming up."

"Then who are they?" Draco pointed to the players who were already scattered across the field.

"Those," Harry growled, "are the Yankees."

"Oh yes, the Slytherin team," Draco muttered sarcastically.

"Riiiiight," Harry said in an offhand manner.

Draco snorted and grabbed the Omnioculars. "Hmmm..." he mused after a moment of surveying the field. "That guy's pretty good-looking."


"The one who just finished... batting? Is that what it's called? He's moving over there now."

Harry squinted, then snatched the Omnioculars back from Draco and made a quick check. "Draco! That's Jeter! Under penalty of Cruciatus, do NOT compliment Jeter!"

Draco appeared to consider this. "Hmm... he has a rather nice arse."


"Yeah, he's got a nice ass," interrupted a young woman sitting directly behind him. "And that ass has probably been humped by every other member of his team."

She turned around in her seat to display the back of her t-shirt. It appeared to be a full Yankees team roster, stating without a doubt that each and every member of the team sucked, and at the bottom, in bolder print, "AND JETER SWALLOWS."

"How crude!" Draco sniffed, but Harry snorted back a laugh.

"Hey, buddy, if you want the finer side of Boston, go to the ballet. This is Fenway Park. Of course, Jeter practically dances En-Pointe when his little pansy ass plays ball, so why don't you just cheer him on?"

Draco smirked. "Excellent suggestion." He turned to Harry. "I am now cheering for the Yankees."

Harry looked around desperately for a place to hide.

The woman sitting next to the first one tapped him on the shoulder and said softly, "You've got fine taste in boyfriends, really, but maybe you should have worked on team loyalties before you brought him."

"I think you're right," Harry said meekly. "We're going to get mauled."

"Well, not you," she said reasonably as she adjusted her own baseball cap. "You're decked out in Red Sox paraphernalia. Your friend, however... I can't make any promises for his safety. Especially sitting in front of my sister."

Harry glanced at Draco, then back at the first woman, who was glaring at the back of Draco's neck as though she could break it just by sheer willpower. He turned back to the second woman bleakly. "Is she going to kill him?"

The woman just shrugged. "Maybe."

With a sigh, Harry finally resigned himself to staring out at the field. The Red Sox were running out of the dugout to take the field. Beside him, Harry heard Draco grumble that he wanted to keep watching Jeter.

This was going to be a very long game.